Wind, wind, wind

Wind! It's windy here. Went to the grocery store. Saw lots of old ladies being blown about the parking lot. Windy days provide chances for random acts of kindness.

Blossoming in the air

Not only are the Spring flowers showing signs of arriving and blessing us with their radiant colors, our Miss Independence is blossoming too. MI is suddenly aware of being a social creature. Most of her 4 years on this Earth have been in her own little world. It was almost like she viewed us as some sort of extra-terrestrial encounters when we would impose ourselves on her. NO. MI is not autistic. She just wasn't interested in the rest of us. She existed in her own little world.

Now suddenly MI wants to have friends. MI wants to have playdates. MI wants to talk to us. Even her preschool teachers are amazed at the change in MI. They say it's like a switch turned on all of a sudden. At first MI's road into the social world was a rocky one. When she wanted attention she was sometimes pretty physical in getting it. But she's doing better and uses her words more. Really is quite cute to hear her say to another child, "Excuse me, I want..." I had been drumming it in to her head that manners will get her far in the world.

I don't know why this development should surprise me since MI didn't start talking until she was 22 months old. Far later than the other 2 girls. However, MI talked in sentences when she did start talking. She's remained pretty quiet for several years but I doubt that continues now with this new socialness in her. Apparently it is MI's nature to take her time in doing something but once she decides to do it there is no stopping her. Her birth was like that. She was late by a week but once the labor started she didn't waste anytime in coming!

Making sense out of senses

There are more senses than the big four (sight, sound, smell and feeling). We are totally unaware of all the senses that we use just to move through our environment. Several of these senses are related to the organ we use for hearing but it isn't hearing. Remember the inner ear? Well that is an amazing organ that does quite a bit of work for us all the time. It not only collects the stimuli that is translated into meaningful sounds but it also tells us whether we are upright, lying down, sitting, etc.

Why am I writing about this? Because I never knew how many senses we have. I never knew that things could go wrong with the intrepretation of the stimuli. I do now because after many years of thinking that something wasn't quite right with Storyteller I finally found out what it is. She has Sensory Processing Disorder. It tends to be mild but things can set off temper tantrums that others find uncomfortable.

Starting in January Storyteller began her therapy sessions. It is rather amazing that things are settling down. Storyteller's temper tantrums are fewer. We actually respond differently to her now. Now we stop and try to evaluate the environment to figure out what is bothering her. We try to lessen those things we can not change and change those we can.

Take this morning. First Storyteller is recovering from something. Two, she didn't get to bed early enough last night. Three, this morning the sun was out in full force. After calming her rage and figuring out what was bothering her I gave her a pair of sun glasses to wear. Sounds corny to wear sunglasses in the house but it did make a change to her responses to her environment.

So I suppose the world will think of me as a mother to a special needs child but I don't. I'm a mother to a child. She is bright, sweet, and loving. Storyteller is filled with compassion. She is intelligent. There is nothing wrong with her other than how her brain interprets the stimuli around her. Don't get me wrong. I will do everything in my power to get her the help she needs but I don't think of her any differently.

Lenten Thoughts

As a practicing Catholic I enter into the coming Lenten season with much confusion and indecision. Almost every year I struggle to find something to give up in preparation for Easter. This year is no different. What should I give up? I suggested to Passionfruit that perhaps I should give up pleasure reading. He said I ought to give up my new addiction. Ever hear of Alchemy? It's a computer game from Pop cap games. I've become somewhat addicted to it. My older sister, Sister Sister, introduced me to it indirectly. She gave our daughters her cast-off computer. It's on that computer. I finally learned to play the game and now I'm hooked. I even dream about it.

So now I sit here trying to decide what I should do for Lent. Will it be pleasure reading or Alchemy?

Bourne Supremacy

I finished watching the Bourne Supremacy. It was rather fun in a thrilling way. But it left me with some new thoughts about my father. This weekend my mother let it out of the bag that the CIA tried to recruit my father after he retired from the Air Force. You have to understand my father at that point in time was over 50 years old. Not your stereotype age of a spy.

So now I'm left pondering what did my father do in the service. When I think back on things I realize that maybe my father did not have exactly the normal experience in the military. When my father retired he had served his country for 30 years. In that time he fought in 2 wars (Korea and Vietnam). Had three different tours in foreign countries (Italy, Germany and Iran). At one point in the '60s my dad was detailed to the Secret Service. He worked on Lyndon Johnson's ranch.

In our many talks my father told me about the times he had contact with Military Intelligence. One of those times was during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Military Intelligence had acquired some documents listing several hundred Americans. My father's name appeared on that list. The MI wanted to know why my father's name was on that list. Apparently they interrogated my father at length. My father had no clue why his name was on the list. Apparently every other individual on that list didn't know why their names were on that list. The best that the MI could come up with was it was a list of probable leaders of insurgency should the U.S. government fall and an invasion occurred. In other words it was a list of those who were to be found and executed.

While we lived in Iran my father was again on a list. This time the Savak found a hide out for terrorists. They had a map with all the routes the bus my father and brother took to work. They had pictures of every man who rode that bus. I mean it must have been like what you see in the movies. Only this time it was real. The terrorists were planning to hit the bus sometime. It's a sobering thought. We don't know what they were planning to do but I'm sure it wasn't to ask them to tea.

Also, while we lived in Iran my father would leave. He would be gone for unspecified periods of time. We never knew where he was or what he was doing. I do remember my mom. I remember how she would jump when the phone rang or the door bell pealed. Later in life I remember my mom talking about never knowing whether Dad would come back. She talked of the fear of not knowing what happened to Dad.

So now I ponder... was there more to my Dad than Chief Master Sergeant. In fact it makes me wonder about a couple of incidents that happened to me in India. I was approached by a woman. She had a thick accent. She wanted to know where I was from. After I told her, I asked her where she was from. She didn't want to answer but I pressed her for one. She told me she was from Soviet Union. It was a rather puzzling episode on an elevator. It stuck with me. I mentioned it to my father. He made a rather odd comment. I remember him saying, "If I were still in the military I would have to report this incident." Which now makes me wonder about another situation that developed in the same place. All of this happened in New Dehli. While I was there I had caught some sort of virus. I went out with my group of Girl Scouts but eventually I didn't have the strength to continue shopping and sight-seeing. So I told everyone in my group I was going back to the hotel. Breaking every rule in Girl Scouting I went back by myself. I felt confident that nothing would happen to me in India. I was more travel savvy than my chaperon was, and I knew I could handle any situation that I might face.

As I traveled back to the hotel I became aware that I was being followed. He was a very handsome man dressed as a Sikh. I started to feel a bit alarmed. I tried shaking him off. But to no avail. I finally approached him and asked him if I could help him. He said that he thought I might need help. He offered to escort me back to the hotel. I decide that he was following me anyway so I might as well have him by my side. I said good-bye to him at the entrance of the hotel. I thought that would be the last I saw of him.

A couple of days later my group was returning from dinner. We got stopped by a wedding procession. A groom was going off to pick-up his bride on the back of a horse. There were all these people dancing and singing. They were having a most excellent time. So good that a friend and I got carried away from our group (literally). Some man had grabbed me up and was carrying me away. I could see my friend. She had the same type of feelings about this development as I did. We were being molested by all these men. Our breasts and buttocks were pinched and squeezed. Things were truly out of control. We were terrified. Suddenly out of no where the Sikh shows up and manages to detach us from this wild group. He escorts us back up the street where our dumb struck travel companions stood. I thanked him for his help. He kept asking whether we were okay. We assured him we were fine. We weren't about to tell him about the indignities we suffered. Too embarassing. We continued to see him here and there as we wandered the streets of New Dehli. I was curious then why he attached himself to us but now I wonder even more. Was there some sort of clandestine stuff going on around us? Were we being protected officially?

At one time I wanted to write a biography of my father. I never started. I've thought about writing requesting his military record. Now I wonder whether it would really be worth it. In one way I fear that it might only lead to more questions that would have to remain unanswered. Did my father really only work on the president's ranch? Or did he do things that we will never know about? What did he do in his absences from Tehran, Iran? Why did my mother worry so? More importantly, why did she worry about never knowing what might have happened to Dad if he never came back?

Memory? What memory?

Once again I've sat down in front of the computer to write about something. Only to forget whatever it is that I was planning on writing. So I'm going to write about my memory... Or I should say my lack of memory.

Lately I can't remember what I've done the rest of the day. Ask me about yesterday and I'll give you a vague stare. Yesterday? There was a yesterday? Those are the questions running through my mind to that question.

People think I'm joking when I say that I think I'll get tested for Alzeheimers but I'm not, not really. With how forgetful I am it is showing up in my work. I think this next appraisal will not be quite so glowing... and with good reason. So I'm kinda wondering whether I will be asked to leave. In one way it would be a relief but I've grown accustom to the extra pin money, and it would be hard to cut back. But I suppose I would be able to do it.

This is so difficult for me because I use to have such an excellent memory. When I was younger I could remember the slightest detail of a day. Now all I have is the old memories. Nothing of recent time is there. For example I think I asked Passionfruit several times what it was he was eating this afternoon. I'm surprised he didn't get really upset with me. What's even more terrifing is I knew that I had recently asked him what he was eating I just couldn't remember what the answer was. One of those times I didn't remember I had asked him until he told me what he was eating.

I have a friend with early onset Alzeheimers. He is only in his fifties. I saw him at a party a couple of months ago. He looked good. I think I might have approached him too fast, and too familiarly but he covered rather well. But about 10 minutes later he came to me and gave me a hug and asked me how I was. My heart breaks when I think about this man. I always enjoyed dancing with him but he can't now because he can't remember the steps. He is a really great dancer. It really bums me out. But the worst part is I hate knowing that he may only get worse. I hate the idea that he won't remember his children at some point and my heart breaks for his wife because there may come a time when she will only be an intimate stranger.

What's worse is being scared that I may be heading down that road myself. My grandfather and grandmother (paternal) died from Alzeheimers. I think my father may have been developing Alzeheimers but he was struck down with cancer before things really, really got obivious. Thank God. But I could see things in my father in the last years of his life where he was confused at times. He would frequently confuse me for one of my sisters. But I can't remember the other examples of his confusion.

Alzeheimers is such a terrible disease. It touches so many lives. Of course the individual with Alzeheimers but also the care takers and family members. I don't have much first hand experience with the disease for my grandfather died at 54, and I lived half a continent away from my grandmother. I do have a distinct memory of visiting my grandmother the summer after I got married. I took Passionfruit to meet my grandmother. By this time my grandmother was at the state of just sitting and not interacting with the world around her. I remember going in and kissing her forehead. She didn't show any sign of recognition. It was like she wasn't my grandmother. Worse than that it was like she wasn't living anymore. Alive but not living. We took her outside for some sunshine. While we were out there my grandmother looked at Passionfruit and asked him, "Have you done your good deed for the day?" Passionfruit wasn't sure how to answer that one. So he asked her what she wanted. Because my grandmother had forgotten how to walk and wasn't able to move around much the nursing home had put boots on her feet to keep them from developing bedsores. She wanted Passionfruit to remove them from her feet. How this made me cry. For just a few seconds my grandmother had come back to us.

That is the horrors of this disease. Alive but not living.