Blog-a-thon Day 8

I hope you all had a nice Easter/Passover weekend. Eating a sandwich on matza brought back all kinds of childhood memories. I do not follow the Passover dietary observances, per se, but do believe matza with butter can be a religious experience.

I got to hike over the weekend and it was heavenly. Well, for the most part. On Friday, Neil and I did an unexpectedly long hike to Tom's Thumb in Scottdale, Arizona. I had never been there and was delighted to discover such a wonderful place exists just a 25 minute drive from us.

Yesterday, I did a short hike on the mountain I frequent next to our house. As most of you know from my books and blogs, hiking is one of my prime "oxygen-rich tools for loving and living well with autism" AND life. It was a gorgeous spring weekend here in Phoenix, Arizona.  I was looking forward to enjoying my deep breaths atop the mountain. There is a  saddle which is often shaded where I love to sit and take in the 360 degree view and contemplate life. I even have a certain rock configuration I gravitate to when available.

Yesterday, I sat down right about the time another gal sat just about 4 feet away from me. I would have preferred to be alone but was ok with sharing my mountain space. Within a minute or two, she lit up a cigarette. I had never seen anyone perform the required exertion to climb up to that point and then actually smoke so I was a little surprised. It's probably been done, but I have not seen it in the 14 years I have been hiking there.

Pretty quickly, my nice peaceful spot and beautiful air was being polluted. And pretty quickly, I got rather irritated and decided to leave. I had not intended to say anything, but found a few words (no, not four letter ones) slipping out as I passed her.

I did my internal huffing and puffing most of  the way down and low and behold, the hike was much less enjoyable than usual. In fact, the downhill walk is where I usually feel the endorphins pouring in, and most of what I felt was irritation. I managed to ruin the rest of the hike for myself. She was perfectly fine enjoying the rest of her cigarette. I was hanging on and feeling grumpy and "wronged".  I even got to relive the experience by sharing it with Neil when I got home.

And the moral of the story is... we are never done with spring cleaning or letting go. It is a life-long practice. I pride myself on having let go of some pretty big stuff. But lest I get too cocky, there's plenty of stuff left to show me I'm still human and I still hang on to things which do not serve me.

I'm very grateful for the awareness. That's where the growth lies.

Awareness is a gift!

Almost to the thumb

I found this poem in a folder marked "INSPIRATION" while cleaning out a drawer. The lingo is not polictically correct by today's standards but the sentiments are right on.

                                                                                                              (Author Unknown)

I am the child who cannot talk.
You often pity me, I see it in your eyes.
You wonder how much I am aware of -- I see that as well.
I am aware of much, whether you are happy or sad or fearful,
patient or impatient, full of love and desire,
or if you are just doing your duty by me.
I marvel at your frustration, knowing mine to be far greater,
for I cannot express myself or my needs as you do.

You cannot conceive my isolation, so complete it is at times.
I do not gift you with clever conversation, cute remarks to be laughed over and repeated.
I do not give you answers to your everyday questions,
responses over my well-being, sharing my needs,
or comments about the world about me.

I do not give you rewards as defined by the world's standards -- great strides in
development that you can credit yourself;
  I do not give you understanding as you know it.
What I give you is so much more valuable -- I give you instead opportunities.
Opportunities to discover the depth of your character, not mine;
the depth of your love, your commitment, your patience, your abilities;
the opportunity to explore your spirit more deeply than you imagined possible.
I drive you further than you would ever go on your own, working harder,
seeking answers to your many questions with no answers.
I am the child who cannot talk.

I am the child who cannot walk.
The world seems to pass me by.
You see the longing in my eyes to get out of this chair, to run and play like other children.
There is much you take for granted.
I want the toys on the shelf, I need to go to the bathroom, oh I've dropped my fork again.
I am dependent on you in these ways.
My gift to you is to make you more aware of your great fortune,
your healthy back and legs, your ability to do for yourself.
Sometimes people appear not to notice me; I always notice them.
I feel not so much envy as desire, desire to stand upright,
to put one foot in front of the other, to be independent.
I give you awareness.
I am the child who cannot walk.

I am the child who is mentally impaired.
I don't learn easily, if you judge me by the world's measuring stick,
what I do know is infinite joy in simple things.
I am not burdened as you are with the strife's and conflicts of a more complicated life.
My gift to you is to grant you the freedom to enjoy things as a child,
to teach you how much your arms around me mean, to give you love.
I give you the gift of simplicity.
I am the child who is mentally impaired.

I am the disabled child.
I am your teacher. If you allow me,
I will teach you what is really important in life.
I will give you and teach you unconditional love.
I gift you with my innocent trust, my dependency upon you.
I teach you about how precious this life is and about not taking things for granted.
I teach you about forgetting your own needs and desires and dreams.
I teach you giving.
Most of all I teach you hope and faith.
I am the disabled child.

Blog-a-thon Day 6

I've taken on a few self-imposed challenges for the month of April. 30 blogs in 30 days for Autism Awareness Month. Done that twice before so I know I can do it again.

In the spirit of decluttering and spring cleaning, I have decided to get rid of 10 things per day for 30 days. By the end of the month, my house will be 300 items lighter. It's a great feeling to clean out something that needs to be cleaned out and get rid of  items I am no longer needing. Moving stale energy out of the house makes space.

Just to set the record straight, I'm the polar  opposite of a hoarder. My house is not particularly cluttered and I often get rid of items. Rachel used to tease me by telling me I would get rid of all her stuff if given the opportunity. When I told her about my project just today she expressed concern that there would be no childhood momentos left next time she came to visit. I reassured her that her belongings are safe.

Sometimes it's hard to let go of "physical stuff" the same way it's hard to let go of "life stuff". There's the broken stuff that you will surely fix someday. There's the sentimental stuff that reminds you of the past. There's the stuff you paid a lot for but maybe never used or used very little or doesn't fit or you never should have bought in the first place. There's the stuff you might need someday.  And if you have a child with autism, there are the reams of old data sheets and materials used for previous therapies that your child  is long past. In our case we have a closet museum filled with  many things which never worked in the first place.

Trash, donation, find another home, or keep?

Letting go of stuff can be  easy but sometimes it's difficult. It's the same with "life stuff". It can be difficult to let go of past hurts, and grudges, and disappointments as well as beliefs which no longer serve us. My dad waited until he was on his death bed to let go of some very personal and powerful grudges he had held for years. Unfortunately, by that time it was virtually too late as there was not much life left for him to live. Turns out the stuff he was holding on to hurt him more than anyone else.  

Just like the energy burst experienced when we release our physical junk, it is so freeing to release our emotional junk too.

I'll check back in at the end of the month. The first seven days have been easy but it might get more challenging as the month continues. 

Wanna play?