for Quilla

   My second born child, a daughter with brown eyes of amber hue with a lilt of green from her father's side. She came to me from a flawless pregnancy and birth though I gained terrific amounts of water weight in those 42 weeks; probably why she loves the embrace of water. Named for a stunning horse i had rescued and retrained during her becoming inside my womb. Awesome brown horse, with beautiful brown eyes, maternally superior, begetting speed and strength in her foals. She was exceptional. I had hoped as much for my child.

 My favorite memory of those new baby times comes from crossing a parking lot, holding my bundled Quilla close to my chest as we walked toward the giant box store. I must have been beaming and cooing to my wee lass as a passing stranger remarked, "....that child is loved...". Yes, this child is loved, my thoughts as I held her closer. I will never stop holding you.

 An April child, surrounded by the songs of birds she drew herself nearer to the sounds of music beginning with clarinet and exploring still other woodwinds. Proficient in reading and playing music she exceeded my limit in those fine arts. Don't settle for less than you're own expectations. Be deserved more than desired, as it is a greater value for you.

 She is patient and quiet when she's not leaping great heights without surveying the landings. I think I did that when I was her age. I recall sprinting down a mowed slope at a civil-war battle monument park, reaching a stone wall only to nimbly vault over the flat top, landing squarely about 8' feet down on the other side. Pausing my dash, I swiveled to gaze at the massive river only 50' away as it dawned on me that I leaped without looking. As the slope continued steeply, I could have fallen into tree tops, or concrete, or into the river. But my angels landed me safely on firm grassy ground.

 I hope for you Quilla, your angels are always landing you safely when you leap  with great vervre  over random obstacles under skies filled with possibilities. Look before you leap as you reach for your potential and  live your dreams.

 Have a groovy birthday Quilla Frances... be a work in progress all of your life.
           English vernacular for Aquilla the center most constellation on the equator. Eagle.
                                        Frances the patron saint of nature, the  purveyor of peace.

outlaw bike and old ladies

photo by Harley-Davidson Indian World

Whoa, this photo triggered an instant flash back. Some years ago, bikerman and I stopped at Onion Flats in Bethel VT. A warm summer evening, the foodie house was filled with people young and old. Our vintage Harley was the only bike in the crowed lot. Roiling the hard-pipes thunder before shutting the shovelhead down, everyone turned their heads to the rumble. In front of the bike, a little boy, clasping his grandma's hand,  stood wide-eyed at the shiney bike and leathered-up riders. When he removed his helmut, bikerman asked the small child, "if he'd like to sit on the motorcycle..." To which the child shrieked, shaking his head NO! and ran behind his Grandma. She on the other hand, was smiling large and took a step toward the bike. . . I think she must have wanted a ride on that old skool, outlaw bike..... gotta watch out for them old ladies, they're bold.

bikerman on his old skool '84 lo ride

the day I forgot my camera, riding naked

my little Pentax in action

Disoriented and a little lost, I missed the lens and looking for good subject matter to memorialise our motorcycle escape of the day. As the pillion, it's what I do. Pillion's expected duties:  look good on the bike, buy lunch, take pictures.....and most recently, don't start any fights.

 When it was proven in a 2008 BRC motorcycle class,  I couldn't and shouldn't drive a 2-wheeled cycle on my own, I searched for and rode with many kind motorcycle enthusiasts who offered a second seat and shared the ride. Making a record of the outing was a subtle way to insert myself into the motorcycling community. It has evolved into a psuedo-elite assignment that validates my thirst for this culture of  challenge, resilience and  the other adventures. But  then a day came when I didn't have my trusty, tiny Pentax adventure camera; left behind in my son's back pack, it would not be back in my hands nor on a ride for a week.

Nonplussed at first, my empty pocket was  merely a brief distraction; until he started the engine and the bike rumbled to life. The first few feet of rolling out the door yard felt oddly unfamiliar to me. Then refreshingly intimate as  my attention was more focused on my bikerman chauffeur, now held with both of my hands, the lo ride motor-sickle steady and sure beneath us, my heightened senses of riding 'naked' (at least visually naked) filled my internal moment of re-adjustment. One layer , my small camera, removed and I was flying through the vast surround of green, and wind, breathing wholly  the familiar smells of engine heat, biker leathers and sweat-stink helmets. I, boots hooked on the chrome pegs, grooving with my driver's every lean and list of his vintage bike as we threaded potholed lanes, rounded sweeping corners, and brushed arching trees pushing into our lane, without the distraction of composing a picture, was filled with a rush of gratitude.

 Riding on a motorcycle bathes your senses in the all of it. Keeping my little camera in my hand or up to my eye was as dense a filter as a suit of armor. While it taught me to view the scene from the perspective of a framed and finite image, which in time,  honed my mind's eye for that capture, it often left me deeply disappointed that the vast enormity of the sky or the expanse of mountain or meadow scapes, the depth of color and weight of the air,  was left out of the captured picture. My photos are meant to stimulate imagination of voyeurs or to evoke a latent, complex memory within our ride; both of which seem to elicit the dimension  of time and space that we travelled  through.

 Riding naked, visually naked, was a rebirth into the censorial infinity of motorcycle riding. Travellers through time and space, awakened to every fragile element of living...that's why we ride and why I some times won't take pictures.
                                                    ~ luv, peace and love ~ el

special thanks to the biker chauffeurs who shared the ride, sparking a romance for motorcycling and with deepest gratitude for my bikerman who rolls the sentimental journeys with the one he calls, Pillion Resa (my biker name) 

smarter than a horse, the zen of autism

   He is my horse-loving-child. With his blue eyes and rosy face, he smiles large when he's around our horses. There is one horse that is especially tolerant of his random sounds and awkward body language; Cam's Best Two, or just Cam to our family. He seemingly enjoys his solo time on the lawn, without our small herd bossing his every move,  for the grass. His only competition for peaceful grazing is Graham exerting his unique style of horsemanship upon him as clips the tender spring greens across the lawn, soaking up the boy's persistent attention.
   When the boy wants to "play" with the horse, he'll bring me the lead rope and say "h--ppp" [help] cueing me to hook the line to Cam's halter so he can be coerced  into Graham's world. This is a world that hosts common ground for both boy and horse. Graham's classic autism is a lot like a horse in the way they both navigate life around them. They are both creatures of fight or flight. Both are bound to their rules governed by sensory processing that defines their sense of safety, sense of trust where no speech is required to communicate. Horses learn by doing, its how they survive and so does my autist son.
   Stepping into the sunny glow of the spring day, stepping through hundreds of blooming dandelions, I step to the red bay horse  who is so mellow he doesn't  waiver as I clip the hasp to the loose chin-ring of his halter. Graham is delighted, jumping in place as he utters his trademark "deddle-deddle-deddle..." "Calm body and quiet voice Graham, gotta be calm around horses...", I soothe to them both.
   I hand him  the rope and tell him to go ahead, "take Cam for a walk." and I retreat to a chair nearby where I watch the pair begin their negotiation for a walk about.

let's go for a walk

wishing for a walk-about

Graham tries to blow him forward

he tries a nudge with his elbow

next a nudge with the knotted rope

a bit of modelling with a finger walk

more negotiation

a final elbow nudge

Graham in all his desire is competing with the sweet succulent  grasses and dandelions all bright with the promise that spring unfolds; Cam wants to eat, not walk and so the conversation begins.

   Graham tries to cue the horse of his desired jaunt,  beginning with wishful thinking and the power of intention. No sale, the horse is not impressed with the secret missives of the boy. He offers a puff of air to the horse's barrel, as if to move him the way he can move a bubble drifting in the air. Not a single hoof moves, in any direction. More giggles and big smiles and Graham moves a step back to the horse's flank and offers a very gentle elbow into the warm freshly scrubbed hide. The dappled red bay, a blood bay to the color enthusiasts of the horse world, does not yield a single step. The young horseman glides back toward the front of the horse and tries a nudge with the butt-end of the knotted lead rope; still no movement in the horse's stance.
  But the boy doesn't give up, nor show discord with his horse. No impatient threats nor harsh words are commanded. Instead he resumes the negotiation with gesticulating hands that appear to convey walking-fingers as a demonstration to motivate the horse. No luck, the lush grass is to provocative for the horse. Even though a generous 20 minutes have lapsed, Graham is not discouraged. So he repeats some nudging cues and finally Cam lifts his head to nip a fly and the boy steps forward cueing one step by the horse.
   This continues for much of an hour but no one is in a rush, the birdsong in the trees above the yard is melodic and cheerful to pass the time with. Graham is seemingly happy to be with his horse, holding the very end of the candy-cane twist of the soft cotton lead. I gaze at the bucolic scene and marvel at the restive nature of this time casually spent. A boy and his horse negotiating a walk-about on very gentle terms. It's very good medicine in our world spinning at a  run-away pace and I drink it up wholly. I love when I am allowed into Graham's world where there is no haste.
   Quietly, I lift out of the chair, and over to the back of the horse and give a light tap on his croop sending him into a lazy walk. Graham is delighted and steps up to the front of his horse and they walk a few steps toward the back yard. Only 10 steps perhaps but that was enough to inspire the horse to follow the boy and take a short walk-about. In this place, Graham is the leader, the horse follows him and he is in charge. Someone is playing with him, following his ideas. A moment in time where its all figured out and Graham has a friend. In this world where our family lives autism, this is something so very precious to witness. I thank God that horses live long lives, and I snap some more videos of the young horseman with his steed.
https://youtu.be/Dgk0E3Qo1ok

 at the end of the day perseverance wins making for  a very happy boy.
 luv, peace, love ~ ell

 “It’s not that I’m so smart, it’s just that I stay with problems longer.”~ Albert Einstein

there is zen in autism when its paired with a horse

...move your feet, the power is in the process... flash forward 2015

    I have not rescued a horse since 2013, I have not actively trained a horse since 2010. I was feeling rusty in my skill set of teaching horses and their people when I had the chance to help an accomplished horse-friend with her new horse today.  A young, ginger mare of handy size and correct confirmation with a bright eye, nick-named lil' red.
   We did some saddle fitting with two distinctly different saddle styles, one a dressage type and the other a jumping type. I  showed how an English saddle should not look on the little sweet mare with thick withers and then how the other fit well; ginger in its color it matched the mare's copper coat with style and comfort.
   Like all young horses, she had a very short attention span and we needed to work quickly and deftly in the multi-purpose dooryard.

my space~her space

As I spent a few moments establishing her space, my space...she kept reaching for grass and got frustrated with my blocking her efforts. She clenched her jaw and I smiled as she showed me a flash of my beloved mare Fable, sassy yet loyal. This is going to be a lovely mount.

the jumping saddle fits very well

 Footing was recovering from spring's mud-thaw season and that's trippy for me. But the handy mare, just post-being-a-filly, did her best. We determined the Ovation jumping saddle was an ideal fit for the horse and next wanted my tallish, willowy friend to have a sit and see for her comfort in the saddle; it must fit her as well as her horse.. Deanna asked if she should mount from a block as her mare was not too tall, she could swing up from the turf. I suggested a block is always better for your saddle's tree, especially English saddles as they don't have a lot of tree to support the horse's back and you don't want to twist it from repeated mounts from the ground.
  We proceeded to the round pen and brought along the 3 step mounting block. "...has lil' red had any practice standing easily beside it?" "Not really..." We decided to start with a lesson in standing at the block properly. She had a rope halter clipped with a "natural horsemanship" lead rope. I've little experience with a heavy and long line on a horse and struggled with the coil in my left hand. Deanna stepped in and began moving the inexperienced horse around, but struggled to fit the horse by the block; to stand her broadside with the top step, standing on a relaxed lead. I advised that its worth it to teach a horse to lead up and stand quietly beside a block and practice both sides; its a good lesson in trust and self discipline for any horse.
  In my head, I’m thinking she's a young horse with limited experience and a swift moving attention span,  so I’d like to see her quiet and breathing easy. I wanted to share so many things about the first mount. how it needs to be relaxed, almost boring for the horse. We don't want to induce a bad experience here. I see more injuries for riders at the mount/dismount time of a ride. people rush, let the horse jig, or crow hop or freeze. All end badly and the horse is reinforced, unintentionally, that rider up or down is a bad thing.
  Lil' Red struggled with the new info; I struggled with the heat as I stumbled around. She followed my aimless moves; good little soul she is. I just wanted her to move her feet, to walk with me, any manner of direction; just she in her space so I could have mine. We went very slow, pausing often so I could rebalance myself. But she stayed with me. We got to the block and she stood on a slack line. Success for step 1a,b,c,d,e.

using my cane as a target

  We were all melting in the shadeless spring sun; My friend pulled the saddle and let it flop off the rookie horse just to add some resiliency training and let her chose her distance from us. Lingering at the block while she nibbled some grass, we swapped stories  laughing and clapped hands startling the grazing mare. She crow hopped big; off all four feet in sudden fright. That was the best part of the lesson, she got scared, recovered and realized she could survive random, weird moments. I made that point out loud, "...don't be afraid of making mistakes because, as long as no one gets hurt, we all learn that we can survive..." it makes us all more confident, more savvy. These incidental learning moments are the most golden of lessons;  it's very hard to choreograph, never mind anticipate, them(teaching the mare a reset button will come later).
  Satisfied with our simple accomplishment, it took all my concentration to walk back to the dooryard; I know my physical limits and had maxed them out in this short time. I'm no longer light on my feet or deft with the wand and lead-rope in my hands...no surprise to me. But, I was delighted to know that I recognized every sign in her body language, every movement in her confirmation, every message in her affect. Given cooler temps and lighter aids, I could offer her plenty to learn. If my friend is willing, I could teach her how to teach her lil' red horse.
  Walking away with that deeply warm familiar feeling of knowing what to do and how to do it, I smiled to myself realizing I may have lost my walk, but I have not lost my touch; thank you lil' red for teaching me that.

    luv, peace, love ~ ell
this one is for the horses who teach without judging with every breath they take.

photos courtesy of Deanna Stoppler lady centaur and farrier extrodinaire 

autism-ology

pensive at sunset

2nd day at the lake..... After several weeks of their hosting grandkids, me and my boyz, one classically autistic & one aspie, arrive for a two day visit at grandma and grandpa's lake house.
     At the end of a day of playing with clay Graham joined us for a boat ride on the big pontoon boat. As the evening ride came to a close, I noted that grandpa forgot his offer to Eli for a chance to drive, he's tired i thought and distracted by my ruff housing with Graham to redirect him from his itchy boy bits... I lost my hat overboard and failed in the attempt to retrieve it... no biggy as it was not expensive and don't spoil a lovely twilight cruise over such a minor thing ...I notice my folks don't enjoy the pensive  moments on their lake as I wish they could... the thoughts darting thru  my mindful filters.

    Dismounting the boat now tied to the dock, Graham requests more clay which requires digging it up from the lake bottom. I say "no more clay today"; before I can add,  "bed time now and clay tomorrow", my tired, disappointed boy runs to the far end of dock and begins to jump up and down and whine loudly as he is overcome with frustration. I grab the garden shovel to put away(reinforcing my 'no') and he gets louder, bouncing himself higher on the metal dock; he wants my attention. I determine he is safe where he is  80' from me at the far end of the dock; thus I follow the 2min-ignore behavior support practice his behavior team has in place. Grandma, in a micromanager command, begins to yell at him to stop and come back. She directs grandpa to go get him, so he throws the boat cover down and marches after Graham, escalating his anger in every step.

   As grandpa meets Graham,  I see the affect in his face change from upset about no clay and fleeing to the end of the dock at my 'no', to shock, panic and then fear. ( fight or flight is the base line of processing thoughts by autists; my parents don't recognize this). He takes a firm hold of Graham by the arm and escorts him back to shore. At this point grandpa is angry in his determined, rigid  body language (Graham reads body language very well, much like a horse uses it to measure their safety/trust with a person): at graham? at grandma's orders? at being interrupted in his boat-cover task? that Graham may throw post caps into lake? Who knows, but this act of non-compliance was not from a bratty point; it was non-compliance from a frustration point, Graham can not speak well, once he filled with fear (grabbed forcefully) he was consumed with flight or fight...he could not flee, so he chose fight. Full of fear not disrespect, he hit out at grandpa once on firm ground of shore. (smart enuff to wait til he was sure of his footing, I thought). Grandpa escalates in anger, and rebukes with angry words. Graham is in tears, I am silent and I walk him into the house and we stay downstairs. If grandpa had known to command him to "sit down,  calm down, hands down" while at the end of the dock, he would have said it and Graham would have complied. If grandpa had known to ask him, "what do you want" Graham would have said, "stop" when he was evading the forceful grasp. But grandpa didn't know; he went to his default behavior...might.

    Back in the house, as he sits on the bed with me, both of us choking back tears(i'm thinking what just happened here?! will this be a lasting trauma?), my silent son relaxes and begins to giggle... relieved to feel safe? to be with me? to be understood? someday he'll tell me. If nothing else, this exasperating  three minute incident was so clarifying to me:
      *he must have total supervision when he's in the bigger world (to prevent his mischief, yes; but more importantly to protect him from being misunderstood and maltreated by others, any others)
      *so the behaivor support plan can be followed and help him grow socially appropriate skills and use words rather than fight or flight. When grandpa got physical to get what he wanted (Graham's compliance), he unintentionally modelled 'might is right' solution for Graham, on Graham. Grandpa did the only thing he knew how to do; the baseline of his generation's oppressive social  skills. This is exactly what we've been working so hard to avoid. We want him to learn to use his words as a preferred behavior when he is dis-regulated. Once Graham learns that physical reaction is an option, how will we unteach it?
     * his grandparents' (and plenty of others) perspective in this, is one of gloom and doom. They see me as unable to control him, too frail in my own illness (they don't get that we strive to teach him how to control himself), they feel he is hopeless and should be institutionalized (they are not in our world of empowerment, AT, behavior supports, consistency, rehearsal...they are not in the world of autism)

    So i am in a corner...how to defend my son in a way that affirms his progress, his desire to comply, his processing delays, that his difference isn't less. How to respect my generous parents and encourage their relationship with him. He does not have friends, no invites to sleep-overs or parties....family is the center of his universe. Many typical people will perceive him as spoiled, over accommodated but they don't have a grasp of the big picture for him in terms of crafting  well practised acceptable behavioral communication for meeting their expectations. This puts Graham and others like him, at risk of trauma; not because he is a danger, but because he may choose the default of flight or fight when he is overwhelmed and that will put him into danger at the mercy of others.

    The whole thing was heartbreaking to watch. If family members don't understand his baseline affect...how will anyone else? I often leave any 'public' (aka not Graham's familiar environments) feeling so drained from trying to help Graham meet them where they are at, when they can not even perceive where he is at. My son is not the problem, his autism is not the problem; it's a dysfunctional, might-is-right, hasty world densely filled with  rigid expectations and inflexible limits, that he must navigate, that is the problem.
    My autism battles with Graham are nothing compared to the autism-ology wars  out there. I call it a war, as all parties need to see the perceptions of the other before 'peace' can be found. In his 13 years of being my son, ten of those as an autist, he has taught me so much about being human and 'what is good for autism is good for everyone'.


how to live autism ~ the fine print in autism-ology:

Blessed are the flexible for they don't get bent out of shape...
    be nimble in your expectations
don't assume a situation is out of control because it doesn't meet the 'normal' expectation

Baby steps are still steps... the power is in the process

Nothing for us with out us...ask if we need help before barging into the process

Different isn't less...adopt a 'works' or 'doesn't work' attitude and omit right v   wrong judgement from your mindset

When one person's expectations exceed the other person's limits, conflict  ensues...feelings are information, not instructions ....learn from that

joy riding the twin tube(Graham & Eli) just like his cousins

luv, peace and love (my happy place) ~ el

the hazy dream

a poem or stream of conscience, really

his world, his way

the hazy dream


in my sleepy dreams, he can speak clearly as any other child

in our hazy wakeful days, he can not

he is blond, and blue eyed and thirteen and he is silent

he smiles, he laughs, he giggles and sometimes frowns
 the way everyone, anyone can understand him

he walks, he runs, he jumps the way everyone, anyone can
 but he doesn't give hugs, he taps his forehead gently to mine

when i ignore his mands, the way a distracted mother would

he frames his face close to mine, and stares intensively into my eyes
 he gets my attention, the way the workers get his

he takes my arm, leads me to his desired tact, but still he cannot say it,
name it, describe the object at the tip of his finger

an approximation is all i will hear, i will struggle to understand,
 i will attempt to form the word for him, to model the sounds

he will smile coyly, he will giggle softly, he will take the thing...
 walk or maybe run to play with it in his imagined way.

And i will smile, i will curse, i will wonder out loud

when will the powers that be, step up their values,
open their minds, reach for his potential

and give him a 'voice' that we can all understand,
everywhere, every time
and if they won't do it, how do i?

before he gives up trying

~ell

Autism Advocacy, from the front row

the VT autism posse the front row at statehouse April 2, 2014

thru the years
   Graham was officially diagnosed with Autism (ASD to be exact) by the VT Dept of Health Children with Special Health Needs;  Dr. Contenpasis on July 13, 2004. That was after nearly a year long wait for the appointment that lasted thirty minutes. That was after months of his silent developmental delays being normalized by everyone around him, even me. He is a twin and one is always slower, don't you know....Fast forward,  the letter came in the mail and I dusted off the blurry xerox of the chart listing treatment definitions given to us then. Useless. I didn't want to become fluent in autism, or the system of care, or on what to do next. I thought surely the school would know exactly what to do. So we enrolled him in EEE and trusted the 'professionals' to know what would help him; and at our very first iep meeting, endured the disparaging remarks of the LEA (local educational agent)that we would have to spar with for the next 9 years. I soon realized, schools don't really even know how support typical kids; the truly brilliant kids learn how to teach themselves and like Mario jumping thru hoops to a pot of gold, they learn how to play the typical education game to get to the next level. And I learned how to play the system of care game, jumping thru hoops, knocking on doors, seeking out best practices, networking with other families, building a pot of gold for Graham...

Graham trying on his teacher's glasses

I   What I wish I had known then :(

• I am the expert on my child

• Never settle for crumbs off the table.... solutions need to be creative, use imagination, be innovative...this makes the whole team stretch out of their comfort zones, where true learning begins

• Hold high expectations for Graham and for his support team. IEP Goals and objectives need to be to his benefit! not their budget, work day or limited interest. This is where great stress was evoked, when expectations exceed limits conflict will ensue....Conflict is not BAD, its a game changer!

• Presume competence for Graham! (I am not in denial, I simply do not accept your half-assed professional opinion) (oh, and my son is the best teacher you and I will ever have.... no charge)

• Be the squeaky wheel and pick your battles with the big picture in mind.

II   What an IEP is and is not
     The most important thing to remember about the IEP is that it is a plan for one year only. It will not be carried over to the next year, it is not continuous, it does not prepare for the big picture. Every year, you will sit down at the IEP renewal and you will suffer through goals and objectives that are so isolated from the big picture, adulthood, that you will drown in minutia. It will help with specific goals, like tying shoes, saying hi, giving a hi-5. Every year you will build the wheel all over again, despite a detailed narrative of present levels. The IEP does not address what has been done in the past, what has worked, what has not. It is a document dependant upon quantitative measurements of a qualitative challenge. Delayed development is a qualitative experience, becoming human is a qualitative process. But it is all we have for the first several years.

III   The Multi Year Plan,
     The big picture planning for the transitions through middle school, high school and into adulthood.....and a life worthy of his potential. It is a qualitative initiative and more in line with preparing for life beyond school. I have been asking all along for the long view, but the iep cannot address that, because the system of care which is a 'memorandum of understanding' between dept of education and agency of human services pit the quantitative DOE against the qualitative AHS and the battle begins. The suggested practice is to begin the MYP in summer before 9th grade....but I had been seeking it since 3rd grade, demanding it in 5th grade and still advocating for it in 7th grade. Just 5 short years from exiting school and entering the adult system of care.

IV   What the 'system of care' is and what it is not = cost containment, turf battles, egos, politics...follow the money because that is the bottom line. If there were no laws like FAPE, IDEA, ADA... I am convinced that 'the state' would not rise up to the task of meeting the needs or providing access to human rights for differently abled citizens.
      a)  the 'It' factor ~ along the journey of special education and home support, I have discovered what many in that deep end of the ocean call the 'It Factor'. Some people have It, they connect intuitively with differently-abled persons. They are nimble in evoking successful results for our kids, they have that warm-fuzzy aura that our kids gravitate to and give peak effort for. Most importantly, they believe our children are worth every effort.

       b) Then there are those who want It, attending workshops, clinics, symposiums in speciality topics to strive for a better understanding and implementation of a complex skill set to help our kids achieve. But their own doubts, or rigid minds obstruct their highest goals with our kids.

        c)And then there are those who do not have It. They don't know how to work with our kids, they don't want to, they don't believe that our kids are worth the effort or expense. Sadly, the It-less people seem to be in the positions of power and hold the purse strings that free up resources that would assist in our kids big pictures.

*At the end of the meeting, the day, the year....few if any of these people will risk their relevance, their contract, their pay check, their comfortable professional lives to stand up for our kids when they KNOW they are being misrepresented, under-served or even abused. When you are supported by an exceptional person, thank them graciously at the table and very personally away from the school, where they won't be at risk for reprimand...we must take care of them that have It...xox

      d)  Work-arounds there are ways to work around a dysfunctional system of care, to tweak an obstruction in service to better meet the need. Be clear about what your child's school can do well, i have learned to keep the academics in school and bring much of the 'medical support' home. If your school won't do that, won't give an extended day program, consider getting prescriptions for OT, PT, ABA, SLP via your paediatrician so you can craft a home program. In VT, we advocated for a law to mandate insurance companies to pay for these 'prescribed' autism therapies. You do need to be sure that the providers will take your insurance. In the ACA, it specifically mandates that autism therapies must be included for coverage in a policy. There are so many subtle and not very subtle ways to get what your child needs. Pick your battles. And don't underestimate the power of ADA, the 504 act which provides for access to education. Physical, Cognitive, Emotional....the phone number for your 'local' Civil Liberties Union office is in the front of your phone book! They exist to protect disability rights. Call them if you have a question.
      
  Because my son will not outgrow his autism and I will not live forever.

 V  The exit plan: wills, trusts, family, community...
        a) Trusts~  All along this other-adventure, such perilous journey where no map existed, time took on a new meaning. Despite my rural rooted-ness, my bucolic life in the slow lane; time became urgent. The developmental time frame when Graham could be 're-shaped' for speech acquisition, he could learn a healthier posture, gain self control,  become ready to learn, and learn how to learn. Time became a precious enemy.  Not only did I research and investigate therapies, diets, leisure supports; I had to ponder his future as an autist.  With 6th grade graduation approaching, I recognized the high priority for a Special Needs Trust for Graham, a legal instrument that would protect his interests in his growing, learning and living a life worthy of his potential. That's what his trust actually says. I found out about this tool at a family workshop, through friends who've done this and the network of Vermonters living autism. If you have a loved one with a disability, do it and make sure the attorney drafting it has experience specific to special needs and disability.

     b) Family~    Graham is blessed to be born into a family with two older sisters and his twin brother, on a small horse farm with a very busy house. Things are quiet now and he enjoys feeding and brushing the few horses that are here, as well as the 'hikes' on the back pastures and wood lot. He lives a pretty interesting life here skiing at SMUGGS, on their Special Olympics Team Smuggs, swimming at our wilderness swimming holes and enjoying life on the 'fringe' of his siblings' social worlds.

Eli & Graham walking up the granite lane

    At a recent advocacy event, he visited our statehouse, as he has many times, where he sat patiently through the reading of the proclamation for April to be designated as VT's month of autism awareness, he stayed for reception that afternoon as well. I had an opportunity to share some of these written points; and when I concluded his brother Eli, younger by 3 minutes, siezed the moment to walk Graham up to say something...just a simple 'hi'...he introduced his brother Graham and tried earnestly to prompt a 'hi', which of course Graham would not. It takes a lot of practice for Graham to 'perform'. But the HUGE revelation, the moment that won everyone's hearts was to see how very proud Eli is of his brother and for me to know that Graham has a family, and a community that 'Sees' him. In that, Graham is blessed.


   c) Community  ~ it takes a village, a cherry picked village... We are so very fortunate to live in a small town. I spend tremendous hours creating inclusion for Graham, building a hometown that will always have his back. I am setting aside 4 acres for a soft fruit plantation so he will have his own farm, so he will be a contributing citizen. Ever since he was born, since all of my children were born, I have been crafting a constellation of community where their stars will shine brightly. When Graham went missing in 2010, the whole community turned out to search. When he 'bums around town' everybody knows his name, says 'hi'; many have been coached how to prompt him and wait for his response. At his new school, that was a huge piece of his transition; ensuring inclusion and a community that would 'see' him. Along the way I have learned to advocate, to educate, to gently correct haters and complainers and  jabberers. Graham has opened people's hearts and changed their minds and is tireless in teaching that different isn't less. We don't waste a lot of time on toxic people, just forgive them and move on realizing they are more challenged than Graham in knowing love.
   
   Often people will ask me what I want for Graham, "what do you expect!?"  I answer sometimes calmly, sometimes not:  this mom's expectation for Graham, Eli, Quilla and Zoe is to be sustainable, be resilient, be kind ~ follow your strengths and talents and the rest will be history ~ that is the opening line of his Multi Year Plan...our world needs people who can help it become more loving and less hurtful. Our world needs kids like Graham to open that place in our hearts. My only truly adamant goal across all settings is his self advocacy, a voice of his own; that anyone can understand.

     That's the simple version of my motivation to advocate on Graham's level, at a system level and at a more global level. The real benefit of advocacy, isn't that the system will change dramatically, despite our energetic and sometimes heroic  efforts;  but rather the opportunity to connect with other people living autism and to share what works, what doesn't work, what is disappointing, and what is amazing.

 Nobody else gets it...period.                                                       luv, peace and love ~ ell

the link to our latest field trip to Montpelier https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10201426890065443.1073741875.1570732991&type=1&l=95ae5d0b04

riding pillion in the back country on snow

the weather was balmy at 33f and he rode from Brookfield to take me for a ride....on velvety trails all to our selves, better than chocolate...

the ski doo ready to head out

miles and miles and miles to go

riding from my summer pasture onto the old Bakersfield Rd

on the VAST trail heading north, velvety smooth

2Up on snow

trails accessible due to land owners' consent

green crow, gang tag? lol

i've welcomed VAST on my land since 1987, this is the first time i've ever gone way back on their trails

my driver

i luv the woodlands in winter, with out leaves the expanses are generous

a beautiful afternoon ride, 13miles in all

falling in love with winter, again

got that happy pillion buzz

returning to find a fox enjoying his afternoon in the pasture

Graham's World ~ VT Special Olympics 2014

it was and epic weekend

  Some things will never be normal the way the magazines define it; having a son with classic autism guarantees that conclusion. It can feel like an indefensible position on the battlefield of life and that is another story, entirely. But on this weekend of March 7,8 & 9, I would learn that some things would be better than normal; superior, in fact. This was the weekend of Vermont's Special Olympics Winter Games in Woodstock VT. It was our first year of participation and I attended with an open mind and none too high expectations. I just wanted to enjoy a weekend of sunshine, good snow, and a comfortable hotel room. Graham loves to ski, he's pretty good and this was a chance for him to revel in that.  I invited his behavior instructor, Jenn, to come along and keep him on task, and keep up with his energy where I would lag behind. I could not have enjoyed this adventure as a leisurely spectator without her exceptional support for his task management needs.

Jenn, Graham and coach

  We began with Unified-Snowshoeing on Friday with his school team and learned in a hurry what unfamiliar tasks  he would struggle with, like refusing to wear the number bib over his neck, so the special olympics staff found safety pins to place it on his back. He didn't really understand the lanes to race/run in with snow shoes...but his coach was patient and supportive...There was no wrong way, or bad job; there was flexibility and support and innovation to help him at least complete the task.

  We came this year, to learn what would take some practice and preteaching for some fluency in his joining in future events. And all around us people strived, attempted and participated with earnest   efforts because it was all about them; their time to shine in their light. Some folks were obviously competitive and some were just enjoying the glorious weekend weather in the midst of a cold and suffering winter.

   That Friday night had a parade and opening ceremony on the Woodstock town green where delegates marched in with banners and flags and team jackets to the whoops and whistles of dedicated fans. It was their height of awesomeness as all eyes were on them and everyone cared deeply for the challenge ahead. Alpine, Snowboarding, Nordic and Snowshoeing would test the fortitude of athletes in the days ahead. For them it was serious and joyful and important. For some it would be the highlight of the year, others a grand day out and for all of us, it was a community snow globe that was magical to all who were included in the event.

  This was a place where tradition met valor and 'different' was the new normal. Like no other sporting event I’ve been in or at, these delegates hugged, laughed and rallied for each other while families and fans went hoarse with cheering for each and every contestant, no matter their team. Ribbons and medals were won, but the best take-away was to be surrounded by families, fans, coaches and volunteers who celebrated the joy of being there. In this place nobody pointed in disbelief, nobody spoke in cruel tones; in this place we were the  normal people living large, for a weekend anyway. Graham 'raced' in alpine slalom on Saturday and Sunday, and with the help of his coach, he medaled in 2 events. But really it was all in good fun.

  In this rarefied air, in this winter wonderland of differently-abled Vermonters and their families I was overcome with an epiphany. Some people in our circles, many people in fact, want to feel sad that my Graham is not 'normal'. They want to frown and shake their heads in morose for me and the rest of his family. They want to judge him, and his family as broken, burdensome. But they are blinded by their own expectations of what goodness looks like. Through Graham's lens of his world, I have lived joy, wonder, magic and an un-apologetic view from the moment he is in. I came away from this weekend with a wiser, well fed soul. I have come to deeply appreciate his world, and often prefer it to ours. He has taught me that its not about whether the cup is half empty or half full; its all about the quality of the water within it. Why i love my blue-eyed wonder boy, probably more, than anyone else in the whole world?...because through his cloak of autism, he does not judge me, ever....to him, i will always be enough.
to see the complete album of  Graham's Special Olympics Adventure goto this link: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10201308772832586.1073741871.1570732991&type=1&l=d6e00439a7

  I am grateful to Suicide Six for giving up their whole mountain and ski lodge to these olympics, to the Woodstock Inn for lodging all of us, the entire s.o. body of delegates, families and coaches in their 5star accommodations with luxurious service from curb to bedstand for the whole weekend. For Team Smuggs for being the most fun, happy and stylish team on the slopes.

   This was an epic weekend.
                                                                                                luv, peace, love ~ ell

walking with horses

The way a herd moves, assembles, ebbs and flows, relates to its members, is a work of social art among horses. When I watch the horses here, only five of them now, I am a distant being, like a bird in a tree just watching and listening to their equine community. This particular group has been together since 2005 and six, they are so familiar to each other and dependant, the way horses are, upon the movements and affect of one another. The comfort and alarm by each other and correct or errant behavior. All shared with the slightest gesture in posture or gaze. It's marvellous to observe and i feel like a tiny outsider until they spot me. Then they will come up to me, seeking food or maybe just some touch, some reassurance that i will care for them. Horses are followers, even the most strident alpha seeks a leader and will follow a person through the most unnatural applications of their strength and power as long as one is clear, consistent and fair in the asking. They are 'feelers', always judging the content of our character and responding accordingly. For all of my life, they have captivated my imagination, curiosity and awe. That a full grown horse would allow me to mount and ride or drive and make course mistakes with their sensitive natures always leaves me amazed and humble as i grow older in years, increasingly aware of that trust and responsibility to them. For most of these horses, they are 'rescues' from the high stress industry of horse racing. They came here because their owners wanted to send them some place safe and know they would have a chance at a 'good' life. We used to retrain them and seek out forever homes where they would be the center of someone's universe...These last several years, I stopped actively seeking such homes; few and far between, they were sometimes honored, but often used and then forgotten like a novelty toy. Not always the case, but it happened enough times that I have largely given up on people that are transient with horses. So here they stay, on eleven acres of lousy soils, nasty hollows and deficient grazing; but they are largely free to do as they please as long as they honor the fences, the thin crinkled electric wire that keeps them in. Yet they are so happy here; unaware of such rustic keeping, happy to chose who and where they will stroll with in this way. No to low stress for these slick coated horses who once performed  peak athletic endevors despite their breaking hearts as they were deprived of herd living and dusty wallows to roll in. For this tight band of horses, knit together over the last eight years, this is home.  I am wracked with guilt when I think of tearing it apart, sending one away; its actually easier to end their life here, to let them die among friends and be buried where they have been so happy. This is were their heart is. To laze away a day, and walk with these horses is the highest privilege i can enjoy as a horseman. I wish that others could live that dream-like way of being with horses.

for Fable

a photo shoot for her memory

The day was right. the weather was cool and windy, shaking the golden leaves lingering high in the popple trees. It was a good day to die. For my beloved Fable to die.

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined - to strengthen each other - to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/g/george_eliot.html#1AcolQHGIj1S1Usy.9al trees. The grass was still green and lush as autumn loped easily along in its parade of color on the hillsides of the Lamoille Valley. It was exactly the kind of day that i had hoped for. It was a good day to die, for my beloved Fable to die. 

    She would be 29 in January, if the math was right when she came to me in 1991 as a seven year old, un-raced, Standardbred mare. She was the most delicious mahogany bay at 15.2h, the color of dark chocolate with straight, scar-less, legs and the most correct hooves a farrier could love. Her neck was feminine, powerful, elegant, sporting a 'torn shirt' whirl. She held her fine head high with broadly set eyes in a child like gaze. She had a small scar beneath her right ear, from a bridling injury gone wrong when she was a younger filly. They tried to confine her, restrain her...to tame her with misguided power.
   She came  back to the rescue program, newly under my care then, because she fought back, they were afraid of her, she would not acquiesce to their clumsy attempts at horse training. So she came back, into my barn and made her way into my heart.
  It was a good sized herd here, back then. Eight to ten horses on 18 acres of various pastures. She had room to run, buck and rear. How she loved to rear and challenge the other brown horses. Not so keen on Fable's lust for 'reindeer games', Big Kate would snap her a quick kick, a smart tap to remind her to behave.
   As those summer weeks went by, Fable learned when and where to be rowdy, a little less impulsive. She would gallop to and from the little band of brown horses and check in at the barn for water. She wouldn't allow a halter or a brush at first, then she gave in, asking for some love with a still body.
   Her coat was like satin, smooth and warm and silky to my hand. She liked a steady, firm stroke with my palm and would not tolerate feathery lite movement on her hide. Ten minutes or so of rubbing with my hands and she was off, just like the wind across the grass. Our pastures were lush in those days, not over grazed or trampled in mud-season year after year. Her coat burst forth with glowing dapples from the good food, herd living and a life without restraints.
    When i groomed her, she would be on a loose rope, unhitched so she could  walk away if she needed. She was so very sensitive, her hide would shudder at the lightest touch; out of her eye she would study my every movement. By the end of summer, I felt ready to back her and feel how she rides. I start most of my ex-race horses in an eggbutt snaffle on a simple English bridle. I remove the cavasson, and fit the bit the way a very wise man had taught me. I figured 2 wrinkles at the corner of her mouth would be a firm but soft fit for the gentle bit. Fable said I was wrong, very wrong and we had our first fight. I lost.
   So I pulled out my western bosal and slipped it over her ears after some negotiating with grain. Acceptable to her, and she willingly learned to neck rein with ease. That was the beginning. Our time, our miles, our adventures and silent memories got better and better. She hated shots, but agreed with the farrier. She loathed dogs but would allow a chicken to roost on her thick winter coat when temperatures would freeze the footing beneath them.
   She would pony freshies, break trail and gallop a lane or a field with fearless grace. Fable was a gaited beauty who could single foot for miles. She would have raced as a pacer if they could have held on to her. But for me, with my foot front of center in the stirrups and riding full seat, she would give me the sweetest single foot. Gliding like a light breeze over the grass. Her canter and gallop were clean, meaning like any other horse, not always common for a Standardbred, but she would trot over the covered bridge then onto the cornfields where I could let her break into a canter then  a gallop on the soft, empty lanes between high summer corn standing like soldiers as we raced along the secret, green alleys.
   She was light and nimble on ledge or mud; careful with her footing on the flats or the steeps. She once brought me through a hunter-pace timber race saddled in a heavy western rig, while i wore black gauchos, satin vest and a black western hat and she went in her classic bosal. We took the lower rails, hopped brooks and glided up and down hills easily. With our Fjord mounted team-mates, we came in second.
   On a good day, before so many children filled my life, we would ride for hours covering miles of Vermont trails. One September day, I noticed she was very intense, hyper alert as we poked along a lost trail through a sugar bush. I couldn't hear it, or smell it but she could. When the trail broke out to the road, we were not ten feet from a black bear snacking on black berries, her twin cubs feasting beside her. Fable froze but never flinched. As the bears sat up to ponder the two-headed beast before them, I let my breath out and reined her gently to the left, to  the other way of that road; no need to cross the mama bear's path. Fable stepped lightly but never in a panic and we strolled all the way home. If charged, could she out run them with me in the saddle? I believe so and grateful that it wasn't proven that day.
   So many more glittering moments with my Fable, my silent partner. She didn't have to talk, neither did I. We would ride in silence and we learned to listen to each other. I learned that listening is love. I loved our rides, I loved this horse. Our last years together were as casual friends. She ran with the band of horses, maintaining her rank as senior mare racing out to the round bales to meet the herd once finished with her grain. Power laced in poetry even as grey hair crept into her face.

my Fable on summer pasture 2011

   I could have let her carry on another year; she was still looking sound, still lite on her feet and a lady to the end. But arthritis was in her coupling and her hocks. It was hard for her to hold weight, her once powerful neck was a lite wisp of its once glamorous arch. I did not want to , would not, let her fall off her bones in old age. I would let her go this year, before the ground hardened and snow piled high while bitter north winds howled, before she became afraid to live. I would wait for a day that had a brilliant sky, and shimmering leaves with a rustling wind in the grass.
   When she fell to her knees I would fall to mine and lay my head on her warm neck for the last time, I could listen to her heart beating out its life and sob for the good times, the lost times and all the glistening moments that will never be again. Riding Fable was like riding the wind, and today the wind has died.

   Fly high and away Fable...no more winters, no more worries.

 a week later, in mourning for Fable, i came across a message from Pema Chodron:

 “Things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.”

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined - to strengthen each other - to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/g/george_eliot.html#1AcolQHGIj1S1Usy.99

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined - to strengthen each other - to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/g/george_eliot.html#1AcolQHGIj1S1Usy.99

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined - to strengthen each other - to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.
George Eliot
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/g/george_eliot.html#1HK8VoUPoJMQzkdh.99

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined - to strengthen each other - to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.
George Eliot
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/g/george_eliot.html#1HK8VoUPoJMQzkdh.99

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined - to strengthen each other - to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.
George Eliot
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/g/george_eliot.html#1HK8VoUPoJMQzkdh.99