I am a single parent with a teenager on the autism spectrum and travel is one of my passions. Travel is a wonderful, educational experience for typical children, and my hunch that Julia would learn and grow with travel experiences was rewarded last summer in Italy. So, I am on a mission to teach Julia about the world—one trip at a time!
I am unsure of the date. Sitting in Oslo airport and even Julia notices that it is beautiful. Wood, dark brown leather and grey steel is the decorating theme. Sleek and rich, modern and spare yet warm. The signs and adds are all in both Norwegian and English which is somewhat disconcerting. The diversity of travelers here is no less diverse than some major USA airport although there is a heavier sprinkling of Scandinavian types than I am not used to. Two Italian business men sit close by talking — one very quickly. It is not the Italian of Little Italy or my learn Italian CDs. There is a red rose on the floor under one of their seats that gives the scene a cinematic quality. When our flight is called, no one picks up the rose.
Yesterday, I went cold turkey and abandoned my laptop in favor of the new iPad. Bought two weeks ago as a long promised travel accessory, I’ve been slowly dipping into programs and apps. I’ve been disappointed that this one pound wonder just can’t do everything my reliable laptop can. Apps are different from programs. I’m sure I’m in for some surprises yet undiscovered, but we are on the plane from Milwaukee to NYC and the laptop is home, turned off and unplugged at 40% battery capacity, as recommended by the geeks smarted than me. Admission: I thought about taking my laptop to NYC and leaving it with Cheshire so that I would have it one more night with it and then get it back when we return to NYC 3 days before returning to WI.
Dependence? Addiction? And I think that it is Julia who is wedded to an unchanging routine. Continue reading
This is a picture of Julia’s last science assignment done last weekend — four days before school ended. She was reluctant to begin it but once started, she fully engaged and worked longer on it than was necessary. Science has not been a favorite subject this year mostly due to the abstract ideas presented and Julia’s preference for the concrete. However, since late winter, the focus has been on the tangible earth. Julia drew and painted a lovely paramecia, she understood plant parts and what plants need for a thriving life by growing peas. And now, she demonstrated her understand of a flower, its parts and how it works making this model. Wiki sticks, pipe cleaners, origami paper and lots of glue were her tools. If she was in an environment where learning was this hands on . . . she needs to be in such an environment all the time.
Calm. Italy tomorrow. A few days ago, texting with my oldest, Cheshire, I proclaimed, if one can make such a grand gesture with thumbs, that this was going to be a life changing journey. Why? Because I bought new underwear for both myself and Julia. I bought Julia a lot of new clothes for this trip although the reason has more to do with her not fitting into last years leftovers due to both a growth spurt and a maturing body and less with wanting her to be an American fashion plate in Italy. I bought underwear for a similar reason. Gosh, we both needed it. But there was a sensual, visceral pleasure packing still folded from packages underwear. Like some much, much younger woman of a times before my own, packing her trousseau. New clothes for a new life.
Ok, so very romantic. I don’t expect to that this vacation, this great journey across the sea to a country where David and I spent so many happy days, to change anything. Really. I will come home in a month and take up summer in Madison. I will weed a neglected garden, or wait until the heat and the bugs wane. I will drive Julia to Girls Rock camp and therapies and have our weekly supper with Mary and Robert. All will be as it was last week. And all will be different. I would so like to spend a year somewhere so different that it would change everything — I’ve always dreamed it would be Venice; however, that is the Venice of David’s time and the year was meant to be with David. And so, even the very basics of the dream stand on shaky stones. But the dream of somewhere away and exotic remains to be kindled.
I cannot imagine engineering this dream into reality without some assurance that it had a chance of success. With Julia mostly. I know I could live and travel for that time, but can my anything but typical pubescent daughter? I have no idea. She, who by nature is wedded to routine, who does her best work rooted in the known and who only cares about her surroundings if the surroundings are uncomfortable enough for her to want escape. Can she flourish in my dream?
And so, almost a month away from home with most of that time in five settings in Italy. A bit of forced socializing with my old friend and her family, some quiet amidst the beautiful hills of Tuscany, and the rest in art ladened cities. We have not attempted such a journey before. Because we are traveling in summer I have planned even more than my attentive usual. I usually map out what we will do and where we will go. This time, I have had to commit to specific days at specific cultural icons to avoid hours of line waiting. I have found experiences that I hope will capture her attention — pizza making in Tuscany, fresco painting in Florence and mask painting in Venice — and bring some of what we see into her hands. Evening our lodgings will offer her diversity — my friend’s house, an inn with 377 steps leading up to its town, a country villa where we may hear the snorting of wild boars at night, a monastery that rents out rooms and a small, proprietor run hotel. Will she find these interesting? Will she notice?
If she does well. If she enjoys. If she thrives. Then it will be time to move towards dreams.
A few of my friends, on hearing my rhapsodizing in this vein, comment with raised eyebrows that they expect my return. As if that return was not written in stone. I have never been someone who would, on a whim, even a terrific whim, change life on a dime but as I type this, I wonder if any of those friends imagine that I could. I imagine that those friends know for sure that I will be back on my scheduled day but fancifully I imagine that they too can see the possibility of stepping into the unknown and coming home completely different.
And I have been anxious and pre-occupied in the later days of planning, and have newly admitted to being just plain scared of the two of us somewhere we we knew few people and do not speak the language. I have been obsessed and if you were not willing to share in my obsession, I have probably not been very pleasant company. Umm, that description of my last month’s disposition has much in common with the state of Julia’s social skills.
Yesterday, I had a facilitator training for Quest 4, our Unitarian 2-yr program for spiritual deepening. I have more training today. The chance to engage in mindful practices with this small group of facilitators and leadership, to spend hours focused on this program that helped me to emerge into post-David life and to which I am so grateful and to leave completely the impending physical journey behind in favor of journeys of a different kind is a blessing. Spiritual not religious and I laugh at myself for needing to write that. I came home yesterday with a calm that has completely eluded me in the past few weeks. A calm stripped of anxiety and fear. Even excitement. I wake up this morning with the sure knowledge that the journey with whatever ripples of change it will bring will happen as it should. With the hope and prayer that we may experience it in each present moment and grow into our questions and perhaps a few answers.
When I stop writing for awhile I get . . . a sort of constipation of the spirit. The creative spirit to be specific. I don’t grows into I can’t. And when I finally sit down to tap a few keys, I have both too much to say and nothing at all.
And I feel rather garbled.
Forgive me. The only way to begin again is to just do it. So . . .
I have been obsessed with travel plans— leave for Italy in 11 days — and the very long list that I’ve made for myself. My pre-traveling lists, that I make for almost every trip short or long, could be judged compulsive. It has all the planning steps, packing steps and what I need to do in the house and for the summer Mindful Circle workshop before I close the door. I have my goals as to how much to do each day to arrived at the door closing with everything essential and a few good wishes done. My joy here is crossing off what I have done each day. Simple compulsive pleasure. However, a long trip makes for a long list.
Rainy, damp, more March than April and my internet connection is very weak. My desk is cluttered with unfiled detritus. I’ve noticed that my couch, the uber comfortable nest of family life, is looking rather shabby. Bought for another house with a bigger living room, it has always been a bit of an elephant in this living room. Something to be slightly squeezed around especially when the clothes basket goes downstairs or a big box is delivered. For a millisecond I wonder if the money that I just spent on airline tickets “should” have gone into some household item—Ach, the driveway!—but the cloud passes very, very quickly.
I bought airline tickets for Italy.
One blog post and two days later, I have moved past “beginning to plan” and have three pages of references for an Italian adventure. No, I haven’t booked flights yet. It’s not time to book flights. I am, however, in dreamy travel mode. A heady time when everything is possible, every piece of art can be admired, every church walked through with hushed tones, every meal delicious. It is fun to indulge fully. I haven’t found the dinosaur possibilities yet. I will take travel books out of the library. I take out a stack. Later, I will buy one or two to carry, but first, I will abandon myself to the stack. Continue reading
I know I’ve announced this before, at other noticeable stopping points, but once again—ta-da!—I am coming more into myself.
The self that I am coming into?
I am chatting up more wait staff and baristas— this morning at the Target Starbucks, I noticed that Oprah has a chai but not a coffee and we, the barista and I, bantered.
I notice that I am grumpy. It’s not the grumpy part that is notable but the noticing.
I am feeling oppressed about falling behind, way behind, responding to email and I actually realized that all I have to do is to answer a bunch of emails to feel better.
A code appeared just today on the dashboard of my car and I noticed it and called the folks who service the car. I remembered that it was not there yesterday and I acted in a timely manner.
I want to buy show tickets for next fall and see touring musicals.
There is also the travel thing. In the last few years, I have insisted that I wanted to travel far and yet have not done it. Yes, we did travel to Mexico last summer but I corralled Cheshire and another young friend to go with Julia and I. Cheshire is fluent in Spanish and so was an excellent buffer between me and any semblance of un-touristy Mexico. We went to a rather touristy part of Mexico. It was a beach vacation, not the exploration vacations that I most enjoy. And so, Mexico almost doesn’t count as traveling far.
And now, today, and for this whole week, I’ve begun planning a trip to Italy. Continue reading
The season begins to rest upon. To turn. To penetrate, moving from skin to deep inside marrow. It can still be short sleeve sunny in the middle of the day but rich decaying leaf smell is unmistakable and if we sleep with open windows it is under cozy quilts. Over the past two weeks, I’ve unconsciously moved towards the burgeoning season. It is easiest to see in closets and dresser drawers. Summer skirts and capris migrate into the upper cubbies of Julia’s closet organizer and out of my drawers and into the hight reaches of my closet. The long sleeved shirts and substantial socks are pulled from their hiding places one by one until the full array of warmer clothing, not the warmest by any means, but the warmer wardrobe is what we are wearing.
T’is the season. A season. I hum “And the time for every purpose under heaven.”
Started 29 June and finished 1 July.
I always underestimate how much time it takes to “unpack” from traveling. There is the physical unpacking — the last vacation wash was folded and drawer-ed yesterday, books, toys and nonpermanent items in the toiletry pouch were homed on Thursday. There is the catching up on sleep — can one every really “catch up”? — made acute by the unlocking the door to home just after 3 in the morning. And then, there is the other unpacking which in our house means establishing a new routine and re-establishing the discipline necessary to be comfortable together. On that point, we’ve stumbled.
Julia woke up on Wednesday and seemed to have lost the power of hearing where I am concerned. I needed to ask for anything, including joining me at the dinner table, three, four or five times. Considering that I was in no way well rested, my response was not always compassionate and enlightened. Julia seemed centered on her iPad and on the Harry Potter Lego game that one of her caregivers had put on as an indulgence. I don’t think the game has any intrinsic value — I tend to look for something, at least logic and problem solving in her games — and regardless of the value, it became an obsession during traveling. I took away the iPad for the remainder of the day which is our usual consequence for not listening. Julia got mad and was mean to me. I took it away for another day. She continued mean behavior and disregarded any of my directions and soon we were up to a two-week iPad furlough. It was then that I realized that the deprivation was opportunity. Julia needed iPad separation — during any travel, I let her spend much more time on the iPad than usual and the only way to change the habit no matter how short a time it took to establish is cold turkey withdrawal of the machine.
And so, we are in our fourth day iPad-free and it is almost lovely. Julia is drawing more, reading more and knitting more. She reaches for her Rapunzel doll or her dragon instead of the machine. She decided to do some sewing on her Rapunzel doll’s clothes. I don’t remember writing about her interest in sewing. A few months ago, Julia decided to mend her socks. I offered very brief instructions — she wanted no more — and provided needles and thread in a sewing box. Since that time, she had mended holes in socks and sewed up seams in shirts. She wants no advice from me and I have no problem letting her explore this on her own. There was a small tear in Rapunzel’s dress which she repaired and then she made the hem of the dress more secure. Again, I offered to show her a few things about sewing and offer was refused. Perhaps some material and a good pair scissors will appear near the sewing box.
One of the tasks I had not gotten to this spring wa s to finish the basement cleaning begun two years ago. I’ve worked hard on it and I’ve worked casually. Since the beginning of this year, however, I’ve put far too many things in the basement which should be on their way to be thrown away or recycled. Thus, the need for some plan to get rid of or store what is piled in the middle of the floor. A portion of that pile consists of old computer parts — 2 CPU’s — does anyone know what a CPU is? — two printers, monitors, 4 keyboards and numerous speakers. David and I were early computer buyers and traded up at appropriate intervals; however, in the last few years I spent no time in front of my little flat screen console and after Julia got her iPad, there was no reason for her to be on it either. When we first moved to Madison, we had two stand alone computer set ups — David’s upstairs in the third bedroom and the family computer, or my computer, in the playroom. I disassembled David’s computer when the floors were to be sanded and never put it back and one of this year’s tasks was to clean up the CPUs and get rid of the equipment. I did the clean out in the Spring and then stored put it downstairs. My current resolve is to do something, however small, everyday in the cellar to get it cleaned out and up. On one hand this is kind of silly. Sweeping in front of the dryer or picking up all of the ZhuZhu pet runs to put in one container do little towards an clear-of-unnecessary-junk cellar, but I do get rather overwhelmed when I look at what seems to be a great mess. Even an easy task clears away or organizes a little mess. Eventually . . .
We had some unaccounted for time on Sunday and I looked up places to recycle computers. The almost local Goodwill takes most components and Julia and I loaded up the trunk and went to make the drop off. I had a moment of breathless hesitation. A spot of Grief passing over an otherwise productive activity. One of the fascinating, ugly things about grieving is how unexpected places or people or things trigger the punch in the stomach response. At almost four years since David’s death, it is more of a twinge than a punch but it was something. During that year “of magical thinking” after David died, I imagined that had he walked back into the house at any time, I could have caught him up on our everything in a few minutes. Then it was over dinner. Then suddenly, it would take much longer. I know, I know, he is not coming back but the space between us, the time, the articles of living the way we always lived change, morph, grow into such differences as not to be recognized.
Yes, we were early computer owners but David was very late to the laptop world. He liked sitting at a desk and so he found no need to move on to what was portable. I bought him his first notebook the Christmas before he died. I had not thought as carefully as it might seem but it was a good gift. He had plenty of hospital time, beginning that January, and portable began to make sense even to him. By the beginning of 2010, I was ready to replace my 4 or 5 year old Dell laptop. I bought my MacBook days before the heart transplant and spend the days of the hospital vigil learning to use this machine. I remember wishing that I had waited because taking in anything new seemed impossible at that time but my need to constantly tap on keys probably pushed me into efficient use sooner than had the time been ordinary.
So, now there are no stand alone computers in my house. I have my laptop, Julia has her iPad. I am looking forward to getting an iPad full size or mini in the next year to travel with. We also don’t have a landline phone and no fax machine. My router and modem – also new – are connected to everything via WiFi. My house seems to be less wired than my parents. No landline phone would surprise even my grandmother. And of course, it has been this way for a few months and growing in this direction for a few years but it was the separation of me from the machines in the basement that forced the discovery of this revolution.
And it makes me a little sad. Perhaps because it is July, perhaps just more change, perhaps because, although feeling stronger and full of energy there are still embers of grief ever ready to spring back into a roaring blaze — well, a small camp fire in the woods at this point. And it is the beginning of July.
Chasing Joy 