Out and about for parts of the day and oh, it feels so free even though I am either on crutches or using my scooter.  Everything takes two or three times as long as it usually does, but once again, it is a fine practice of patience.  How much more do I need?  Ah, there is impatience again.

I am energized today.  I visited Julia’s special ed teacher and she gave me a large folder of math and reading activities for Julia’s summer.  I am excited to get the play room ready for vacation, but I will not start that until next week.  Bending, lifting, carrying and moving things around remain my biggest challenges.  Hopefully, by next week, these will become easier.  I’ve made phone calls -- health insurance where the grand snafu continues and another person promises to call back, an art therapist who might work with Julia this summer, a swim instructor at our local community pool who will try to arrange for private lessons (Julia will not do well in their classes for 12), and a week long bike came sponsored by the Downs Syndrome Society and promises to get Julia on two wheels within a week.  I went to the library to replenish my own stack of books on tape and to find books to start Julia’s summer.  Easy chapter books!  Junie B. Jones, Judy Moody, Geronimo Stilton, and an Amber Fairy will hopefully grace Julia’s reading journal.  I shopped, mainly for an iPad that I hope to purchase within the week.  We both are in desperate need of summer clothes, Julia more than I, but I have not tackled that yet.  Ironically, the scooter that I am using to get around operated in the mall better than anywhere else I have been.  I am now think of it as the “shopping scooter.”  On the computer, I am catching up on emails that have been hard to return in recent weeks.  

The heavy lethergy that settled like a weighted cloak has lifted, if only for the moment.  No, I have no faith that it is gone for good, or gone for a good long while, but even for the moment is a relief.  

This past month, possibly due to sitting on the couch for days on end and proofing recipes, something new is growing.  

What I recognize from all the previous days is the sense of sadness, sometimes a sense of doom and a feeling that the worst is going to happen.  I still miss David and have to catch myself when I begin to believe (and believe is not the right word, maybe take for granted is better) that he will return home one day and we will have our old life back.  This feeling is not willful at all, it is just there, as if the program is always running in the background.  In fact, everything that I just noted is like something running in the background.  It is not good, but it does not roar in my ears, it just hums along.  

But with this as background, I am gaining some resilience, resilience that I have sorely missed.  Awhile back, an old friend wrote that David and I always seemed like a golden couple.  We were pretty happy with our lives together, well, I am sure that I was and I think David was, but “golden”?  David and I struggled and reached for what was beyond our grasp for almost our whole lives together.  We wanted theater, he wanted film, we wanted to write, we wanted success, we wanted middle class living in the arts, we wanted successful law careers, we wanted more children, we wanted to move back to the east coast.  And we did not just want these things, we worked in the hopes of getting some of them.  As I went through our stuff, I was struck by all the effort that went into our lives -- all the attempts, rejection letters, resumes and head shots, and resumes and writing samples.  We did not take our lot in life for granted, we did not take our blessings for granted either -- Cheshire, books, articles, contracts, grants, jobs and travel.  We worked hard for most things that we had and worked harder for what we didn’t have that we wanted.  So much rejection, so many new beginnings, and I was surprised that instead of perceiving our lives as failures and full of plan B’s, I was proud of us for all that effort.  I was proud that we could reconfigure dreams and go on dreaming.  I could see places where we might have done more or better, but we did as much as we could for as long as we could.

When David died, I said over and over that I did not want to take another day for granted, I wanted to live deliberately.  I was viewing that as a great change but when I looked at the accumulation of our lives, I saw that we had been living deliberately for years.  True those last years when David’s heart began to fail and then when we were waiting for a new one, we marked time.  We held our breath.  Our plans were not of new novels or exotic travel or another kid, but of a new kitchen and PTO activities.  It did not feel as deliberate as before that time, but I see it now as holding on tight to hope, to believing that there would be parties to give in this house and a “best education” for Julia.  The Thanksgiving of 2009 was our only real party in this house, and it has taken until now, now, lying on the couch with friends looking in to buy groceries and to do my laundry, to want to have parties here.  

This journey is long.

But I come back to the comment that we were  a “golden couple”?  I guess I imagine a golden couple as people who get where they intended to go with grace and ease -- Grace Kelly and her prince, Fred and . . .  Who skimmed the challenges of life and danced through the barbs.  I see people without fear because they have always succeeded.  I don’t know if my old friend thought of us that way.  I don’t.  But after writing all of that down, I perceive our lives together as lives well lived, not perfect but deliberate.  And maybe that is golden in its own way.  

But that is not where I started and not what I wanted to write about.  

Resilience.

Yesterday, I called the Wisconsin Office who administers employee health insurance.  I am insured under the state’s insurance plan because I am a widow of a state employee.  It’s no benefit or bargain.  It is self-pay and very expensive, but it is a good plan.   Julia is not on that plan which has made self-pay more palatable and possible, and she has been covered as part of her autism waiver slot that gave us intensive therapy.  Therapy under the waiver slot ends in July and I hoped to put her on my plan and get her another year of intensive and her regular care.  I inquired a few months ago, I sent the application at the beginning of May. Now, this should be no problem to add her but it is midyear, not open season, and so, I needed to justify her joining immediately.  I documented well.  I called yesterday to check on the progress of my application and found out that they had the application but had no record of me!  I was on hold a couple of times which amounted to almost an hour -- thank goodness for speaker phone -- and then told I would be called back.  (Just to note, “Ginger” said she’d call yesterday and didn’t.  No word yet today and half the day is over.)  I am sure that they will sort this out eventually and that eventually Julia will go on my plan, but it could mean a summer without therapy.

And I woke up this morning thinking of all the things we could do without therapy!  And I woke up this morning without worrying what I will do when the rejection from the LEND program comes.  

I am sure I will slip back some, maybe soon, but for today, I can deal.  I can make another plan B, a few plan B’s.  And that is the way of me that I remember.  That is the me I want and need to get back to.  I am back at least for today.

Almost every morning, I ask Julia if she dreamed during the night and when she answers, yes, I ask she what her dream was about.  Sometimes, rarely but sometimes, she asks me in return.  This morning, when I asked what her dream was about she said, "loving."  "Loving someone?"  I asked.  "Loving a friend.  Mommy, I want to have a friend."  This is such an emotional issue for me that my eyes immediately tear up and I tell Julia that she will have a friend one day.  I tell her that it is important to work hard on being a good friend to someone and that she can practice on me.  If we can be good friends to each other, she will learn everything she needs to know about friends.  And that is a blend of mothering and some attachment theory.

Julia lost a tooth yesterday while we were meditating.  Great time to be playing with the lose tooth with a little tongue.  After we finished our meditation, she washed the tooth off because it was "uchky" and put the plastic bag under her pillow.  I am not sure if I've done this before or if it was the uchky factor of a "disgusting, bloody" thing under her pillow.  We reviewed tooth fairy rules -- no checking on the bag until the morning, and the money belongs to her.  Julia went to bed, I went into my room to read.  And, well, of course, I forgot to put the money in!!!  Julia forgot about the tooth fairy when she first woke up and didn't realize that she needed to check under her pillow until she was downstairs eating breakfast.  By that time, I remembered my omission and was ready to tell her that it was too late to go back up.  Dodged that one.  She checked on it as soon as she got home and was happy to find some fairy money.

Many, many thoughts jangling around in my head today. Labor day weekend.  Two years ago, David was still alive and we did our first post-op bike ride, and then we filled the kiddie pool and Julia splashed in the water while David and I sat on comfortable camp chairs with our feet in the water.

After David died I ignored the pool which sat in the back yard getting dirty and filled with rain and debris.  I could not bring myself to touch it and eventually in the fall I threw it away.  Today, for the first time in two years, Julia asked if we could fill the pool for her to play in.  I marveled that she remembered.  She had been pretty uninterested in it two years ago.  I wonder if she shut herself off from those days until now.  We are  talking more about Daddy, David these days.   She says it makes her sad but she wants to remember him. We are coming out of mourning.

What a time of joy and hope that was.  I can remember it so clearly.  Looking back, I see that the earth shaking shock of David's death was due, in part, to the relief that I felt after surgery and watching David recover.  I was valuing each day, and I was making plans for a future.  Right now, I want to put my arms around the me of two years ago.  Not to tell that me the future, but to give a bit more strength for the days ahead.  I have accepted more of myself, of this after-life which is becoming a new life, of the journey.  I can touch a sadness that is deeper than any that came before but I see the pain is not as searing.  I say over and over these days that I can see the light at the end of the tunnel even though I seem to remain in the tunnel.  It takes time and more time.  I keep working through my tunnel with a vengeance because I know that I have to get through it for Julia.  What a gift that child!  It might be more advanced to get through it because of me and I might find that reason given the need to find it, but Julia has been my crutch, my reason to put one foot in front of the other.  And I am not complaining at all about that.

Yesterday, we went to a private swim club that is a bit west of us.  Amy and her family belong and invited us.  Our community pool is not open until school is out (14 more days) and it was hot, hot, hot yesterday.  Julia had a wonderful time, playing with Amy's daughter who is the soul of compassion.  She stuck with Julia even when other friends were there.  In fact, she seemed to draw Julia into the small group of girls that were playing and splashing.  Julia's dino squirt guns added to the fun and Julia was able to share and take turns.  Is this enough of a reason to abandon the community pool and join the private one?

And finally, this morning, Julia hogged the computer to play her reflex math game and I felt the need of that iPad that I want to buy for her.  I hope that I can pay for it from a state fund that I will get and I am a bit hesitant to get it before the money comes through, but on the other hand, I would love to set up a bunch of features for her before she finishes school.  I could float the cost for a month.  I am still convincing myself to buy it asap.

Yesterday's excursion was my first on my own.  Or more on my own than before.  Amy met me at the pool's entrance and parked my car for me so I would not have to walk too far.  I sat in the hot sun, couldn't go in.  I wondered about all those people who never go into a pool.  Those who sit and sweat -- gosh, I would hate that.  I can shower now but I cannot soak my foot and that includes getting into a pool.  I will do it for as long as I must but after that, I am getting into the pool!

I was also drug free yesterday (although this morning the pain was sufficient enough to take a pill) and clear enough to drive.  Today, not so much but it is getting better.  I can take a few steps today and we will walk the dog later on with my scooter.

After the pool, we did a grocery run on our own.  I used one of the motorized chairs at the store and Julia rode around on my scooter.  So, maybe we should have left my scooter at the curtesy desk like I did when I went shopping with Cheshire, and I am sure there were comments or thoughts by other shoppers, but, you know, who cares.  We did it, it was almost fun, and Julia behaved pretty well.

I made dinner, feeding Julia calf's liver without comment from her.  I felt the need for some, the vitamins and minerals liver contains are good for Julia as well.  I was a bit surprised that she ate it without comments, but she likes the fried onions that I heaped on top.

8:51 am.  I hear Julia reading in her room.  We are both still in bed.  The day needs to begin.  Two weeks of couching it and the necessity of slowing down came at a good time.  Could not have given it to myself.  Pity not to understand my needs, but what a blessing to be provided with the time.  Got through the night without drugs and I am very comfortable.  If I can get through the day, I will feel ready to drive.  I am clear and have energy.  Ok, I can't move around with that energy. Pushing self pity aside, I see the path immediately ahead and I am ready.  Welcome summer!  Another 15 days and Julia will have days filled only with me and therapy.  I can imagine such plans!

It is odd to take a break from writing here.  In some way, it is a habit that is very hard to break.  And I know that I will be back.  Just in a while.  

Since surgery, I have been following doc orders and taking it very slow.  Yes, still tv.  British soapy drama when I cannot find sci-fi.  A friend has a new website that needs proofing, so I am helping with that.  I sent in an application for a second year of LEND yesterday, meeting the deadline.  No one acknowledged that I sent it, and there has been no word from my mentor.  It is an exercise.  Most probably futile, but it is one of the things I’ve been thinking of as a choice for a next step.  Somehow I could not just let it fall aside.  For better or worse, they must reject me before I can move on.  Working on the short statement of my interest clarified ideas for a future.  It would be very nice to do as I propose -- figure out how to be a parent partner on an interdisciplinary diagnostic and/or treatment team that serves families with neurodevelopmentally disabled children.  I am almost sure I can do it.  I would be good at it.  

The thread is out there now.  

Julia is rising to the challenged of a mother on the couch.  I’ve asked her to do everything from taking in the garbage cans to locking doors to fetching and carrying everything that I cannot hold in one hand.  She balks some, like any self respecting 11 year old, but she does more and more.  

Julia’s teacher sent home the log in information and password of the math games that Julia plays in school now.  Randall School is on some sort of pilot program with Reflex Math.  Math facts connected with catchy games.  Julia is pretty awful at it right now but she wants to play.  Who knows? This might be the summer of math facts. The last three summers have triggered big gains in her learning: 2010 reading, 2011 counting.  Summer seems to be the time to build the critical mass necessary for her to take a leap.  I meet with her teacher next week to get her advice on what to do with the summer.

We work on a family tree for class -- the usual uncomfortable situation for n adopted child.  For Julia, it is not awkward because she accepts without question that she has a China mommy and daddy, and her family which is me and Cheshire.  This is the understanding of a younger child and until she questions more, I will let that be her reality.  She asks, “Did you miss me before you knew me?” and “Was it hard for you to wait (to come and get me)?”  So, there is some understanding.  There is a volunteer assignment to bring in some ethnic food that is something of your ethnic heritage.  Julia understands that our family is Ukrainian, Jewish and Chinese.  She says that we are all those three, and to the extent that I hope that she identifies with all three backgrounds, our whole family needs to take it all on as well.  I don’t know if I will be able, but I would love to send in a plate with Jewish, Ukrainian and Chinese food on it.

Five days post-op and ready to see the doctor this morning for bandage change and advice.  I have been sequestered on the second floor, primarily in the bedroom with occasional bathroom visits.  It is so weird to Pain meds have kept me comfortable but unable to concentrate on anything other than very junky tv.  I am diving into the streaming world of dystopia sci fi and enjoying the luxury.  A friend noted on Facebook that she was a bit envious.  I would be too, but it takes a day to melt into the comment and smile.  

I am here and dammed it if I don’t want to be “there.”  I have a great lesson in being present, living now.  I squander it for hours at a time complaining of my inability to reach for more or turning away from the pleasures I have set aside to indulge in.  Reading Lisa’s blog post describing airport waiting corrals the ego chatter.  I sink in an enjoy again.

Cheshire has been taking good care of me and Julia, cooking, cleaning, caring for the dog, getting the kid ready for school and bed, fetching for my pleasure, as well as doing her part to clear the basement clutter and relieve me of the accumulated baggage.  I wonder at the good fortune of having a daughter who is willing to nurse her sick parents.    I did nothing to deserve such care, although so little is due to just deserts.  

I was crazy bored most of the day yesterday but today seems to be about settling into a mellow acceptance.  Silly all those feelings -- I must be as still as I can be for 6 weeks for the best recovery.  I can be anxious about the time and drive myself and everyone around me crazy, or I can accept it.  Possibly, enjoy the time.  I have volunteered to do a small sedentary task for a friend.  I have a few books in a pile.  I can explore a new blog/website.  I have some email to return.  I have a recommendation of another tv show.   I don’t even have to make excuses for laying around and “doing” very little.  Life is not so bad.

Mother’s Day.  What a holiday for sadness.  The best emotion I can rally is relief, and that is colored by the end of life as I knew it.  

My mother demanded recognition for holidays.  She wanted cards and gifts and gratefulness.  I constantly fell short and was punished.  Instead of making me a better gift buyer, card sender, and dutiful daughter, the punishment grew calluses.  I could conveniently forget to buy, to send, to visit.  I never asked why it was so important and that still mystifies me.  

For myself, it has never been important to have it all, whatever all was, on some designated day.  We could open Christmas presents after we made coffee and got the video camera ready, we could celebrate private holidays on convenient days, and if someone forgot, forgets, it matters very little.  And so, David and I were well paired.  He was also hounded by a father who demanded recognition on the exact day.  He and his father exchanged checks on birthdays for years.  I admit that the checks were useful in the lean years, but he never needed David’s check, and in the lean years it did seem like the check that came to him should be squirreled away to send back a few months later.  I once suggested that David do just that -- send the very check that his father sent to him, back again.  I imagined they they could avoid wasting a few checks a year by designating check the official birthday-anniversary-father’s day-new year gift.  The suggestion was not appreciated.  It would have created too many waves, and David was willing to be compliant to avoid complications.  

And so, we came together swearing to be low key and without those sorts of demands.  And for the most part, it worked out fine.  Granted, David was not the best of gift buyers, and when I was sad or stressed, there might be no gift at all.  I hardly shop when happy.  Negative feelings do not send me to the stores.  But all of that was fine.  A kiss, a wish, maybe a dinner the next weekend, were always enough.

But, and another but, celebrating mother’s day and father’s day from the time since Cheshire was born was sweet, possibility made sweeter by our reluctance to conform to those hallmark holidays.  It was the non-celebrated parent who bought the card or the gift, who urged the child to sign or write or make the craft.  My favorite mother’s day gift was being given the day free to plant in the garden with time for a bath afterwards and a Sunday supper with a movie.  David gave me the day, took care of the kid, cooked and found the movie.  It was all done for me.  Such a gift, such gift.  It was the thought, the honoring of a wish.  Effortless.

I was intent on ignoring mother’s day this year, but unless I went to the mountain top, I can’t see how I could do it.  And Cheshire is coming out today to take care of us for the week.  She would tease me for ignoring the holiday, and so, I will cook something nice for tonight’s dinner.  Yesterday, doing a very big food shopping, Julia and I heard an announcement in Copps that there was a cake decorating craft for kids to do for their moms.  Julia wanted to do it and I brought her to the table.  The nice lady guiding the kids, encouraged me to go away while she worked with Julia.  I resisted for a moment, but the woman was kind and Julia wanted to make a surprise.   I went to pick up cereal and tea.  Julia was pleased with her work and is excited about eating the cake at dinner tonight.  Sharing it was Cheshire as well.  Still, I miss very much today the mother’s days of planting or of a few words on a home made card urged on by David.  I understand how single moms could struggle with some of these same issues and generally, I can find solutions like, I am sure, they do, but there was a time when for me mother’s day included a father.  I have not gotten past or through this one yet.  At least, not today.  

I am going to have a bit of foot surgery done next Monday.  Last night, I told Julia about it, letting her know that Cheshire is coming home to take care of us for the week and that my recovery will take a bit of time but only because it is on the foot.  

Julia asked, “What about your other foot?”  

She would not have ever asked that kind of insightful question even a few months ago.

We’ve had a few tough weeks of behavior.  What I am seeing these days seems to be the sun after the storm.  I am hoping the insightful growth.

I have been calling this my fallow year, and at the beginning I imagined that I would have days of quietly sitting and reading and writing.  I equated fallow with intentional contemplation.  Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately, so far there has been little contemplation and reading.  The tasks of cleaning out body, soul, and house have taken up so much time.  I am coming to the end of sorting and storing of documents, pictures, and memorabilia.  Most of it is in plastic file boxes which are neatly stacked in the basement store room.  There is still a bit of a mess in the main portion of the basement, but Cheshire will be taking some of that to her new apartment, and later this summer I will have another yard sale followed by hefty donations to St. Vinnie’s.  For now, I need to clean and straighten what I’ve done, to give the house a good cleaning, and to switch gears.

I am having foot surgery next week.  Cheshire is coming out to help me during the week, and this will give me some forced down time since I am supposed to stay off my feet as much as I can for six weeks.  Maybe I will get my contemplation time in and feel fallow.

The surgery which is very minor, just inconvenient, is throwing a kink into applying for second year LEND.  I did not leave anything to the last moment but no one has had time to talk to me, the morning coffee I planned with my mentor for the 21st will be impossible to make because I will not be driving.  Not driving for a week and a half means that meeting with any of the LEND staff, which is strongly advised before applying, will be impossible.  And the initial deadline for applying it May 25.  So, even if I can cram in a meeting this week or on the 22nd or 23rd, I will have little time to prepare a strong statement.  Coupled with that, the email with the application attached (which I received late last week), said that they were contemplating 2 second year students and there are at least 6 people who have expressed interest.  Generally, family trainees do not do a second year, the training is probably much more valuable to students who are helping professionals, and I have the feeling that I do not have the support that I had last year.  There is some ego workings that I am battling and some frustration that no matter how timely I tried to be with my questions, that I will have to rush meetings and application, but at one point today, I felt a calm knowing that this is merely but one door and I can only work as hard as I can to get what I want, and then I have to trust that the outcome will be for my highest good.  

I have ideas and possibilities for next year.  I’ve been confused, pondered, and considered.  I am beginning to put myself out there, apply and ask, and allow the answers to come back.  A few weeks ago, I asked once again to adopt from China.  I was interested in a child whose special need makes her particularly difficult to place.  It will also make her life in China difficult.  She is older and her file was first prepared when she was a toddler.  The agency which recently returned her file told me that not one person other than myself had asked to look at the file.  Still, China would not consider me for this child -- too single and too old.  The decision saddened me, especially for this child.  Too bad that a single, old mother is not better than an orphanage.  

It is a door closed.   

I applied and was accept into the Quest program at FUS.  It will mean two years of deepening spirituality and intentional community building.  

A door opened.

My mother’s house closed and the money is in the bank.  I hoped that this would mean an end to estate work; however . . . . and isn’t there always a “however”  . . . there are two outstanding claims that my homeowner’s insurance is handling.  Although insurance is taking responsibility, the estate cannot be closed while the claims are open.    One of the claims may take a year or two to settle.  And so, I continue.  

This is a door I would love to close and it resolutely remains open.

And so, I will try to view my participation in LEND the same way.  Tonight, I am not so mellow, I lean towards taking any decision personally.  But, if I am meant to be there, they will accept me.  If they think the slot better filled by someone else, then I will find something else.  Acceptance and participation would give me a path.  Not an easy or a clear path, but some structure as I figure out the foreseeable future.  Maybe I am meant to use a path, maybe I am meant to walk in the woods.  

I want most of all to be able to turn and face the wind.

What I saw at the bus stop

We usually run through our morning routine and get out of the house and across the street just in time for the school bus to turn the corner and roll down our street.  I’ve convinced myself that I time our exit from the house so that we can get through our whole routine in, including 15 minutes of meditation -- never an easy fit because neither Julia nor I like getting up early.  Today, I saw why my timing is so good and exactly what I was trying to avoid and it hurts my heart.

Julia is eleven.  She has an alphabet of diagnoses, one of which, PDD-NOS, is pervasive developmental disorder which puts her on the autism spectrum.  She operates on the level of a six or seven year old -- a seven year old with absolutely no social graces.

We were outside early this morning.  I am not sure how we did that because we got out of beds late by ten minutes, but I didn’t wash my hair and Julia was extraordinarily cooperative this morning.  We made it outside and across the street with three minutes to spare.  And in three minutes, I saw how the world treats with people with disabilities.  I saw it in microcosm.  I am neither naive or uneducated but I have not seen it as clearly, as quickly, as completely as I did at the school bus stop.

The school bus picks up third, fourth, and fifth graders from our neighborhood and deposits them into the adjacent neighborhood into an old brick, turn of the last century school building that is arguably one of the best in the city.  These kids go to “kindness camp” during the school year, the rules of the school emphasize that a community is strong when it is diverse and caring, and parents spontaneously send gifts of food and offers of support when a family is in crisis.  A lot of kids wait at our stop and a lot of parents see them off every day.  The scene is one of perfect middle class childhood.  Loving, caring, protective, interested parents seeing off their beloved, well-scrubbed offspring.  One father, whose son emerges from the family van, never gets out himself, but he is the exception and over the year, he has begun waving at the rest of us after the school bus has gone and he leaves to begin his day.

The boys toss around some ball, a football today, snow balls in the winter.  They probably make too much noise but none of the parents have the heart to quiet the early morning exuberance even though the residents of the home we wait in front of contains no children.  Time and again, the parents have wondered if the boys are disturbing someone but they forgive the boys who are expected to contain their energy and do the hard work of learning for the next six hours.  

The girls cluster in twos or threes, or sometimes, like today, in a circle of more than six.  I have no idea of what they are talking about but it is the charming chatter of almost-adolescent girls -- sweet, adorable, catty, and teasing.

Julia wants to be at the bus stop early.  She wants to watch the ball toss and advise from the sidelines or enter into the girls’ conversation.  She is exuberant, hopeful, and utterly inappropriate in her approach.  Today was no exception.  

The cluster of girls was tight but Julia burst in with a “hi, girls” and focusing on one girl in particular asked, “What your name is?”  The girl glanced at Julia and then ignored the question with a sigh.  Julia’s manner was far from cool and the girl was practicing cool.  I could see this, Julia could not.  I held my breath hoping that another one of the girls would jump in with an answer.  Some kindness.

Julia tried again to begin a conversation, again awkward but earnest.  This time the same girl answered Julia’s question in an exaggerated way, rolling her eyes and sending meaningful smirks and giggles to other girls in the circle.  As if on cue, the circle disbanded, breaking into a private conversations a step away from Julia and her conversational victim.  Now, the girl was trapped.  For all of 20 seconds.  She did not try to engaged Julia in conversation, which admittedly takes some compassion and care.  Instead, she feigned interest in something a few steps away and suggested that Julia look at that something.  Julia, ever hopeful that she had hit conversational pay dirt, went to look at the something, chattering away as if the girl was following her and listening.  The girl gestured to her friends, wiping the back of her hand across her brow in mock relief.  The girls laughed and reassembled in a group as quickly as they had disbanded.  This time it was not a circle but a line.  A line in which every girl had her back to Julia.  Every girl had her back to Julia.  

A blink of the eye later, the school bus turned the corner and headed down our street.  The line of girls formed the bus line, the kids got on the bus, Julia waved and sent me a thousand air kisses, and the  morning ritual at the bus stop was finished.  

And I sit here unable to stop my tears.  What do I do?  I want to talk to that girl’s mother.  I want to talk to all the girls’ mothers.  I want to talk to all the parents who wait at my bus stop.  I want to talk to every parent in the school.  I want to put this writing the the school newsletter.  I want to convene a mandatory meeting of all the parents.  I want to change the kids waiting at our bus stop.  I want to change the kids in Julia’s school.  I want to change the world.  I want to rage.  I want to ask for compassion.  I want to ask for help.  I want to ask for understanding.  I want to ask for kindness.  Instead, I sit here unable to stop my tears.  I have no idea of what action to take, what words to say to whom, that would not further alienate Julia from her peers.  

For her part, Julia has no idea of what went on.  She is not tuned into the world of smirks, rolling eyes, and subtle diversion.  Had the girl told her outright to get out of the circle, Julia would have understood, but that was not what happened.  And Julia did not notice the line of girls with their backs to her.  When the line up for the bus began to move into the bus, she blithely tried to start up another conversation.  

Today, I hurt for what I saw, but there will come a day, maybe tomorrow, maybe next year, when Julia will understand the smirks and rolling eyes.  That day, she will hurt.  That might be the day that her challenges turn into disabilities.  

And just a few photos from the month.  Julia sitting on the front deck ready for adventure.  It is still the eyes on the camera that thrill me.

 Latkah the dog, catching her late morning nap in the sunlight.  What luck to find an errant couch pillow on the living room floor!

 And Julia doing what she probably loves most in the world right now, coloring in her bird coloring book.

Recently, both Julia's teacher and our lead therapist asked me if I had video recordings of Julia to see how she is growing and progressing.  I admitted that I had not taken video of her since David died.  He did most of the video recording/movie making, and, well, I just didn't feel like doing it.  But 21 months is a long time in the life of a child and I don't really see progress day-to-day.  

Singing has become part of our morning routine before the bus comes.  After we do our strong sitting, Julia wants a song.  The Baby Tree, with words and music by Rosalie Sorrells is the song I sung for Cheshire when she was little.  I heard it years before I had children sung by the Jefferson Starship on the album Blows Against the Empire.  I'd been singing it to Julia for about a month when one day she started singing it with me.  Its not her first song -- I could be almost embarrassed that, other than Chinese songs and a some fractured Christmas carols, Julia's favorite singing is from the Chipmunks movie.  Those songs tend to be pretty inappropriate.  I've played kid songs and musicals for her since she's been home but she has not picked up much of anything.  She does like the songs from the musical Shrek and sings it loudly when we play them, but there are very few of the words that she really knows.  The Baby Tree is different -- as it was for Cheshire.  She is also much more comfortable being recorded with me than by herself.  That did not work at all.  

Quiet busy week culminating in last night’s movie night at Randall School.  Julia’s school.  Last responsibility of the PTO social calendar.  I showed Howl’s Moving Castle, a Miyazaki film, my favorite.  50 kids and their grownups attended.  We served popcorn and lemonade, and we had a very last minute addition of a student council bake sale.  It was the first time that we did it at Randall and the first time we showed a less than totally commercial film.  Watching all those kids and all those grownups sitting in silent attention, laughing at the subtle jokes, and enjoying the happy ending warmed my heart.  Bringing a new film maker to people’s attention is the reason I started this event -- well, one reason.  I also wanted to start a tradition of community events which were smaller than our big dance and carnival.  Today, I am pretty self satisfied.

And happy to check the responsibility off my list.

Rainy day.  Gray.  Quiet.  I slept with the window open even though it is a bit cold to do so.  Warm quilt and this morning sitting with David’s lap shawl over my shoulders as I tap away.  Perfect weather for today.  Schedule: Julia’s therapy and I will sort a few more year’s memories, afternoon movie, probably The Pirates, FUS where I am reading the welcome today, and home to supper and some playing of Super Mario Wii game.

Two very large burdens fell off my shoulders on Monday and only now do I feel comfortable crowing about them.  The Bloomfield house, the remaining asset in my mother’s estate, closed on Monday.  The estate remains open and work, mostly my lawyer’s work, needs to be done, but all of the estate, every penny is sitting in the bank.  And in the bank I don’t need to worry about the oil spill or insurance or taxes or the water bill.  It happened on Monday late afternoon and as close as Monday morning, we -- lawyer, realtor, and myself -- were not sure it would happen.  Every mishap and side-step that could happen did and I’ve weathered every bump in the road.  And now, even though the estate is not yet closed, the light at the end of the tunnel is visible.  I woke up on Tuesday feeling the lightness of a floating thing -- a speck of dust, a feather, something so light that it is lifted by the wind and carried with ease.  

Strangely enough, on the same day, I went through the last box of basement stuff, the last of the photos and pictures.  It was only when I was finished with the box that I felt the wild synchronicity of the day.  Two projects, both of which will need further work, but the tunnels of completion formed.  Solid now.  Perfectly reachable goals.  So many metaphors here.

Wondering whether lying fallow includes a break from writing every day.  Possible.  I have been using my time to chip away at the mental list of next things and have been falling exhausted into my bed at night.  I long to be out in the garden but it has been too cool to be comfortable and work outside right now would delay completion of my stated tasks.  And completion is what I am all about this week.  So, I welcome the rain, clear directions on how to spend my day.

I hear Julia turning pages.  I have to get her up and ready for therapy this morning but how I love to hear her immediate reach for a book when she wakes up on her own.  They are doing a standardized test next week in class.  Julia gets many accommodations for testing, when she is included in testing which is optional for special ed students in our district.  One accommodation is extra time and so she started the test this last week.  Her teacher reported that she is taking the test much more seriously than ever before.  She is paying attention to it and working at finding answers.  This doesn’t mean that the answers are correct but it is more progress, a subtle development that does not necessarily show in scores.  It is a building block and we, Julia’s team, is quick to notice when those blocks begin to fall into place.  

Finally, this week I found out that I am losing my lead therapist and one of my line therapists.  The line has been with us since Julia began therapy.  The lead came one last year.  I love both of these young women and I will miss our weekly encounters so much, but both of them feel it is time to move on.  And I have to agree.  There are horizons to aim for and some other take on the work that they need to find.  Oh, leaving is so hard.  Missing is hard.  Moving on to the new is not easy.  Over and over, this is what fills my days.  

I face the wind.  Wonder about tomorrow.  Embrace the changes.

Or give it a good try.

And more of the same.  Quiet weekend.  Chores, a little therapy, a performance by the Forward Theater.  Three short plays by Brecht, Dorothy Parker, and Shaw with a comfortable frame to flow from one to the other without abruptness.  I enjoy the theater’s work so much and yet when i go to the performances, it twists my heart once again.  Since I stopped doing theater, shows always carry a bit of pain like seeing a past lover who has moved on and left me still wanting.  I did not, however, stop seeing theater, just had to get used to the ache.  Then, it is Forward Theater, the group that David thought could be a home for some of his work.  He liked the people so much, people who I did not get to know until after he died.  And they are very caring.  They are kind to me, and I have the feeling each time I see company members that they feel a loss.  It is not that no one else feels the loss, but they were his friends, his last new friends.  I am not articulating this well.

Julia and I played a simple game -- Green Eggs and Ham -- and she tried to cheat!  I remember when Cheshire went through that phase at around 6 or 7, when the desire to win was stronger than the will to be fair.  It dismayed me when Cheshire did it, it delights me now.  Julia, who saw absolutely no reason to play games, now wants to win!  And she tried to cheat while looking sideways at me, seeing if i notice, if i can catch her.  Julia is so obvious that there is not way I will not catch her, and I value fairness over winning, thus I certainly will catch her.  

She also walked the dog alone for the first time.  She only went up and down our street where as together we usually walk around a block or two.  She’s been putting on the dog’s leash for awhile now, as well as holding the leash as we walk.  I’ve allowed her sometimes to walk out to the front of the house with the dog while I get ready for a walk.  And so, gradually we’ve worked up to her doing the walk.  I am not ready for her to walk around the block yet.  As it is she tends to get distracted and forget the purpose of her mission whatever it is and yesterday she was having a drug vacation day and I expected her to be more distracted than usual.  But she did a good job being patient and slow.  She also picked dandelions while the dog sniffed and peed which gave focus to her task.

I continue to sort pictures and papers but this is the last major sort.  I put it that way because there are bound to be odds and ends that appear.  The pile on the table is not disappearing as quickly as i’d really like but before week’s end I hope that the dated small piles on the dining room floor are put away in file boxes.  Then a round of culling will have to go on and a page of writing for each year but I can see the end of at least this phase right now.  Every so often I ponder stopping and giving up this huge clean up.  I have paused a number of times when I could not read or look at another thing, but then I’ve taken up the chore again and moved on.  Hard but healing.  

I felt at one time that I might be trying consciously or otherwise to push all of my past away but it is not that way.  I am summing up what I’ve lived.  I am valuing my life up to this point but also taking stock so that I can move on.  To what, I am still not sure, but still to move on.

Oh, I have been quiet. Inside and out. Still there. My work at home remains sorting pictures. It is sad work because I see in the pictures aspects of people that I never knew about, never asked about, never considered. And so many of them are gone from this plane. The one exception is a favorite aunt and uncle, David’s family, and although I’ve not spent great swaths of time with them, our visits have alway been meaty and deep. I look at their young pictures and I see the older and old people that they became. But, the young pictures of my mother and father are not like that at all. I wonder what happened to the joyful faces that must have looked at me with so much love when I toddled around the house. My own face, which in expression if not in likeness, remind me so much of Cheshire’s wild joy as a little kid, glows back at mommy and daddy. When exactly did that change? And why? I remember being a rather moody 8 year old, a kid who was pretty selfish and didn’t like celebrating anyone else’s birthday.

The stack that saddens me the most is that of David’s mother. I can write pages about my own parents and grandparents, I can write a good bit about David’s father and a little bit about his paternal grandmother, but how little I can write about his mother. I know the stories that David told me, but second hand those stories don’t have color, they lack dimension. Cheshire’s first name, Inez, was for David’s mother. Everyone who knew both Cheshire and the original Inez said at one time or another how much Inez would have enjoyed Cheshire. Maybe it is only that that is so very clear -- a woman who would have loved a stubborn, bright, wild child whose life path was a grassy bike path.

When Julia’s intensive autism therapy supported by the state waiver program ends in June, I will be able to apply for post-intensive funding. There are pretty strict rules as to how I can use these funds but it looks like I might be able to use some funds for an i-pad and appropriately related apps. If anyone knows of apps that have been shown to be useful for kids on the spectrum or kids who need extra support in school, please let me know. Almost anything educational works and apps that teach independence or social skills are what I am looking for. Subjects I can think of are telling time, counting money, using a phone, conversation, reading comprehension. I’ve been trying to figure out how I could buy an ipad, so finding out about this opportunity is perfect for the summer, but now I have to put together a budget.

I thought that Julia’s behavior was evening out throughout the week, but today at therapy she did not start out well. While she was playing with another kid, she turned around, stuck her butt out, and tried to fart on him. The kid thought it was funny which didn’t help matters, and Ellen had to pick her up and carry her out of the room. Where? Where? Where did she get that? “I won’t do it again, Mommy,” she promised. Yeah, but what will she try tomorrow?

She argued with Ellen after Ellen took her out of the room and she got angry enough to bite her. Not hard, and not for long, but she bit. This used to be a frequent occurrence but she has not even fooled around pretending to bite for a long time.

At the same time, she finally broke through her reading level of 18. She can decode at a much higher level, but her comprehension is what is holding her back. Last week, she passed 18 and she was very close to passing 20. 22 would put her on a third grade reading level but I don’t know if she’ll hit it before school is out. She is writing independently. Her writing is very simple and sometimes in a rush to write what she wants, she will skip words. She is so happy to be writing words and sentences.

27 years ago this evening at about 9:25, our family received an infusion of grace, known to all as Cheshire. She has grown to be a wonderful, compassionate, caring woman and gives her family and friends so much love. How David and I managed to raise such an incredibly person, I will never know. Happy Birthday, Inez Cheshire.