I know what I want,. . .for now

I was trying to explain why I like to ride two-up when it comes to motorcycles. A foreign concept to those who know me as a "doer" and not a spectator. When my friend couldn't grasp my preference for riding with someone to riding alone, it made me think and do an accounting of this phenom. It's a bit complex, or not, depending upon your view of my world. I am at a place in my life where, like it or not, my children and their needs have an isolating effect in my life. I have to be in command of every day, in every way. It's exhausting. Because of my son's autism and the socially irregular behaviors that define him, we don't fit into many public venues. He does the best he can and while we are used to his vocalizations, flapping, jumping and roaring laughter or dramatic screams, the rest of the world is offended or frightened. So we have learned to avoid those places we are not welcome. The resulting decline in typical friends is profound. We don't get invited to many cookouts, or dinner parties; not that there are many to be had in the Lamoille Valley. And this is a whole other reality. It is quite rural here and that means a bit "clan-ish". This is the northern spine of Appalachia; I am an outsider having lived here for only 25 years, not born here, not related to the well established family dynasties (if there is such a thing in up-country VT). So then, over the 5 year period since my son's Dx, my equine community has perished. My parenting worthiness has declined and I live as a single parent of four, high maintenance kids on an odd 25 acre farmstead in small-town rural VT. I love it, wierdly enough, as there is very little pressure to "conform" but it is also isolating to an involuntary degree. I describe myself as a team player with a very odd team. My kids, my farm, my community of families in autism. So then, enter my alter image of self. I love being in the company of good men. I covet the gleam of chromed out Harley's and the rumble of loud pipes. I thrive on the organic experience of gliding through the high country, platonic partners in the ride, escaping a very socially inhibited life for a day. It's how I "work the problem" I live 24-7. My gratitude for the guys who share their ride and make these random escapes possible is boundless. The men I ride with, get it. They appreciate the release I have when I ride with them. When I'm in the second seat, I am free to feel the ride without the demand of the high vigilance of the drive. A generous gift they bestow me. I am grateful, deeply grateful. Living in the moment, free of the dictates of a differently-abled life. Blessings upon them. Short answer: I ride 2-up so I can surrender control for pure joy. So I can feel the comfort of trusting someone else for a time. So I can be childlike in the experience. It's as carefree as I can hope for in any given day. Me: have lid, leathers, good to go.
luv and peace ~ el

yes I can, watch me

It was such a promising day when I woke this morning. Temperatures were pleasant and I felt good, really good. By 10 am I couldn't walk. As soon as the temps rise, the humidity rises, I fall apart. More accurately, my gaiting falls apart. So I sit down, before I fall down. It's a brain injury thing. It sucks. It's out of my control; no matter how hard I concentrate, how much I will myself to stand up straight and walk like a sober person, my legs will not comply. I have a assortment of scars from stubbornly challenging this fact. Betrayed by my own neurology. I could sit and bemoan my frustration but I'm not one to concede my power. I'd rather close my eyes and relive the best days of this summer, the days that I win the dual with my disfunctional brain. The days that I leather-up, fasten my helmet, dawn my favorite boots and ride. . . on the back of someone else's motorcycle.
Every bike that thunders by, loud pipes calling to me, I'm reminded how much I long for the ride. I can sit on the back of someone else's bike without problems. I can enjoy the veracious wind, the intoxicating speed, the scenic splendor, the very contented feeling of riding with a savvy guy at the dash. When I reflect on my past rides; I smile. Deeply. My physical disfunctions evaporate and for those hours, I am whole and satiated. I smile broadly, breathe deeply while living the view over their shoulders; it's better than sex. I have a great relationship with my biker buds, they don't know of my challenges, such barriers to function don't exist when I ride with them. No need to tell them. We have a blessed relationship; pure love ~ for the ride. In this, we leave all manner of reality behind, and get in the groove of loud pipes, gliding on chrome, over the meandering roads and velvet hills of northern Vermont. God bless them for including me; sharing with me this sacred space, this wondrous time to ride. The power of platonic, the power in this process; unless you've lived it, you can't appreciate it. It truly does transcend sexual desire. It is a level of the purest delight that is beyond the physical realm and nurtures me in a spiritual way. When I ride, I am at the mercy of the rider's expertise and I am, we are, in the hands of God. Wholesale trust: it is the most liberating surrender I have ever known. It matters to me that I think this is so; I hope my biker hosts feel likewise. With my hands comfortably anchored on their waists, I know they do. Blessings upon them. May the Lord bless them and keep them, may He be made to shine his face upon them and be gracious to them. amen.
luv and peace ~ el

this post is for the guys who've stepped up to my dreams, honored their gentleman's promise and shared their ride . . .

what is a little guy to do . . .

I spent the afternoon watching my younger daughter play with some of her friends on our big trampoline. The bouncing, the giggling, screaming at bugs and high five culture for the bustling girls. After a while, my son with autism wanted to jump with them. He is an accomplished jumper and he wanted to join in at something he excels at. He mounted the round surface a confident boy among a swarm of girls. He jumped high, with split kicks and rips of laughter. In this he is like them, but he can't speak. So they ignore him, not so politely. "mom, does he have to come up now?" Never mind that its his trampoline and you nor your friends even asked him. "He just wants to show off something he's good at too." my encouraging reply. After about 5 minutes, they dismounted and left to my daughter's room. Mumbles of "what's wrong with him, anyway?"
I note to myself that I need to help my kids learn how to answer their friends' questions. I need them to see his strengths and talents first as they try to explain their brother's autism. I want them to live the habit of seeing him with their hearts first. He will need us, his family, to know how to teach others to see him in such a human way. His autism creates barriers to a typical childhood paradigm, but I find myself grateful for this. He is so sincere in his actions. He lives the daily trials of trying to belong, trying to feel competent in a world that is materially competitive and emotionally punitive to those who are different, differently-abled. When I watch on a play ground, how he tries to keep up, to fit in and he is often ignored or worse chastised, my heart breaks. But not for my son; he is steeped in love and surrounded by a fiercely loyal family. My heart breaks for the other children; whose hardened minds and perceptions are narrow and shallow, lacking the spacious capacity to appreciate his gifts. Kids who, at such a young age, are already glued to media driven brands and commercially defined ideologies. In this domain, my son has a mission. He will do more to enrich the development of many of these children than any paid assembly the school can offer. For the kids who will grow up with my son as their classmate, fellow scout, 4-H clubber and citizen, they will have enjoyed an unconditional gift from him. When they are older, wiser, parenting their own children, I hope they will remember how he helped them become better humans. It is a daunting task before my blue-eyed wonder boy, not to overcome his autism but to overcome the rigid minds and occluded hearts of sheltered children. I hope that they will remember him when they feel content in their lives. Will they recognize his gift of autism?
luv and peace ~ el

this post is for my son's tireless love of life and for those of us who have yet to learn what makes us happy
please enjoy the attached PSA from ARC of Virginia and Blueberryshoes productions... the r word