A Bit of the Aspie Life

For a long time I've wanted to update this blog. For one reason or another it just didn't take. Once I lost an entry when I couldn't connect to Blogger. Just as well, really. It's now floating somewhere in cyberspace, alone and lost, like the orphan it deserves to be.

Often, though, I've had a thought and just been too tired to do anything with it. Partly it's because I have hay fever. But mostly it's because I have Asperger's Syndrome.

Asperger's can be a rotten thing. In one way or another, it touches everything in my life. Like this blog. Should I write or should I not? What can I write about? Is my topic suitable? What makes a suitable topic? Is my writing good enough? Will anybody read this? I'm sure all bloggers have these thoughts, more or less. But they don't agonize over it constantly, for hours.

And it's not just my blog. I can have a crisis about anything. Should I wash the dishes now, or later? Will I do it well enough? What if the dishwasher leaks again?

Jobs outside the home are just the same. I constantly analyze my own performance and wonder if it's good enough. This all sounds very self-centered, but it's not. I don't, can't see the world, or myself, the way "normal" persons do. I've always felt as though all human interaction, all human activity operates under a set of rules I can never understand. Body language is foreign to me. I can't see the "hidden meanings" in the words of others. (I never even knew that words could have hidden meanings until I read about it in a book!)

So I spend a lot of time in my own world, in the company of my own thoughts. It's a safe place, happy and warm. As long as I stay I don't have to struggle with the hidden world beyond myself.

But I sometimes wonder if anyone else will ever know what it's like to see the world through my mind. Will anyone ever care?

Vatican: Pulling Plug on Terri Akin to Capital Punishment

I'm afraid I must disagree with the Vatican on this one. No civilized country would mete out capital punishment by withdrawing food and water.

Hopefully Terri Schiavo is too brain-damaged to know what is happening to her. Though at terrisfight.org I've seen some video clips that make me uneasy. In these Terri appears to be severely brain-damaged yet certainly aware of her surroundings and capable of emotion.

Of course her husband, Mark Schaivo, knows much more about her situation than I do. But from these videos I'm afraid she is able to suffer. No doubt she would be better off to be with God, but starvation and dehydration is a horrible death. If there is any chance that Terri can still feel, however slightly, letting her die this way is obscene.

Old and New

Some years ago I owned a fairly nice collection of Christmas tree ornaments, inherited from my late parents. Some were antiques. They had been on every family Christmas tree since I was born.

After our marriage I shared them with my husband. I loved seeing the old things on our very first tree. It seemed a perfect blending of my past with my present, and helped heal the pain of my parents' deaths.

Then we had children. Our younger child is a five-year-old, possibly autistic boy who likes to throw things. We used the old ornaments because these were all we had; we couldn't afford to buy more. We tried everything. Nothing worked. One by one, the lovely glass balls went smash against the wall Each time I heard one break my own heart broke a little too.

Fortunately we acquired more ornaments. Some were gifts from relatives. Many were left behind from a tenant of a family rental house. A few were made by our children as school projects. All graced our tree this Christmas.

Today we finally took down the Christmas tree. We're late because I've been quite ill for several weeks with a lung infection. As I took down the ornaments I thought about our old ones and our new ones. It's interesting how motherhood changes one's perspective. Our tree is much more beautiful now than it was with the antique ornaments. The best ones, that really make it shine, are the paper reindeer and the glass stocking that reads "Baby's First Christmas 1997". And the ones made precious by the memory of my son's eager hands putting them on the branches two and three at a time.

My old baubles served their time well. But the entire lot would look shabby next to a piece of red cardboard with a string for a loop, framing a picture of our daughter sitting on Santa's lap.

The Disaster

I feel that I should say something on the tragedy in Asia, since so many others have done so. I have read many eloquent expressions of grief and faith. I have a full heart. But, lacking skill, I could only repeat the beautiful sentiments of others.

I would like to offer money, but right now we have none. Hopefully, later on I'll be able to give a little. Right now all I have to offer is prayer.