And the Grinch, with his Grinch feet ice cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling:
"How could it be so?
It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
It came without packages, boxes or bags!"

I feel the marvel of the Grinch this morning, and although my heart had no need to grow three sizes, my spirit did.  

This was not my traditional Thanksgiving.  I did not travel to Maryland to spend the week with Lisa and family, I did not shop and chop and wake up early to get the stuffing in the bird and the bird in the oven.  I did not bake or worry the schedule.  I did not help with the table or arrange the last fall greens and grasses and scavenge a few flowers.  I was not exhausted by the time we finished serving dinner.  I did not spend the weekend with Cheshire and at least one night staying up way too late to solve all the challenges of life.  I did not do what I thought I had to do to feel like it was Thanksgiving.

And still it came.  It came with making only deviled eggs and some cranberry sauce, with an easy day practicing cello, playing Pottermore and reading social studies.  Julia and I went to our friend, Amy’s house and with her family and a few friends, I helped a very little in the kitchen, talked some, listened a lot, and ate and enjoyed.  

And we had Thanksgiving.  

Yes, this is about David and grieving and being so very scared that I would be in that bubble of grief forever.  And scared and insane that if I could not hold onto something that I was sure of, something totally know, I would dissolve.  Perhaps I would have last year or the year before that, but the odd twists of fate, that kept me from the few rituals that I have leaned heavily on for years even before David’s death, pushed me into the new.

So very long ago, when David and I were first together and first figuring out our holidays which were always a blend of our cultures and ethnic roots, and where we lived and how much we wanted to spend time with our families of origin, we experimented.  In those early days, David was the curmudgeon who was unwilling to embrace my Christian traditions and unwilling to celebrate his Jewish traditions.  I wanted to do all and wanted to radically change.  Children, moving, dying friends and family changed what we set down and we changed again.  And again.

I did not know if I could ever again do as much changing as we did together.  

Yesterday, I lived the changing time joyfully.  I missed my dearest ones.  I missed all that I knew of what could make the holiday.  I missed.  I missed.  I missed, but survived.  I changed.  I enjoyed.  It is all bitter sweet, all complex and layered.  There may never again be the pure, simple joy without pain for me, but then, I may be hearing the giggling of the gods when I pronounce my solomon ‘never.’  

Yesterday, Julia and I went to the supermarket before social skills group.  Julia is usually cooperative during food shopping trips.  She will pick out apples or lemons or the like when I ask her to.  Sometimes she will pine over some small stuffed toy or a junky gadget, but the food doesn’t really inspire her; however, yesterday, Julia asked if we could get some chips for her lunch.  And then she examined the entire chip aisle until she found something that was “spicy” and that I would approve of.  (We wound up with spicy salsa sun chips.)  I marveled at her attention.

Perhaps being hungry had something to do with her interest?  Perhaps she is a kid who should shop hungry?  

Two developments for me today:

1. I asked our PTO to sponsor a mindfulness class for Franklin-Randall families run by someone who has done the same at FUS.  I’ve been turned down today and told that if I wanted to move on this to get an outside vendor permit and rent school space.  I don’t think that the teacher I have in mind will want to go through that process or has the funds to rent the space.  Trying for a work around, but not hopeful.

2. Meeting someone today who is working with kids on mindfulness in the schools with the slim possibility of interning with her.  The way my luck has been running, I don’t expect it to work out.  There always seems to be something in the way.

3. Went to a training yesterday for the Family Navigator program at Waisman.  The training was for a program called Pathways -- a way to interact with families to gather information is a family friendly way.  Wow, to have such a tool and to really develop some skill using it.  Because I cannot be a navigator, I will not get that chance.  Deep envy although undeniable gratitude that such a thing is being tried.

I am so ready for this to be a long weekend.  I am feeling a physical regret about not seeing Cheshire or Lisa and family this Thanksgiving.  I am grateful for Amy’s invitation to dinner.  This change, however it has come about -- translate: this was not of my choosing -- still the change is not a bad thing.  It is what I asked for.  Possibly making me more grateful next year, possibly leading to some change that I cannot even now imagine.  Sometimes I feel my alignment with spirit/universe/god and marvel at the path.  Sometimes it is all just so disjointed and choppy.  

It has been snowing since some time very early in the morning.  Just enough is on the ground to justify using my snow blower, more to make sure it is working and ready for the really big snows to come than to clear what is there now.  But I promised myself a writing this morning before anything else.  And so . . . 

On Saturday, I drove to Northbrook, IL, near Chicago, to see an eye doctor, Deborah Zelinsky.  Consulting with her is perhaps the beginning of my exploring non-evidenced based therapy/treatment for Julia.  Without explaining what I can about the eye care that Dr. Z offers, an online description  that is not on her website says:

The Mind-Eye Connection was created to fill the need for evaluation of interconnections between auditory and visual processing systems.   Most people don't realize that alteration of eyeglasses and/or contact lenses affects auditory localization.  Even people who have 20/20 central eyesight can benefit from peripheral and other sensory integrative processing.  In addition to the eyes themselves, we evaluate systems connected with the eyes. We emphasize peripheral eyesight and moving targets, and have a patient base consisting of routine eye care patients as well as people on the autistic spectrum, those who have suffered brain injuries and children with developmental delays and/or learning problems.

The exam was incredible.  All the regular eye testing was done and then some others.  Dr. Z, herself, is pretty much brilliant.  Using the tests and her observation and interaction with Julia, she told me and her intern about Julia and described her spot on.  Julia has trouble seeing the board in front of the classroom.  I see her squinting at things like her sheet music if it is not very close to her.  Dr. Z says that Julia has 20/20 vision but that her internal focus has kept her from developing the muscle strength to see at a distance.  Like, she doesn’t reallyHer prescription is pink tinted lens that are a slight prism which should get Julia to look out further and to encourage her eyes to work her muscles.  This is a very simplistic explanation but I cannot explain the workings of the eye the way that the doctor can.  

I did a good deal of research before I made the appointment.  LEND and my friends at Waisman have given me a very healthy dread of non-evidence based treatments.  I know I can suffer from wanting to believe that there is something out there that will make a world of difference to Julia -- to fill in her holes.  David was, for better or worse, so much more skeptical.  Possibly he kept me from a few foolish endeavors.  Now,   I must be both the dreamer and the rationalist.  

Perhaps that is why I was incredibly anxious as we drove to Chicago on Saturday.  At one point, there were snow showers -- not awful at all, but the first of the season -- and I was almost in tears.  I took many slow long breaths which helped my physical anxiousness but not what was going on inside my head.  

Julia did splendidly at the appointment.  There were a lot of tests and most of them as boring as all eye tests are.  Julia has never been one for doing tests that are not of interest to her and she did complain some.  She also allowed herself to be coaxed into finishing the tests which I have rarely seen.  The big pay off, that neither of us knew about in advance, is that her halloween Harry Potter glasses can be used for her prescription.  The way this therapy may go is that the lens will be changed every few months.  We will not know for sure until Julia uses the glasses for a few weeks and she is examined again.

When I asked Dr. Z what to expect, she would not tell me.  She says she does not want to prejudice me in any way.  This could sound rather like a scam but I trust this woman.  She read Julia like a book.  I’ve rarely seen someone work with Julia so well and so quickly.  I think she is sincere, brilliant, quirky and possibly is really onto something.  Well, I say “she is on to something”, there is a whole cadre of Neuro-Developmental Optometrists and an association.  It is not just her.  What I researched goes hand in hand with the idea of neuro-plasticity and bottom line, if it can give Julia a small hand up, fill in a few holes, it will be a miracle. 

I drove home, exhausted, not only from the amount of driving but from the emotion toll of the day, but I felt very much at peace.   I still do.

And Julia woke up this morning asking when her  glasses were coming!

After an autumn of failed ideas -- failed in that a very interesting set of ideas just can’t get off the ground due to technical difficulties with organizational rules or plain ol’ lack of interest -- an idea to bring mindfulness classes for families to our school community sparks my interest and I wrote a query to a teacher and to the community.  There was immediate and overwhelming community interest as well as teacher interest.  I am off on the next step -- contacting PTB to see if the idea is feasible and allowable.  Feeling very much this morning like the “failed” portion of the autumn ideas was a necessary step to moving in a new direction.

Don’t know if anything will grow out of yesterday’s seeds.  Planting without expectation.  Watering with courage.

This morning, I had three old fillings removed and refilled and then I came home and rearranged my air travel for the winter break.  The re-fillings are working.  I hope the rearrangement of air travel works as well.

I’ve begun writing about my parents for the family picture/document file.  Right now, there are precious few people to comment on the truth of my perceptions and by the time that someone reads what I’m writing, perhaps there will be no one who has more than dim recollections. I lament that I have so little to write about my grandparents and even less about David’s family.  Of course, I expected him to remember his own parents and grandparents.  But even of my own, and even with my grandmother’s pictures, I have only a little to say.  Another but . . but as I begin writing about my parents, I feel the power of the story.  I could tell the story that I want to tell.  In my version, they might adore me, applaud my choices, or reject me in such a way to make some future relative cringe.  My own perceptions surely color their story mightily, but I could stray far from my own perceptions.  I could say anything that I liked.  I could make an exciting tale.  

I have never quite felt such power of story.  History can be lethal.

And it is late.  I should be asleep.  Instead, I am hanging on, like a reluctant child to the ends of this day.  

Resilience is the ability to bend and weave, to move and duck, to cancel and regroup, to edit, to leave, to begin anew.  If this be so, I am learning to be resilient again.

The weekend brought changes.

My annual trip to Baltimore for Thanksgiving is cancelled due to family matters on the Baltimore end.  I mourned this over the weekend, talking to Cheshire and realizing that it was not possible to change plans to go to NYC.  So, we will be home which I have longed for.  For a day, I was lost with great fear that I would be spending the day alone with Julia.  That is really no way to celebrate.  We did that sort of things back in the day -- David, Cheshire and I and it was fine, but Julia is a lousy dinner companion.  We need more.  I will ask about for who is around, who needs two dinner companions.  I can cook or be cooked for.

There is the possibility of extending Christmas travel time by going to Baltimore for New Years.  Is this what I was asking for months ago?  Complete change?  A shaking up of routine?  Is this part of healing?

Julia helped with the raking yesterday.  The big, big tree which holds onto leaves the longest finally let go last week and we had a lot to rake.  We filled the compost bins which are much smaller than I’ve kept for years and put the rest out to the curb for leaf collection.  I raked while she filled the plastic barrel to carry out to the street.  It took us a long time and thankfully, Julia did not complain.  Her work, although not an adult share, was not negligible.  At first, I felt it was taking me too long to instruct her, but after awhile, she fell into step and we could be proud of all our work together when we were finished.  Physical work is so good for Julia.  And me.  

Today, I thought I would do the front yard which I’ve done before and so is not as filled as the back was.  However, it is snowing!  Snowing, sticking to the roofs, and not stopping.  Raking in the snow has much too much of a desperate sound to me.  I can only hope it does not accumulate and I will be given a few hours later this week to finish up.  Back garden is “put away” but there remains a few chores in the front.  It is November and I have ordered a new down coat that I will use soon, but I was hoping for a few more days.

I’ve been grousing to myself all weekend -- changes, hard work to do almost alone, and really sick of cooking every day.  And trying to rid myself of this cold.  Being sick is never good for my temperament.  Today, most of it is gone.  I am grateful for what I have and what I can do.  There is a bit of joy infusing into my being.  3 years, 4 months and 6 days.  It is the decision to be of this world that begins the healing, but the process is dammed long and I am sure the next road block is just visible on the horizon.  Still, today, there is a little joy.

Written 8 November 2013

I’ve been feeling sick -- head ache, cough, stuffy nose -- and it is worse at night.  I tend to fight the feelings for a few days and then give in and take care of myself.  Today, I give in.  Water and tea! Sleep and naps. I have wanted to fast but I should now wait a few days and see if I feel better.  Coffee this morning, a rare treat these days, helps.

So, sick but beginnings of competence.  Talked to my banker about money and a media guy about photoshop.  No, they are not in the same league but things in which I am inching my way towards competence.

I am fading from Waisman and from what I see right now, I will probably not finish the work I need to get my certificate.  I’ve always said that the certificate meant nothing to me but I have always expected that the most appropriate project would appear for me to finish.  It is not and the project I am in is moving further and further away from any possibility of my participation.  Had not considered fading away, as opposed to graduating or quitting, but I think fading might be what I am doing. I may be becoming transparent.  There is a slim possibility of meeting with someone who may be working with kids on contemplative practice and possibly working with her but -- and oh, how I hate those but’s.  So, no but.  This is a series of “mays” and “mights” and “possibilities” that appears more and more remote as time passes and email goes unanswered.

Where does this put me?  Untethered, for sure.  Possibly that is where I belong right now.  No idea.  Fumbling around in the twilight and tripping over flat objects. 

5:04 and it is dark, but on the up side there is a bit of light when Julia gets on the bus in the morning.  I put on the flannel sheets today and as soon as a store the wheelbarrow, I will be putting the car in the garage every night.  Ummm . . . winter.

I don’t think I wrote about the re-emergence of Julia’s scratching on her arm.  The summer’s intense healing pretty much destroyed within a few days.  This time, however, I am on it immediately -- creams, ointments, bandaids and gloves.  Oh, and lectures.  And some pleading and rational discussion too.  I have no idea whether I can stem this tide but I am not ready to give up.  Whether it is change of season, release of trauma with Ellen or something else, it doesn’t matter.  I believe her when she says it itches -- after all, she doesn’t scratch her other limbs or other parts of her body mindlessly.  What is so concerning is the compulsion and her inability to stop.  I don’t think that pain is an issue -- she scratches way past that.

I wonder about the line between stimming and compulsion.  Do they overlap at times?  Can some behavior start as one and morph into the other?  

Julia is typing -- hunt and peck -- her weekly paragraph.  I didn’t think she would get here this year but it takes her only a little bit longer to type than it does to write, and she doesn’t erase typing.  Talk about compulsive!!  Letter perfection is a killer.

We worked on is/was, are/were in this paragraph.  She mixes tenses all the time and she seems to have gotten down first letter capital and period after the last work.  Time to move on to tense agreement although I did not tackle all of it for this assignment.  Talking about past, present and future was impossible two years ago -- maybe even a year ago.  This small step for most kids is such a big milestone for her.  

This week’s paragraph: 

Bottle Hunt

One afternoon Judy and Rocky were going out bottle hunting to save the world. The third grade kids were recycling the bottles to buy a tree to plant a tree in the children’s rain forest in Costa Rica. Rocky found old bottles in his garage. Judy found some milk jugs in her house. Judy’s classmates piled all the plastic bottles on top of each other. Mr.Todd said that the next day they will find out how many bottles they had collected. I wonder what Judy was thinking about planting a tree.

These are supposed to be reflective paragraphs and this was the first time that we were able to work in the “I wonder” beginning to the last sentence.  She needs lots of support to produce this and lots of time.  We decide on what she will write about on Sunday and she begins to fill out a story format sheet.  She usually writes the topic sentence that day as well.  On Monday and Tuesday, she adds two or three sentences each day, and on Wednesday, she types and edits.  I am not always as patience as I should be, or that she needs, but slowly we are tackling this.

9:55 and I’ve raked the gardens and planted the last 40 or so bulbs.  Worth noting because I am rarely that ambitious and productive this early.  Not totally self-motivated -- snow is forecast for parts of the state tonight and the leaf collection trucks were a block away.  I still have raking and garden cleanup but I’ve been stressing about getting the bulbs in before a hard frost.  And raking . . . well, my big tree is starting to release leaves but plenty of those golden gifts are still on branches and there is one more small tree that have not let go of a single gem.  

Talked to Cheshire last night and talk about raking almost surprised.  I remember the sentiment.  Those NYC years of hardly noticing changes of seasons by what was happening in gardens and on suburban streets.  Leaves were accessories and no one owned a rake.  

Feeling the lift of finishing my mother’s estate.  Taxes and a small reserve is all that is left.  Checks have been cashed and are no longer my concern.  I am ready to let go of all of it.  I hope it is ready to let go of me.  

With the lift of that burden, I’ve once again fallen head long into my picture files to scan and sort.  My new scanner does a fine job and most pictures are better scanned than in the original.  And I am writing about the relatives that I know about realizing at times that I know nothing but vague memories of event that have no time or place.  I write of a child’s perceptions and have no way of filling in empty holes.  For example, my uncle was married twice.  I don’t remember his first wife and his daughter although I may have met them but I remember his son from that marriage.  My last memory of him was either before or just after my sister was born.  I was 5 or 6, Paul was 8 or 9.  I remember his striped polo shirt and that he was so much taller than I was.  I, the chubby child mountain.  I was the oldest of most of the cousins and friends that my parents entertained and so big boys were a mystery to me.  I looked up at Paul and he was just lovely.  I would not say that I had a crush on him, even a 5 year old crush, but an acute admiration.

And then, that boy, that cousin Paul, vanished from my life.  My uncle had a second wife and was beginning a second family -- my sister and his oldest child from that marriage the same age -- and Paul was no longer.  My pictures, my grandmother’s pictures, attest to how he was adored by his grandparents and my parents, but he was gone.  I remember my grandmother mentioning him in hushed tones, but rarely.  He was not talked about, no birthday cards sent or received from him.  No pictures of his school years or graduations or wedding.  Of course, I do not know this absolutely, but he was out of my world and by the time that my uncle produced his second brood, Paul and his sister were never even thought of.

What surprises me is that I never asked.  Never had a curious bone in my body about this boy.  I google his name -- the one that I know -- and come up with nothing.  He is just lost.