Leisa A. Hammett

DisAbility Dialogues: Things People Say, Part I

So call me "Cougar." He was pretty easy on the eyes. He wore tall, caramel-colored boots. Skinny-legged jeans tucked in. By his side was a high-end, sleek model motorcycle helmet. His lap-top shouted his renegade politics: bumper stickers brandishing "Ron Paul" "REVOLUTION" (with the fourth through sixth letters spelled backwards--LOVE,) and "Legalize the Constitution."

I noticed the young man glancing over at Grace and I but I assumed it was to see if we registered the volume of his  visual-political messages....Shoulda known. Of course. Can't go out in public with my teen daughter with autism without getting noticed. But, that's okay....

 

This is what happens to me, on purpose, when I get my haircut every six weeks. I don't try this at home. Both do's by Lunatic Fringe, Franklin, Matt Fine, owner and photographer. More here, at some point, about our disAbility mother-daughter day there. The purple hair is temporary. The disAbility, not. Purple hair or not, we get looks.

 

I was surprised when he approached me later and commented about the large bling-y bee-shaped broach I wear pinned to my puffy black down vest. His belated and beloved grandmother always wore broaches, he said, adding he'd not seen anyone wear one since she'd passed on. And then the subject turned to Grace. Really, I don't mind inquiries about her differences. I am not ashamed of my daughter's disAbility and I seize most any opportunity to educate. Too often, however, the questions turn to unasked-for-suggestions. And most often, the suggestions are not even buffered by inquiry first. And though the convo about the broach with the young man had chipped the ice, this suggestion was the most "out there" I'd heard in 15 years on the journey.

First question: Did Grace had Multiple Sclerosis? "No. She has autism." Then he proceeded to say autism and MS were similar. [Not.] He proceeded, stating that he wanted to share something that worked with his friend recently diagnosed with MS. Drum roll, please:

Marijuana....

OMG. Really? Give pot to my 18-year-old because she has autism? That's the most bizarre thing I've heard yet, I said.

"Really?" He responded back.

Actually, I realized later that I had heard of medicinal marijuana for MS. I support medical usage. I've had my share of friends who used the drug recreationally, too. I don't judge that. Honestly, I have never touched the stuff. (It's illegal and my old Southern Baptist goody-two shoes of yore apparently still fit.)

Once upon a time I might have walked away from this exchange pissed. (And, underneath anger is almost always hurt.) But, I maintained a calm inner space in his presence and spoke my truth: "Actually," I replied, "I don't consider disAbility a bad thing." He cocked his head slightly, appearing a bit curious. "My daughter and others like her can teach us many things: tolerance, servitude, joy, diversity. And," I added, "we can choose to look upon people of differences as broken or see the gifts that they bring us. I believe part of the Divine plan in my having been gifted a child not only with autism, but autism on the severe end, was so that I could use my gifts to help her realize and demonstrate the beauty of her own, one of which is her artistic ability."

I don't think that was the response he expected. And instead of anger/hurt, I chose to view his suggestion as well meaning. (And quite entertaining.)

So, pot and autism, huh? Come back next Wednesday for the weekly autism/disAbility feature on "The Journey with Grace," for "DisAbility Dialogues: Things People Say, Part II." I'll share some other things I've been offered up by well-meaning passersby, plus some from a community of mothers who also have special needs kids. It gets pretty interesting. And downright incredulous. And sometimes it's received as greatly insulting.

My. The things people say....

*I've since learned, which really doesn't surprise me after all these years, that pot is being used by some in the autism community. Again, it's not for me to judge another person's choices. Here's two "Journey with Grace" blog posts that skim such issues: "Jaded: Vantage Point from 15 Years on the Journey," and "Take Your Cure and Shove It" And upon further reflection, I recall our beloved former pyschiatrist, who no longer resides in the mainland U.S., and who is a renegade himself, told me about cannabis as a promising autism treatment. The autism "bio-medical docs" don't know what to make of me. Fact is, I've used integrative medicine for 25 years, more that many of them have been studying it--largely on their own post medical school. And, yet, I am slow to embrace a good chunk of it as applied to autism because of my philosophy on the disorder, et cetera....As they say in Facebook land: "It's complicated."

I'm Not Sorry, Part II

In well-meaning moments of empathy, friends and acquaintances often offer up an "I'm sorry" for another's (sometimes assumed) pain. I wrote about that here, in regards to recent events in my Life. A Facebook comment about my daughter reminded me that, again, well-meaning strangers, even, offer up sympathies when our children's lives don't fit the model that society identifies as perfect or "normal."

Walking Radnor Lake recently, my daughter and a friend and I encountered a group of young adults with developmental disAbilities. We knew the group. Most were also members of a social organization to which my daughter belongs. Each young person in the way that they were capable greeted my daughter who in turn expressed her happiness about encountering her friends with intermittent signs of a bashful ducked head and covered eyes; a big, bright smile; sweet, happy sounds and flapping her hands and rocking. As an observer, I wondered what others seeing the group might think. That may sound like I'm projecting but as any parent of a child with a noticeable disAbility will tell you, seeing other people notice or stare at your differently abled child is just a given. It happens. Often. (See my 2008 "Journey with Grace" "Every Autism Parent Has A Wal-Mart Story" post.) Plus, there were passersby that day at the park.

But, sorry? No, seeing these young people was the height of unadulterated Joy. Oh, to be so free.

When "sorry" is offered up to our differently abled children, the point is missed. These children, these special individuals with perhaps "souls too large for their bodies" (an aboringinal belief), bring a purity, an innocence, an opportunity to serve, a tremendous chance to learn tolerance and abundant lessons to be taught.

Sorry? No, again. Yes, it's difficult. Again, hell, yeah! But, these lives different from our own cannot and should not be reduced to pity. No parties for pity here. I'm RSVP-ing: "No." Permanently. Instead: I'm hosting celebrations that I am so blessed to be so challenged and so stretched and so gifted with something so wonderfully different. In humility, I offer up: Thank. You. Thank you.

Compassion: A Valentine 4 Self; Dr. Kristin Neff

Psychologist Kristin Neff is the mother and wife featured in the book and movie, "The Horse Boy." The movie was reviewed here on "The Journey with Grace." I found Neff's work via a Google search after I first viewed an advance copy of the film. What an incredibly, multi-talented, loving, amazing family.

 

 

 

Recently, I stumbled upon an online interview  about how Neff used her research practices on Self-Compassion for herself when her son was diagnosed with autism.

I love how this journey of autism/disAbility can use our gifts to transform not only ourselves but those around us near and far....

Happy Valentines Day, tomorrow. Love yourself. You are the foundation of your Life, Your Family, Your World. Compassion for others--so needed in our world--starts from Within....

Here's another incredible look at loving and taking care of yourself from the perspective of another special needs, mother. Julie Keon: What I Would Tell You.

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Interestingly, a week ago after walking Radnor Lake I returned to my car to see someone had gifted me two discount sale copies of The Horse Boy. (Who are you? Either you know me or you saw my autism bumper sticker and puzzle magnet...?) I am keeping one copy since you meant for me to have it and will donate the other to our local Autism Society. Thank you!

Configuring an Artist Statement

It's about about the timing, they say. My Facebook plea for help went out no less than the night of The Super Bowl. Crickets....I've been writing since I was at least 10 and professionally since 1980. But the request from the Seattle gallery, HeART of the Spectrum, that's now representing my daughter, artist Grace Walker Goad, stumped me big time. They needed an artist statement. Uhhh....I've written her bio, website content, a resume, flyers, you name it, if not for her I've written a little of everything about almost everything. But how to write an artist statement for a nearly 18-year-old who rarely talks in complete sentences and only to request something she wants? She communicates to me and those around her about food, shopping, bed, bathroom. The basics. You ask her any question, unless it's something she clearly does not want to do and her answer is "Yes." For the others it's "Don't."

I held off the gallery for a week until the next Monday as GraceArt, my daughter's art business, has me so hopping right now with four shows, three of them in two months of this coming spring, that I've had to designate my weekdays. One day for GraceArt. Two days for errands and meetings. Another for  finishing the book, The Journey with Grace, by year's end, and another for the potpourri of household stuff like those stacks of paper that self-procreate. Blogging? It gets done when inspiration strikes, which luckily happens a lot. (How can a writer not write, I want to know.) So, GraceArt day came and the last document I created to send per request for the gallery was this:

Grace Walker Goad, Artist Statement

 

I love creating art. Though I am a very active late teen, (I love dancing to music, especially!) making art puts me into a Zen state. I create my best art when it is quiet. And, I work best one-on-one with preferably an art therapist because they best understand my autism and how to bring out my talent.

I love Life. And I love color. I study my palette very carefully and it’s said that both my color and composition skills have always been far beyond my chronological age.

I am pure Joy. And my art shows that Joy. I have no Ego about my art. I just kinda like it when I sometimes notice that other people think it’s really good. Honestly, I never demonstrated that I gave other people's reactions any notice until I got to go to New York City and be in front of a camera and on t.v. (The autism episode of “The View,” 2007.) After that I kinda began to get it that people liked my art.

I do not talk very much. I have a lot of difficulty expressing myself that way. My brain is impaired with a severe special language disorder so my parents are my voice for many things such as this artist statement.  I have intellectual disAbilities, too. I don’t care what folks choose to label me, I don’t notice and I don’t care. I’m ridiculously happy 99 percent of the time. My mother thinks, and many others, too,  that the ways that my brain is not “neurotypical” are compensated for with my ability to express myself through art. Art is my communication.

Jaded? Vantage Point from 15 Years on the Autism Journey

Uneven stacks of paper protruded from the cradle of my arms. I left the small, crowded exhibition room with more than I'd initially intended. I'd tried to be careful and not to pick up stapled batches of paper, flyers or brochures unless I was fairly certain I was going to reference them. But then there were the smiling vendors who insisted I take home their literature, even if I tried to insist otherwise. As I was leaving, a friend affiliated with an area university handed me more papers. I blurted out: "This overwhelms me! I will take them home and they'll sit in a pile, unread. I won't make the time. I have 15 years worth of papers I've collected about autism interventions. I'm not interested in repatterning my daughter's brain. She's not three. She's almost 18." My comment was sharp. My friend knew to take me with a grain of salt. 

The event was a Summer Opportunities Fair sponsored by our local autism society and is a superb resource for families. Vendors representing camps, therapies of all stripes, sports, etc., come and share their paper wares. It's a wonderful thing. I'm just in a different place.

That place. The place where I didn't think I would ever land. Starting out, a newbie to the autism world, I would bump up against people sort of like me. Jaded from the Journey. The mothers with older children who seemed to let out a collective sigh-combo-eyeball-"roll when I attended my first autism support group meeting and I shared about the vitamin regimen upon which I was going to put my child. Their caustic response: "Been there. Done that." (I HATE support group meetings!)

There was the angry mother who would rant about services versus research every time I saw her. Personally, I believe in research. But, now that I'm perched perilously alongside my daughter on the edge of the cliff, about to lose the majority of services she has received because she's "aging-out"...I kinda get it. At least her point. It is tough (yet understandable) to see so many dollars and energy go for early intervention when especially now there is an army of us marching toward the transition to adulthood....And, yes, because of our army of strong voices and because of compassionate responses to us, there is more research and more opportunities for our burgeoning reality. Yet, not enough. And the smart lot of us realize we've got to do as we always have, roll up our sleeves and apply the grease toward creating a new reality for ourselves. It's freakin' hard work....But, then, it has always been...just with a little more help from our friends in research and service settings....

There was the angry silver-haired man who shook his finger at the Atlanta Autism Society of America conference break-out audience and admonished: "Don't you young families think that it's going to get any better for you by the time you are in this stage!"  Poof! I blew him off as a combination old fart-hot air bag and in my arrogance believed it would be different for me and my peers. I'd help make it so, by damn! Times were changing....In 15 years, the waiting list to receive services in Tennessee remains the same or longer and meanwhile our Republican governor is threatening to cut the minute funds some of us receive. My words, my meetings, my letters, my lobbying and that of others--to no avail. I'm talking a $1,000 stipend. Does not go very far when insurance quits paying for your child's necessary intervention services and you decide--as did Grace's father and I did--to mortgage the house a couple of times so that our child could learn to communicate....

There was my friend who said she no longer filled out the countless surveys and research studies sent to her by mail and online. As a young mother, I was aghast, not understanding why she didn't want to help herself and others. Ditto for the mothers seemingly unwilling to try a particular dietary regimen or supplement formula. How could they be so nonchalant? How could they choose such ignorance?

So, here I am. Humbled. Now I get it. Once upon a time I judged these folks who were further along the journey. I judged them because I did not yet know what they knew. I judged them via a lack of compassion for the years that they had toiled and the many therapies they had seen not work; for the fact that their wallets had been flattened; their bodies, grown older and less energetically resilient. How to them research surveys and questionnaires felt like a demand on their time and they needed help right then in the present moment!

My judgment came out of Fear, as well. As humans, we tend to fear those things we do not know or understand....I also feared their anger.

And then here I am, knowing now that I have reached this juncture in the journey, that what they needed is what I now need: Compassion and Understanding.

I now understand the tendency to be jaded on this leg of the journey. And, somewhere along the way, very early, I knew that I could not do it all, try it all, be it all and still remain Whole. I chose Wholeness. To honor and claim a sense of self and my Life. I have a daughter with autism. But it is not all of my Life and it is not all of who I am. So sometimes, I have made choices that benefit the Whole of us. In preserving Me. And in doing so, I preserved me for Her. And, for me, that is Compassion. The Compassion I needed for these other mothers and fathers and Compassion that I needed for me.

Jaded? Yeah, maybe a little. But maybe a bit wiser for the journey, too....

Passages of Time

 

"The days are long, but the years are short." --Gretchen Rubin, The Happiness Project

 

January 11, 2012...the date entered at the beginning of the morning's journal entry. It caused me pause....As the seasons come around...as the seasons arrive...yet another one is gone...another one is new. I am, once again, struck by the passage of time, as I tend to be when the seasons change--a key marker for the passage of time in my life. Maybe for others, too? It's as if I have a flashback, a quick deja vu. I realize: Oh. My. Another spring?! Another summer?! Another fall?! Another...winter?! Another year has gone by. Here I am again. Anew. A beginning. A chance to begin again. It's humbling in a way. Another year lived. Another sped by. And, here....I am. Now....[And a month has passed since I penned this in my journal.]

Photos, Leisa A. Hammett, copyrighted. I love the austerity of winter, especially as illustrated by bare tree limbs and expansive skies. GrateFULL.

Defining Autism: A Guest Perspective on DSM-5

You may have heard, read or seen the flap on the news. Parents of children on the autism spectrum and adults with high-functioning forms, such as Asperger's are. Not. Happy. Frankly, it's all so confusing and I was none to excited to write about this. But, it is extremely important to our community. Truth is we still don't know how this will all shake down in the very end--as far as how those playing with our lives will draw the lines that determine understanding, perceptions and most importantly, services. We've been hearing unpleasant rumblings from the sessions amongst these shirts for quite sometime, serving to increase our collective anxiety. Meantime, here's a perspective from Spectrum Mom, who guest posted here on "The Journey with Grace" last year:

"When a psychiatrist diagnosed my two year old son with PDD-NOS[*], an autism spectrum disorder, I wanted to deny it, to wish the problem away. So while getting all the services I could for him, I told as few people as possible. One of the people I didn’t tell was his new pediatrician, who then cancelled my son’s occupational therapy without talking with or even informing me. Because he did not know the specific diagnosis, he assumed that I and the Tennessee Early Intervention System were frivolously wasting money on a service my child did not need. My son lost weeks of early intervention, and I learned an important lesson. Even if you hate the idea of labeling your children, a diagnosis is vital to getting the help that will shape their future.

"Now the American Psychiatric Association (APA) wants to severely limit the number of children who will get that diagnosis and that help. The APA plans changes to the definition of autism in the fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM 5). An analysis by Yale University researchers concludes the new definition will result in far fewer diagnoses of autism.

"Again and again I have read responses to this analysis that the reduction in diagnosed cases of autism will result in more resources for those most severely affected. This suggestion rests on a belief that need generates resources. Unfortunately, need is only the beginning. What generates resources is demand. Any parent with a child with autism knows that resources must be searched for, demanded, and paid for, often by the parents, sometimes by a combination of parents, insurance, and public money.

"Having a child with autism is difficult and costly to the family. Parents must seek out, travel to, and pay for therapy when the child is out of school; and repeatedly request and constantly monitor when the child is in school. There is [little to] no free money for parents of children with autism. [See "The Journey with Grace" post "Autism: The Financial Fiasco"]

"So now, officially, there will be far fewer children diagnosed with autism. How convenient for the insurance companies! How obliging of the creators of the DSM to split up the diagnosis into smaller, divided groups so that parents will now have to compete against one another instead of lobbying together.

"And the worst part is that some parents will get some new diagnosis like Communication and Socialization Disorder and think “Well, at least my child doesn’t have autism,” and not realize that all the research and resources that could help their child are tied to autism.

"The problems that these children have will not go away -- rather, families will lose the access to timely and affordable help that can change children’s lives and help them become more successful as adults. If you have concerns about this change,  please send an email to  DSM5@psych.org  about the definition of Autism Spectrum Disorders in the DSM-5."

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I'll add that by enabling children when they are young, we raise them to be tax payers and not simply tax users. Our culture is extremely short-sighted in terms of recognizing the value of investing in education in the NOW for the benefit for ALL tomorrow. It is an effective cost measure to the benefit of greater society.

While Spectrum Mom addresses PDD-NOS, regarding the criteria, Asperger's will likely meet a similar fate...just as we were making significant gains in our community in understanding, tolerance and inclusion. Damn!

An additional perspective from Nashville-based Gaynell Payne, The Examiner -- "Stopping an Epidemic by Redefining It."

*PDD-NOS: Pervasive Developmental Delay-Not Otherwise Specified; a form of autism that meets some of the criteria for autism but not all [blah-blah-blah]

A version of SpectrumMom's article appeared today in Canadian-based online news source, Straight Goods.

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.

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?