Leisa A. Hammett

Telling the Truth About Deen's Sugar-Coated Lie

The hoo-la over the diagnosis of the Queen of Fat & Sugar, Culinary Marketing Guru, Paula Deen, with Type-2 diabetes has simmered down a bit in the last week. I guess. At risk of sounding self-righteous: I really don't know because I rarely flick on the boob tube and best I knew, the controversy was never reported on my only news source, NPR. It was the blogosphere that tipped me off to the mean and nasty fest that was broiling over Deen's diagnosis. Talented blogger, special needs dad Rob Rummel-Hudson (Schuyler's Monster: A Father's Journey with His Wordless Daughter) posted on Facebook that making the Savannah-based Diva the butt of jokes was in poor taste. But via local Nashville fitness blogger Dyan of Don't Diet, Live It! that I learned the distasteful back story....

Dis. A. Point. Ing. Very.

From the headlines I expected a reformation. A new movement. I imagined the lives of foodie followers led down the table runner to salvation with Deen seated at the head teaching new math with a division of loaves and fishes and reversing her condition. (It is done. It is possible. I've witnessed it multiple times.) A reformed sugarholic for nearly 25  years now, I was excited, enthusiastic, as I clicked the news link, anxious to savor the details. Maybe this will be a wake up call for America's choice-ridden slide into obesity, I fancied. But. No. The scoop is Deen has known for three years about her diagnosis and sidles up to the public now with the endorsement of Big Pharma--Novo Nordisk-- a company that manufactures injectable diabetes meds. Her two sons, who do not have the diagnosis flank her as company spokespeople....Dialing up the heat of insult, Deen states in all seriousness:

She does not plan to limit her dietary excesses except her propensity for sugar-shocked, Southern tea. Writes "Coach Dyan" who watched Deen perform in a media circus parade, including The Today show: "She does not plan to change her lifestyle or cooking style[....]She said that she, like all other baby boomers, must face the reality of developing diabetes, heart disease, and high cholesterol."

There. Someone said it. Deen vocalized the sentiment of too many Americans. Descending into old, decrepit age, chock full of prescription meds and frequent consultations with allopathic medical doctors is just. The. Way. It. Is. Disease Rules.

Not.

Why am I passionate about this? Am I trying to pick at Paula? No. But I will speak the truth of my experience here. This mentality, as spoken aloud and lived by Deen, is a very real, negative reality in our culture today. But, I have chosen and live and believe in an alternative reality where Choosing Health Wins. As a young post-college adult, I began eating poorly, indulging in fat, excess sugar and fake foods. By my mid-20's, I developed a host of annoying gastric and transfered conditions. My trips to doctors became routine. By the end of that decade I was diagnosed with heavy metal poisoning, chronic intestinal yeast, chemical sensitivities and chronic fatigue syndrome. Eventually I found the ways of Western medicine and synthetic pharmaceuticals made me sicker. I quit listening to standard medicine and went the way of the quack, as our culture considered natural and alternative and diet-based medicine back then. Now? Science has proven those weird ideas...that too many in our culture still consider foreign. In one year I cured my chronic fatigue syndrome and heavy metal poisoning with the help of innovative, open-minded medical doctors in Atlanta, where I was then living. By first changing the content of what I ate, I immediately saw results in my weight, hair, skin and nails. I ate then and now a whole foods-based diet. Real. Food. Fruits. Vegetables. Whole grains. Some dairy and some quality meats. Organic as much as possible and lots of pure water. I have my dark chocolate and I drink wine on occasion. And if I let off the lid my sugar tooth will still rule. So, yes, those who know me have seen me big at the party buffet. The contents of my pantry? As pristine as a health food store.

My journey to whole food led me not only to whole health but to yoga and then to environmentalism because I saw how I ate affected how I treated the earth and in turn the earth's ability to sustain humankind. I learned as my mind cleared and my body cleaned itself from the inside out, that it is difficult to be fully conscious when I crammed fake stuff that my body could not process. And that clarity, slowly over the next couple of decades led me to a wider more inclusive spiritual path. In my experience, one led to the other, all so beautifully connected. I am so grateful for the journey that started with getting sick from a contemporary American diet and has served by body, mind and spirit so well the two ensuing decades.

We do have a choice about our health. And making a choice for optimal health is particularly important if you, like me, are a special needs parent. How can I meet the lifetime demands of my differently abled daughter if I am not preparing my body to sustain the long journey ahead? I do this--I eat pure the majority of time and I excercise regularly first for me and my quality of my Life. And then I do it for Her and any other loved one that may be in my life at a given time. And then, I do it for Us. What our culture is failing to realize is that WE ALL pay when some of us choose the path of disease. All of our costs go up. Preventative medicine via preventive diet, the bountiful foods of Mother Earth, are mighty cheap in comparison.

My Truth: Eat Well. Eat Real. Eat Whole. And do not accept that doctors, disease and decrepitness are the future. You bet the hell I am not. Make that I'm choosing the heaven of living well. Diss Dean and preventable disease and follow the path toward health. Quality lies there.

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What Deen's not taking into consideration with her refusal to change her diet and simply take medication: According to Mayo Clinic those with Type 2 diabetes may feel fine at first in the early stages but complications include: heart and blood vessel disease; nerve, kidney, eye, foot damage; skin and mouth conditions, osteoporosis and Alzheimer's.

Monday Morning Addendum: below, I've added three comments. The longest one shares two aspects of clarification, including more of my recent journey here for greatest authenticity. Thank all you who've visited here already this morning!

Two Current Movies Feature Asperger's

In theaters now, two movies highlight Asperger's syndrome. Viewed last weekend, Joyful Noise, alone, didn't charm enough with it's fun, fabulous music, and tender plot to demand anything other than a blurb on Facebook. But last night's take on Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close wrenched my guts and propelled me to the keyboard...not to mention that's two movies--released in the first month of 2012--both featuring characters with the high-functioning form of autism. (...Screw DSM-V. Details on the controversy on "The Journey with Grace" this Wednesday.)

 

Such an oddball match, it's alluring, Queen Latifah and Dolly Pardon play two deep-in-Georgia matriarchs with big hearts and opposing wills. The music score is riveting and rocking throughout. And hot newcomer Jeremy Jordan is ever easy on the eyes and ears. It's a heart-tugging story of hard times and big hopes. It's a bit cornball and thoroughly Southern. Any guy or gal, like me, that's grown up in an evangelical Protestant church (sshhh, don't tell anyone!) will be time tripped back into Wednesday night choir practice as it it were old home week. It's sweet and tendar and a bit mushy and a depiction of what small-town life might be in the best of circumstances where color doesn't matter nor does quirkiness, of which there is plenty. Not the least of which, in the quirky department, is Queen Latifah's son with Asperger's. A subplot of struggles in both families play out, with love, friendship and music saving the day. Unless your itching to grab a show out, save this feel-good flick for the Netflix list.

 

But the two-plus hours spent last night in a too-warm, packed theater to see Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close was worth every minute. This is one of the most incredible movies I've seen in a long time. The acting was absolutely impeccable. Flawless. Every. Single. Actor....Tom Hanks, Sandra Bullock, John Goodman, Viola Davis (The Help,) Max Von Sydow (who impressively pulls off the role of a mute Holocaust survivor,) and the nine-year-old narrator, who has Asperger's--Thomas Horn. My friend pronounced Horn a child prodigy for his performance. (It's not the first time the young actor won accolades.)

The multi-layered and clever plot, based on the epononmously named 2005 novel by Jonathan Safran Foer is thoroughly engrossing. The tradegy of 9-11 is central to the movie and it painfully picks the scab left on the  American psyche. But, this is not a "9-11 movie." Instead, viewers are swept up in a little boy's Asperger's riddled and angst-ridden search. Metaphor is courses. And, cinematography stuns--especially with the close-ups of the child protagonist.

I'm one of those people who reads the playbill after the play. And, hence, movie reviews after the film. Reviews were a bit dour on Incredibly Loud and Extremely Close. (Blah-blah.) I judge that much like the audience's reaction at the movie's ending. Immediately around my friend and I were a number of twentysomethings who quickly stood up from their seats, as the credits began to roll, and loudly voiced their reactions. They were not parents, most likely. And, too, most likely unaware of the intensity of parental love and the grabbling experience of autism that they'd just witnessed. Yet, other theater goers eagerly appaulded the moment the screen went dark before the roll of actors appeared. Hankies dabbed, loud sniffs and sniffling sounded. And, I shook, literally, with tears at the movie's end. I'm not sure I've every been moved so viscerally by a movie, except maybe Farenheit 9/11, which incited intense anger within me.

So, thumbs up, Hollywood. You got us covered. Twice. Thank you. And for Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, one word. Or, rather one more word: BRILLIANT. (And...one more: bravo!)

*Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close garnered two Academy Award nominations including for Best Picture. Not writing about on "The Journey with Grace," but Meryl Streep delivered her ever-classic and flawless performance on The Iron Lady. That's another one worth catching when out on a winter's eve.

"Life is Juicy;" The Art of Cindy Wunsch

 

The above collage is by one of my favorite Nashville-based artists. Not only is Cindy Wunsch's art inspirational and fun, she is one of the most positive, encouraging, genuinely caring individuals I know and also one of the best art teacher's I've ever experienced. Here's Cindy's artist statement that I loved so much I wanted to share here:

 

"I am someone who dreams about flowers,

who finds love angelic and  

who wonders about everything.

 

"I am a person who feels

that the most

romantic of life's moments can be found

in the ordinary.

 

"I am interested in creating works of art

as poetic as a classic song, yet make

you want to dance.

 

"Beneath the glossy covering of these

images you might find wallpaper, wax,

paint chips, and scraps of just about

any kind, as well as unique experiences,

old memories and simple thoughts.

 

"I hope they make you wonder."

 

I'm drawn to this particular (copyrighted) collage of Cindy's in part because of its' sentiment. So true....I have a magnet version of the image on my fridge. Learn more about Cindy Wunsch and her art at www.cindywunsch.com. The above collage was also featured in the annual Tomato Arts Festival art show at Art and Invention Gallery in our fair city's wacky, eclectic East Nashville region. "The Journey with Grace" featured Cindy's art last here in a blog post here.

Still Loves Fans

Parents of young children with autism have stories. They collect them. They chuckle with their partners and spouses and their parents and other autism families and friends about the really funny albeit odd things that their sweet babies, toddlers, preschoolers do. And then. One day. They learn there's a reason for all this odd behavior. Odd behavior like:

Running in circles while pounding their little bare tootsies to the floor; watching obsessively as the toilet water circles round and around down the drain--tub water, same thing; or being intolerant when said toilet flushes or flushing it over and over and over.

Those were on our list but so were the following: The same pattern-direction--one way only--Grace ran in our home's circular floor plan. How she couldn't stand the sound of blenders. You'd a thought we were given her by her blood curdling screams. The garbage disposal had a similar effect. Eventually, she developed her own coping mechanism. When she heard the sink water turned on, she'd run to the sofa, sit on her hands and stiffen her body, bracing for the scary, loud noise. Then there was the stage when she "perseverated" (a fancy word for obsessed) on spatulas, peering through their slots when held closely to her face. I remember the days when my toddler would pitch a fit if I didn't sing to her when I started the car and proceeded to where we were going--she strapped safely into her car seat behind me. She'd also protest mightily as early as nine months of age when I turned away from instead of back toward home about a mile or two out.

And then there were fans. At five months, she and I joined her father (The Wuzband) on a business trip to Tuscon. We walked into a restaurant that had fans. She nearly did a back flip out of her father's arms looking up at it as it spun.

Just now, at 17, she walked off the bus, coming in from the rain. I closed the door behind her and she stood there, staring above my head through the glass French door. I looked at her, seeing her gaze off in the distance. I turned around and there it was. Our neighbor, across the patio had on their porch fan. At this age, even, she's still mesmerized by fans.

And, I know now, what I didn't know then when she was a wee tyke, there's a reason for this odd fascination. And it's all embedded in her complex disAbility called autism.

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Key: Pounding the floor with each step is "gathering input," and soothing an unevenly modulated sensory system. Toilets and drains fascinate because of the visual, repetitive circular pattern and the white noise generated--which can also frighten and overstimulate. Pattern repetition provides sameness and predictability in an world unpredictable to a person with autism who processes information differently. Blenders, disposals and other loud noises can cause physical pain to the unevenly modulated sensory system that may be auditorily defensive. Music often soothes and Grace's demand for it each time we rode in the car was her need for predictability, as with when we didn't go home the same way--and also a demonstration with the often extraordinary sense of geographical skills exercised by many individuals on the spectrum. Spatulas, in our case, plus shadows, angles, peripheral vision, et cetera, can be stimulatory, scary and visually distorted by the sensory system. And, fans are a repetitive, stimulatory pattern and motion.)

Photo, above: Leisa A. Hammett; the contents of Grace's pockets after school recently. She's always been a floor sweeper, much to my annoyance. She also "lifts" things. I don't know where she got these. Objects held, especially, provide "deep pressure" (soothing) tactile input, and also the satisfying stimulus of collecting.

What are your autism stories?

I'm Not Sorry....

It'd been nearly 10 years since I met up with my friend from the small, informal playgroup in which we were both members when our children were babes. Long ago she'd moved to Western North Carolina. When I vacationed in Asheville last summer, we shared a meal downtown. Time had passed, gray peeked through our locks and lines had crept from the corners of our eyes. Our children were grown now, one of hers had jumped from the nest and the other was perched on the edge. A far cry from the diaper swaddled, round-bellied children who lolled about on the floor as their female parents dissected our roles as mothers, wives, women, politics, religion...no topics were left un-discussed by this special, treasured, diverse group who met twice a month in each others' living rooms.

I told my old friend the news of my marriage ending and she began a refrain: "That SUCKS! That SUCKS! That. Just. SUCKS!" She repeated it several times during the download of current events portion of our catchup. I winced each time she said it. I knew it came from a place of love and compassion. She grieved for me, her friend. She knew how I'd left one marriage, bundled my hopes and then entered another almost a decade later. It wasn't supposed to turn out to be this way....Or was it?

After we finished our lunches and hugged each other goodbye I got in touch with the discomfort her words summoned within me. It was my Life. And it didn't and it doesn't suck. Was I disappointed? Hell, yes! I'd lost something that I'd expected. Something Big. But, my Life, despite "the current condition" didn't and doesn't suck. The experience and the Gift of Life is just too precious to let our conditions, many of which we create, mar our perspective--the total picture of The Goodness. The Joy. The Hope. And, The Blessings of Living. They exist, in Real Time amid what we label as heartache, frustrations and our loss of what we expected....

Journaling yesterday morning, I tried to parse out these feelings once again and decided to come here, vulnerable, open, and share them with you. It was here and on the social media venue of Facebook, where "The Journey with Grace" is also posted, that many readers were extremely kind, generous and gracious,  expressing in the comments on both online sites that they were "sorry" when I humbly and authentically shared the news of Divorce 2.0. Again, I knew, I know, the words, the sentiments of "sorry," were and are a sincere, heart-felt attempt from dear, compassionate people grasping for intangible words to communicate that they wished things had turned out differently for me.

But...Sorry? No, I am not. I am not because I know and I see the Great Divine Scheme in how Life works. This doesn't don me with some magical power that others do not have. There are others who also see their lives this way. It is in the teachings of the ancients and the great teachers of the 19th century, which formed  New Thought. But our culture conditions us otherwise. To Blame. To Pity. To proclaim "Woe is Me." Have I had my moments of sorry or woe-ing me? Oh. Yeah. I've hosted a number of pity parties complete with a band. (Grief is Good. It is Real. It is Normal. It is Necessary.) But then I snapped out of it. I took the handlebars and not the sidecar seat because I know that I am the author of my Life. It, this Life,  does not happen to me or others at random. I am not at the mercy and control of a Sky God who wishes me harm and unhappiness. I am a co-creator in this Life of mine. And when my choices are "less than optimal," as I choose to call them, I have the opportunity to mine the Gold in them. And there is Gold. There is Gold in all of Life. I've found Gold in Autism. I have found Gold in Job Loss. I have found Gold in Grief. And I have found Gold in Divorce. (I even believe there is Gold in cancer. Surely you've heard the stories of the jewels found?) I know with all of my heart that I could not have reached this destination of Now and gained the awareness of past influences on my choices without the mining, without plunging to the depths that I have in my Life. And, that I would not reach the Now of tomorrows had I of not gone down deep and learned what I needed to learn. Now the smart thing is to make sure I pave a path with that Gold that directs me to wiser choices that bring me less pain going forward. But it takes a lot more mining.

I've got perpetual helmet hair these days because of all this mining. But, I've no regret for the hard work of shoveling before me.

Sorry? No. GrateFULLness.

Photo: Leisa A. Hammett, my new patio garden. "Begin Again" stone from my all-time favorite catalog, Isabella.

An Irreverent Homage to a Mentor

Someone special left earth Monday night. I met Jim Newton when I was a whipper snapper still in college, a senior holding down my studies and commuting an hour from school to the 1982 World's Fair in Knoxville where I was the communications director for an on-site pavilion. We became friends and he, also a professional adviser to me. Two years later, when I left my next job, which would be in Nashville, I'd learn that he'd asked my employers if they'd loan me to be his communications assistant for a special assignment in Lausanne, Switzerland. They said no. (Insert explicative for male dogs and an exclamation point.) You'da bet I'd of said "YES!" and been packin' my bags if he'd asked me directly. But then the dogs and I eventually had a parting of ways and I ended up in Atlanta working for Jim.

This seasoned, veteran newsman, turned savvy public relations adviser was brutally honest. He cut me no slack in editing my youngster’s too-often sloppy copy. I learned from him as he wrote both pr strategies and disaster plans, literally pounding out their drafts on an old, noisy clunker electric typewriter. And while he could cut my ego to its knees, he always had a kind word to add that encouraged me to keep going.

Those were some of the best years of my youth. We had a special team of 20- to 40somethings working together in the communications department of a nonprofit agency. In our wing, we dissected world news, talked about art, politics, our shared the love our burgeoning city and our lust for good food. We eagerly consumed that food during lunch hours that were beyond the legal limits rightfully dictated by our employer.

Jim was my first mentor. There had been others before, but he was the first to whom I pinned that name. This was the mid-80s and "mentor" back then had another connotation in certain contexts. And Jim would grin slyly when I said that and remind me of that double meaning. But that was Jim. He loved the fact that he was "just a dirty old man." He flaunted it as a badge of honor. Back then he was the age then that I am now. And I remember well the belly dancer we whisked quickly into the building foyer and up to the fifth floor for a surprise performance on his 50th birthday. This was not an ordinary workplace. It was a religious organization. A conservative one. And what we'd done was delightfully taboo. And, frowned upon when word got out. Oops. Too late.

Jim thought that tagging himself as a dirty old man meant he could get away with certain comments and approving looks regarding a woman's appearance. In one of my angriest moments I'm sure I shook with anger as I fiercely glared at him, pointed my finger and threatened: "If this were IBM you couldn't get away with those kinds of comments! For the record they were mostly somewhat benign, but then they weren't. This was the 80s and women--particularly nice Southern girls like me working in religious organizations--didn't have words and categories to describe these situations. That was before Anita Hill.

Anita Hill left her mark in history, bless her, more than two decades ago. And she left one on my mentor, Jim. Internet technology reconnected us over the last decade and more than once via phone and email, he told me that he now got it, that commenting on a woman's appearance in the manner that he did within the workplace was not acceptable. Thanks to Anita, he now understood my anger. And he apologized. Humbly. Repeatedly.

And now I am humbled. During the holidays the "call Jim" notation never made it off my to-do list into an actually phone call. I had heard that his leukemia had returned and things weren't looking good. And then week before last, I heard that he had been moved to hospice. I exchanged emails with one of my former colleagues. It looked to be too late to call. And then, last Monday, it really was too late. Time was up...

Time has long been up, too, for my whipper snapper days. Despite his “dirty old man" behavior, I loved Jim. I am grateful for having worked with him. I am grateful for his honesty, even when it was a bit abrasive. For his kindness to me. For his belief in me. I sometimes then did not feel worthy. I think maybe he saw in me what I could become. I am appreciative in how he shared his knowledge. He took me under his wing.  Maybe I wasn't the only one he mentored that way. He loved me and he loved us all, all the talented people he chose so carefully to be a part of his team. He was good to us. But then he did expect something of all of us in return....

Every one of us in the department had a tale of being interrupted in our work in the late afternoon by a frantic Jim, high on coffee and sometimes antihistamines (this was Atlanta and pollen was plenty,) plus mega doses of adrenaline. (Jim subsisted on those three ingredients back then.) Could we take him to the airport he'd ask, his eyeballs and neck veins popping? And, he always asked us this wee favor with one hour (or less) to spare before his flight departed. Again, this was decades before 911 changed everything and now that one hour will barely allow a traveler to reach their gate. Jim always made it to the plane. Everytime. But by the time he leaped out of the passenger side and slammed the door, the veins and eyeballs of his once calm chauffer were also popping, their own heart pounding with adrenaline. I made that trek from midtown Atlanta to the airport, maneuvering rush hour jams more than once. At one point, we my colleagues and I may have made a pact, in those Nancy Reagan days, to "Just Say 'No'" to Jim.

The world has changed since 1982, when I first met Jim. But my fondness, my gratitude, they are eternal. Like the place that he has gone to now. Jim: I join so many who will miss you. Thank you for the multitude of blessings (and laughs...often at your expense) you gifted us here with your presence. I hope you are happy and that there are lots of coffee and maybe a few pretty women, cause, you know...some things never completely change....

Going Easy on the Eyes

It's been a wordy week here at "The Journey with Grace" with two long posts ("An Irreverent Homage to a Mentor" bookending the week on ArtsFriday tomorrow,) and with the week's kick-off post featuring a personal domestic affairs update and a short piece on personal "grace" wedged in the middle with only a tad of type art....We gotta get some visual ahhhhhrt in here this week. So, I'm pleased to slide in happy news and a peek at Nashville artist Lisa Ernst's painting, below:

Trumpet Diptych, “36” x 48,” permanent collection, MD Anderson Cancer Center, Houston, copyrighted, Lisa Ernst

Ernst's above painting is one of several artists' works featured on the cover of the soon-to-be released book, Contemporary Painters. The coffee table book highlights the selected work of 100 artists worldwide. Ernst has five works included in the publication, including the above.

The artist's work was featured by "The Journey with Grace" in these previous posts: Art & Medicine, Arts at the Airport and Fruits of Summer.

It's been a bit cold, gray and dreary here in Nashville this week. I hope this splashes a douse of a needed color not only for your peeps but also for your spirit. Enjoy!

Grace

 

grace n

A favor rendered. 

A[n...] immunity or exemption; a reprieve. 

Divine love and protection bestowed freely [...].

The state of being protected [...].

Suddenly....Life as I'd known it somersaulted up into the air, spinning. Spinning. Landing me. Abruptly. Crashing me down upon my ear. I was no longer a mother choosing to be at home raising my young child. Instead, I found myself creeping along the interstate amid frantic a.m. commutes to Vanderbilt for early intervention. My daughter had just been diagnosed with autism.

Quickly, I checked myself back into therapy. Old baggage, once stowed, jammed into recesses, had suddenly reappeared demanding me to unpack its' contents so I could travel the arduous journey ahead. My therapist then, told me at least twice, if not more, that someday I'd realize why I'd chosen to name my daughter "Grace." She said this so confidently. So compassionately. Smiling knowingly at me each time she told me this. Even after we parted ways, upon meeting up with her a time or two, even years later, she'd say the same thing. The name "Grace" had been chosen more, she implied, than the fact that one of my college best friends had named her oldest daughter "Olivia Grace," and I liked the middle name so much I copycatted. It was more than the fact that I was enamoured with the old fashioned name of old women from my childhood. More than the fact that Susan Dey's character on L.A. Law was affectionately called "Gracie" by her handsome lover. More than the fact that it was the only name my Grace's father and I could agree upon. More, even, than that grace was the single most defining word for what I believed was the essence of God Divine.

Fifteen. That many years later, battle scars inflicted and healed, not one divorce but two laying in the battlefield of my soul. Both parents now departed....At last. I knew. I got it. Grace....I'd named my daughter Grace because grace...was what I needed for myself....

Mercy. Compassion. And...Grace. May I continually drink them deeply. May I own and embrace them fully for myself. May I show them to you and all those who may cross my path. (I'm learning. There's a curve.) I now realize it truly starts with me--with each one of ourselves...manifesting within first and then pouring into the external. May you, too, find these things for yourself and for our world. Just think what could happen....

I am grateful for this grace.

Namaste.

Divorce 2.0

...This is the blog post that once upon a time I dreaded writing. Back last early June when I moved out of the house I shared with Husband 2.0, I dreaded the thought of coming here and posting this very personal and once very painful news. And then, over the months as I began the process of actively healing, the time that I shared it here could not come soon enough. Not all of the dread of sharing this very intimate bit of news here has dissipated. It's just that Life has gone on in many respects and I've been eager to be authentic here with you, my readers. But paperwork and circumstances beyond my control caused a wait of at least five months before my second divorce was final.

Now I'm not proud to say I've been divorced twice. Oh. No. Nor to share it here. I am living testimony of the culture of today. You know, the voyeuristic, tell-all, tweet it, post it on Facebook, blog about it culture. I've engaged in it readily because this is part of my Art. Without regret. Writing is how I express myself. And to be a writer in the thick of contemporary culture, well, online media is where it's at. I shared here about "The Boyfriend" of three years, who became "The Fiance" and then whom I wedded, making him "Husband 2.0." So, in the spirit of authenticity and of closing this painful lesson-chocked chapter of my Life, I'm sharing this news with you--as soon as I could do so officially. Yes, there's been a hell of a lot of inferences here to divorce and something deep and kinda dark going on in my Life since early May. (And then the day after we went to court to stand before the judge, uncontested, I made a passing reference. January 14 marked 90 days, when in the state of Tennessee, a divorce claim, once filed is official, if uncontested.

The essence of my lifestory to this point, the one I aim to share here and in my books is that it is not what happens to you, to us, to me, but how you, we, I, choose to react to it. Hey, Life Happens. Substitute the second word in that sentence if you like. But even then, perception is up to the individual person living it.

I won't write any gory details here. In my moments of negative fantasies--which usually seem to happen in the shower--I'd post shitty stuff on Facebook. But that is not who I am. And that would not serve anyone--me, Husband 2.0, or you--the reader. I know that I get back what I put out. And I want positivity in my Life. And while this divorce is completely different than the one from Grace's father--The Wuzband versus Husband 2.0...hey gotta have some fun with it all, eh?--overall it has been conducted peaceably. And, I still maintain that is so the way to go if at all possible and I believe it is possible more often than not.

If you've really grasped the essence of what I write about here, what threads through my posts about Life and disAbility again and again, you know that I value a sense of personal Spirituality. That I believe Life is Good. Maybe I've not been so clear that I also believe that there are no mistakes. Okay, I'll concede... maybe...sometimes..."less than optimal choices." But there's that Choice word. And then there's the Perfect word. Something I write about a lot in regards to my daughter with autism. What if it's all Good? What if it's all Divinely Perfect? Perfectly Imperfect? I do believe it is....

The last year-plus was one hell of year.  I turned 50. I remarried. I turned 51, I got divorced again. And in the process, a very integral part of this picture, which I have written about frankly, my last remaining parent died. As I wrote here and here, I could not see some of the patterns that I had unconsciously created in my Life until my father died. His death was a HUGE wake up call. And, I believe that Life gives us those calls and they get louder and LOUDER until we really, really hear them. Until we "come to" and listen.

I believe that sometimes painful things in our Life have to come about to propel us on to our Greatest Good. I'm propelling. Very much so. And I look forward to sharing with you where I am going.  Stay Tuned. I'm wincing now and then, but I'm excited about my New Life ahead. 2012, bring 'er on!

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As of midnight Sunday, I have eliminated the "Journey with Grace" blog category "Marriage 2.0." This is a personal decision I've reached after much thought. None of the posts in that category will disappear from this blog as they were placed in one or more categories upon their creation. 

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"Disappointment to a noble soul is what cold water is to burning metal; it strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it."--from Eliza Tabor

GraceArt Featured in Artism 2012 + An Opportunity to Contribute!

Gangbusters! That's how it's going in the land of GraceArt* over here. Why? A lot of reasons, but in part kudos and gratitude goes to a pioneer autism mom who is making her way across the country and world, driven by her passion for "artism."  Debbie Hosseini is a part of a critical mass--"the tipping point"--we're reaching nationally, if not internationally, in gaining deserved attention of especially artism as well as other disability art, aka: art brut, outsider art....

Says Hosseini, who's son with autism is also an artist: "People on the spectrum often internalize the negative messages broadcast on the media. "The Art of Autism" provides an alternative to those messages; focusing on the positive aspects of autism."

And here's how Hosseini's going about it: "The Art of Autism" is a project that incorporates The Art of Autism book series, art shows, live theatrical entertainment events, workshops and films to shift consciousness and increase awareness regarding autism. The project is committed to promoting talented artists on the autism spectrum and educating the general public about this enigmatic disorder, which has increased exponentially in numbers of individuals affected in the last two decades. The project supports artists through mentorship, building resumes, portfolios, and direct work experience. Participants in past events report an improvement in self-esteem, media exposure and often a sense of community that they have never experienced before. Most importantly, these artists make friends and lifelong connections. The majority of money raised from the Art of Autism art sales goes directly to the artist. A portion also goes to a local nonprofit who hosts the show.

Hometown commercial break here, aka "bragging rights:" GraceArt, the line of cards, prints and original paintings, collages and other media created by my 17-year-old daughter, Grace Goad, since she was four, was featured in an October "The Art of Autism" show in Soho. Grace is also a featured artist in an upcoming show at Seattle's Heart of the Spectrum gallery, which will highlight her work among other artists featured in the 2012 "Art of Autism Book," entitled: The Art of Autism: Shifting Perceptions. Also, Heart of the Spectrum now represents GraceArt, carrying some of her original paintings, prints and her card line.

Hosseini curated art shows for "The Art of Autism" since 2005. In 2011, the project went international with the debut of five major shows in the U.S. and Canada. In 2012, they plan more including here in Nashville. Here's where YOU come in: This project is coming to a close in less than two weeks with only 10 percent of the budget raised for the book's printing and the financing of the shows. This new book is about hope, family, gifts, overcoming struggles, and acceptance and appreciation of the hidden gifts that we all know are well worth the extra effort to discover....Disclaimer: GraceArt and "The Journey with Grace" receive no compensation if you choose to make a donation. I'm not asking you for our sake, but the sake of this project and all artists with disAbilities. Here's the link if you should feel so led: http://www.indiegogo.com/TheArtofAutism. Thank you in advance.

Funding will support the publication of The Art of Autism: Shifting Perceptions book, featuring art and poetry of people with autism around the globe. Essayists in the new edition of the book include Darold Treffert, M.D., an expert on savant syndrome; Stephen Shore, Ph.D., author and international speaker living with autism; Colin Zimbleman, Ph.D., a depth psychologist and expert on autism; Dr. Rebecca McKenzie, psychologist and autism expert; Elaine Hall, founder of The Miracle Project, Keri Bowers (Film maker and international speaker and Hosseini. 

Stay tuned here at "The Journey with Grace." We are talking to Hosseini about the possibility of bringing her show to Nashville. And, independent of The Art of Autism, we are busy preparing for THREE solo shows of GraceArt this spring--two in Nashville and one in Athens, Ga. More details coming here!