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Posts Tagged ‘Mozart’

Holy cold.  The moment I announce my intent to go all winter without light or heat, I’m ready to drag out the space heater; it occurs to me I should ask a plumber just how low I can let my temperature get before I’m in danger of my pipes freezing.  The fact that this is all self-imposed hardly occurs to me.

It’s 50 degrees in my house right now and not even freezing temperatures outside yet.  My thermostat is still at 45 but I’m not sure that’s high enough.  I researched a little on the ‘Net but mostly there’s advice for people leaving their homes for the winter.  The fact that I run hot water to hand wash my dishes and take showers should count for something, right?  (That’s not a rhetorical question.  If you know, please tell me!)

I’m reading Laura Ingalls Wilder’s The Long Winter over and over, reminding myself of what she and her family survived through conditions far worse than my own.  I re-watch Alone in the Wilderness, a documentary about Dick Proenneke living alone for 30+ years in Twin Lakes Alaska, and hear his words echoing in my mind:  “It’s a toasty 40 degrees in the cabin today.”

I think to myself I can do this, I can manage.  I can “come out” of the cold to my car, or a friend’s house, or even the dreaded mall.  But it’s really hard to get out of my toasty bed in the mornings.  Manzo-kitty even has his own comfy blanket and snuggles next to me on the bed.

Yesterday my mom and I drove down to visit Boo.  On the way we listened to her new Barry Manilow “Dream Duets” CD, in which he has inserted himself into various deceased singers’ tunes – everyone from John Denver to Marilyn Monroe.  It’s kind of cool, in a slightly creepy way.  At least it wasn’t Sing Along With Mitch.

Oh, and it turns out they did find a train conductor costume for Boo to wear on Halloween, and he loved it.

Jonah, train conductor extraordinaire

Jonah, train conductor extraordinaire

One more reason to appreciate the folk at the Anderson Center for Autism.

I also found out they think his aggressions have increased in school due to some classroom staff changes; his aggressions at Birch House (where he lives) have stayed steady, which is to say mostly mitigated.

At least there is a reason, an antecedent.  It’s a huge thing for us…to be able to know why Jonah is upset.

At Andy’s apartment Jonah was overwhelmed, I think, by the variety & choices of items to eat.  Both my mother and I brought special items from Halloween with which to spoil Boo.  Usually he enjoys taking items we bring and putting them away – in the cabinet, refrigerator, or wherever else he deems they belong.  This day, though, he began to open up mini potato chip bags and chocolate cookie boxes and the silver-foil wrapped tuna fish sandwich, all before we could interfere and take most of the excess away.

Then he started scrolling through requests for things he didn’t have before him:  pot pie? pepperoni?  strawberry milk?  apple cider?

He was getting “squirrely,” as Andy and I call it, and so when I tried to calm him or help, Andy stopped me.  “Let me handle him,” he said firmly, as he often does.  Tears always spring to my eyes; while I know Andy is trying to protect me from a possible aggression, it is frustrating to have Jonah largely uninterested in me and at the same time be prevented from interacting with him – even if it is for my own safety.

On our car ride to get apple cider, I snapped one picture of him smiling and one of him imitating a strange skill I possess (of touching my tongue to the tip of my nose):

happy boo

happy boo

he's not as skilled as his mama but he tried

He’s not as skilled as his mama, but he tried…

And then a video of Jonah’s requested song:  Live for Love, by Prince…you can see his daddy handing him some lip balm for optimal comfort during Boo’s listening, rocking joy:

He’s got a new method and skill for selecting desired music.  He’ll say to daddy Wan take a picture? which actually means May I please have the case of CDs?

Then he announces the name (actual or self-invented) CD he wants, and selects it from the sleeves within the case.  Once he hands it up to daddy, he announces the number of the track he wishes to hear.  Sometimes it’s one simple request: number seven?  and other times Andy has to start at the CD’s beginning and Jonah will say number one? number two? etc. until he’s found (and will eventually memorize) the track number he really wants.

Although this new skill is impressive, it gets old when he wants one song from each CD, after having zipped up and handed the case back to Andy, requiring Andy to take it out and hand it over again – and eventually, inevitably, Andy simply suggests radio.  Usually this is cool with Jonah but once in a while he’ll confuse us with his rapid-fire requests:  Diamonds and Pearls?  – followed by  No Diamonds and Pearls?

And so once Andy suggests radio Jonah is usually resigned to his pop tunes by whomever-the-hell is cranking them out these days.  I’m a geezer with Top 40 and know barely any of the artists.   My tastes tend toward alternative (ex. The Pixies or The Elizabeth Kill), or classic (ex. The Beatles or Pink Floyd), or classical (ex. Mozart et al).  And of course, Guster, best of them all.

Suddenly I’m in a writing zone again.  Maybe November will be blog-heavy.  Who knows?  It keeps me warm, oddly enough – or at least is a distraction from the cold!

I did not end up going to see Boo today.  I am sneezing and stuffy, and yesterday I took my very first Boniva pill to stave off my osteoporosis.  I think I’m suffering a nasty-ass side effect of it with which I won’t gross you out.  At least I only have to take it once a month!

Hopefully the side effect goes away before the Jethro Tull show tonight my cousin B is treating me to experience.

Time to drink a hot beverage, do some jumping jacks, put in a movie and run in place, hold my hands over a candle, bake some cinnamon rolls (and open that beautiful oven door all the way afterward to release the heat), take a short drive with the heat blasted.  Anything besides sit still and f-f-f-f-freeze.

Hello from the hibernating hippie!

Hello from the hibernating hippie!

 

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If your head tells you one thing and your heart another,
before you do anything, you should first decide
whether you have a better head or a better heart.

~ Marilyn vos Savant

Undoubtedly my heart is better than my head, but I’m not sure if that’s saying all that much.  Oftentimes I extinguish the embers attempting to flare into emotions simply because I don’t want to feel those emotions.  And other times the embers are fed by a circumstance or song, and they flicker and come aflame unbidden…causing anything from tight-jawed pain to tremendous joy.

Yesterday Jonah was a happy kid.  My mom waited in the car while Andy and I went to the residence, and Boo was standing excitedly by the front door.  I had brought his “octopus” with me, but a small red-headed boy hugged me and held out his hand for the toy, so I dropped it in his palm, smiling as he ran off happily to play with it.  Jonah didn’t mind, and I can always buy him another.  Jonah’s more concerned with where grandma is, and whether or not there will be delicious things to eat.  We went into his room to gather a windbreaker, and another kid came running in to jump & land on Jonah’s bed.  Another kid was in Jonah’s window because he loves to look out at the playground. Party in Boo’s room.  Jonah tolerated it nicely as we apologized for the handfuls of hair incident from the other day, and asked about his morning (which, they told us, was good).

The caregivers who had endured Jonah’s attack were kind, smiling and telling us Jonah is good far more often and causes smiles more than frowns.  My heart swelled so that tears came into my eyes.  Also he has been doing something new; whereas he used to take his shower and go straight into his room to lie down, now he is coming out into the main living room area to walk circles or sit on the couches with the other kids.  I am glad he seems to be moving toward some sort of socialization, even if the kids can’t really talk to one another (Jonah is one of the most verbal) and don’t actually play with one another in a traditional sense.

He can easily outrun me to the car (Andy could probably catch him, but I just started walking and running, and I tire easily).  There he found his precious grandma, but wanted mama in backseat?  After I’d gotten in the car and Andy had gotten in the driver’s seat,  Jonah turned to me and said “need help?”  I asked him what help he needed and he pointed to his shoulder.  I noticed Andy had forgotten to secure Boo’s harness to the clips on the back of the seat and I secured each clip, in awe of Jonah noticing this mistake and actually asking to be strapped in more securely.  I gave him a ScareMeNot and he stared out the window, watching for deer and the ducks in the pond as we drove off the property and to Andy’s apartment.

I'd brought Valiant Valerie along (a ScareMeNot) and Jonah held her close as he looked out the window...

I’d brought Valiant Valerie along (a ScareMeNot) and Jonah held her close as he looked out the window…

(This was supposed to be a photo of Jonah kissing Valiant Valerie, but the camera was still set on video, so it’s a one-second video instead).

After lunch and a bath, Jonah asked for grandma stay here? and Andy and I brought Jonah to transfer station. I’d queued up Guster’s Easy Wonderful CD but Andy asked him if he wanted Gunther or radio.  Jonah chose radio, which slightly annoyed me because I know Jonah loves Guster and would have been fine with it if we’d just put it in.  Andy calls Guster Gunther because E (who comes with J to bring Jonah to most of his doctor appointments) always calls them Gunther by mistake.  Music on the Top 40 radio stations all sounds the same to me.  I guess I’m a music snob.

Were I in charge of the music my boy is exposed to I’d play all kinds of different stuff, including Guster: all the Beatles CDs, some traditional children’s songs, Marlo Thomas’ Free to Be You and Me, Elton John, Kula Shaker, Crosby Stills Nash & Young, Billy Joel’s Glass Houses, songs from Sesame Street, Mozart & Tchaikovsky, 80’s pop music, They Might Be Giants, Simon & Garfunkel, the Grateful Dead, the Hilltop Hoods….all kinds of different things.  And I’d never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever play that dumb Taylor Swift song.

I suppose it doesn’t really matter, so long as he’s not listening to Gangsta rap or death metal.

Jonah’s like me in that his hair grows fast, and already he needs another haircut.  We’d like them to give him a buzz cut at this point, for it is getting to be warm, and that way it’s out of his face and will grow back in soon enough.

I’m anxious to take Boo on walks in the woods, push him on the swings, watch him dive into the pool, smile at his widened eyes when train comes toward us and passes by.  I want to take him to a Guster show and not have to leave.  I want to be with him on the beach, watch him cavort in the ocean and run barefoot along the jetties.

Yesterday M’s daughter J was here; we held hands and ran together to the park, where we kicked and bounced a beach ball around, and went on the slide together, and chased one another, laughing.  M and Jack-dog followed behind while J and I goofed around on the playground.  Later we walked, just J and me, to Stewart’s, where I let her pick out ice cream and a surprise snack for her daddy.  I looked around me and realized people figured I was her mother.  For a moment I knew what it was to be in public as “the mother” of a “normal” kid.

It felt, well….normal.  Which in my world is pretty damn strange.

I have two blooming multicolored tulips in my yard now, and I’ve re-stacked my stone cairns.  Time to oil my Buddha tucked into the bushes out front.  Time to make nature pictures in the woods.  Time to rejoice in the springtime.  May 1st is coming – my favorite day of the year, because it slams the door on winter with the satisfying sound of finality, and who doesn’t love that?

“Ha ha ha ha
People are laughing
Children are singing
Come join the dance

And the walls around us
Which we kept at such a cost
When we turned around
Came tumbling down

Ha ha ha ha
She can’t stop laughing
He can’t stop singing
First day of may!”

First Day of May by James Taylor

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When Jonah was a baby, I wrote him some poetry.  My best friend Gina shot and killed herself when boo was just 5 months old, and in my grief I went on a writing frenzy.  They say the writing saves the writer and I know they’re right. 

I need to write my Capital District Parent Pages article for September; it is due soon.  What to say?  I will submit it before he is gone, and it will be published and distributed after he is there.  I may go back in time, like I did for my July article, where I spoke mostly about his natural swimming ability.

I have been re-visiting his past – my pregnancy, his babyhood, everything that led to now.

There is a poem I called Womb Magicand parts of it again ring true; eerily similar to now.  After wanting a waterbirth, I had to have a c-section; it was the opposite of what I’d wanted, just like this. 

I need more magic, more faith.  More freeing of my mind from worry.  God help me but as the days draw to their inevitable beginnings and ends I feel rising panic in my throat, my gut, my heart.  Please, God, help me.  Help Andy, help Boo.  Please help me.  Please and thank you.

I am so grateful for everyone who reads, who reaches out, who understands, or tries to, who reassures and cyber-hugs me.  I am grateful I have this place where I can come and bitch or ponder, express the pain or the wonder or the anxiety.  Shaking, I continue because there is no choice but to continue. 

In the mornings I listen to beautiful music that carries me away – Mozart, Vivaldi, Beethoven, Rachmaninoff.  I let it enter me and soothe like balm.  On the way to and from work I play Guster, LOUD, singing songs I know so well they are a part of me now.

Anyway, I thought I’d share the poem, for ‘cooking a baby’ isn’t easy – and may well be compared to magic – just like letting go of one (who seems like my baby, even though he’s 9) isn’t at all easy.

Womb Magic

Two rehearsals went awry.

First I stumbled, dropped the wand
I heard the heckling audience’s hiss

and then onstage I felt
I froze
I felt
unsympathetic ruby spotlights
stealing all the magic words
I ever knew.

Of course there is a trick to it.

I was under the illusion
I was under
it
would be effortless, the show’d go on
without me after all it was
a commonplace performance for the man
behind the curtain, for all the men
behind every curtain

and I said
if I was not the world’s best
well I could always adopt another occupation
I could take on an apprentice I could
quietly retire

but then
in time
at last
suspending
disbelief

I conjured you from soul and cell and bone
with nothing up my sleeve
in one swift sleight of
hand

and pulled,
to rave reviews,
a living breathing rabbit
from an enchanted empty hat.

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