Autism and Me part two by Bonnie Le Hamilton

The other day I was talking to an acquaintance of mine and the subject of Autism came up. I was honest and forthright about being on the spectrum, and she asked me for some symptoms or signs that someone is on the spectrum.

And of course, the not making eye contact issue did come up.

Now, I see this lady almost every Friday because I relieve her as the volunteer receptionist at the Pocatello Visitor’s Center on Fridays. And she always stops to visit with me for a few minutes before she leaves.

In other words, I have chatted with her often, and she said that I do make eye contact. She in fact said I was looking her in the eyes right then.

I wasn’t. I rarely do. I was focusing on her mouth. I’ve done it for as long as I can remember. I even remember once, way back in sixth grade sitting there listening to my mother explain to my new teacher and the principal that I read lips and why I do it.

For most of my life, my family has claimed I read lips to explain away my focusing on lips not eyes. They always had a good explanation. Hearing issues are common in my family and on top of that I spent most of the year between the ages of seven and eight with cotton stuffed in my ears to keep the medicine in them that was there to break up the hard wax buildup in there, which was blocking my hearing.

And I remember my mother mentioning that fact in her explanation of why I focus on the lips.

The problem with that excuse is that I don’t read lips. I can not tell what people are saying if I don’t hear the words, period. Though it only dawned on me in the last few years, after I learned I was on the spectrum, that I can’t read lips. I have never been able to read lips.

I do however focus on the lips. I do try to make eye contact but most often I find it too difficult, and I end up focusing on the mouth, or even the nose, or ears. I sometimes focus on a distant object.

My mother and professionals also explained away my speech delay with our family history of hearing problems and the fact that I’m a twin (Konnie and I did use Twin Speak for a time contributing to our speech delay).

Of course, way back then Autism only affected white boys, or so they thought.

Another obvious sign I had back in my childhood was I tend to wring my hands and rock back and forth when I’m not feeling well. This is often the first sign that I am sick. I still do it. And it is a sign of Autism. But back then they just brushed it off that I wasn’t feeling, well, I wasn’t feeling well. What else could it be? After all, I am not a non-verbal white boy.

There is also my playing with my hair when I was reading or studying. That is another stimming motion and one my stepmother complained about a lot. Though she also praised my attention to detail. (Both are signs of Autism.)

Another issue I still have is that I don’t get jokes, and I don’t usually get them because I take everything so literally. My father always made fun of this little trait of mine. I was often the butt of his jokes and pranks because of it.

The point is, when I was growing up, all the signs were there, but not once did even the professionals consider I might be on the spectrum because I do not fit in the perfect little square, they’d build to define who were Autistic.

 Luckily, my grandnieces won’t have that problem, now that the medical professionals know better. And I am not saying any of them are on the spectrum, I’m just saying, if they exhibit any of the signs professionals today would recognize it, eventually.

Now all I have to do is figure out some way to put such a character in one of my novels. Clearly, I do know what it’s like, and we’re supposed to write what we know. Just have to consider it a little longer.

On another note, an online writing group I’m in is having a first chapter contest, the deadline is October 1^st, and I submitted my chapter last night. Wish me luck!

If they hadn’t limited each contestant to one entry, I might have entered the first chapter of my sci-fi too (even though that novel isn’t complete, then again, the rules said nothing about it being a complete novel.)

Anyway, happy writing everyone!

Of Desperation and Inspiration by Konnie Enos

This past week or so I’ve had several ideas I could use for a blog post. Having learned that those ideas will flee if I don’t at least attempt to write them down, I made the effort to open a word document and start typing.

The first time I was typing away and got about four hundred words. Then I decided it wasn’t making much sense or wasn’t expressing what I thought it should and wanted to start over, but no ideas came. I let it be figuring I’d figure it out in plenty of time.

A day or so later, I produced another idea. I didn’t even get two hundred words before the entire thought petered out. That one was a complete wash.

Finally, it was time for me to get something written for my post and I’d had a couple of funny events so I thought I’d start there. This time it’s late and I’m tired. I got two unrelated events written down, but I was too tired to mesh them into a cohesive post.

So try again.

Now it’s Wednesday morning and I have to get something written, then what happens?

Jerry is awake and attempting to work with Google Calendar. We are trying to use this technology to keep the family aware of when someone needs the car. But the fact that I’m awake at this hour, as opposed to still asleep, means he feels he can ask me how to do what he is attempting to do.

All fine and good, but he’s doing it on his phone and the controls are different than on the computer, or even on my phone. So he asks me, “how do I do (insert issue)?” and all I can come up with is, “I don’t know.” Not because I don’t know how to do it, but because I have no clue how to do it on his phone.

Now, this issue, for me, might be an age thing or it simply could be because cell phones in general do not seem to have any universal or standard ways to navigate them.

Both Royce and Jerry will hand me their phones trying to show me something and I’ll inevitably touch something or hit some button that messes up or completely changes the screen I’m supposed to be looking at.

It has happened so often that Royce has given up handing his phone to me. He just puts it in a position where I can see it. Which is fine. He has at least figured out what position and angle is easiest for me to see.

Now that might seem like a fairly normal thing to understand but I’m the only member of my household who wears bifocals. In our over thirty years of marriage, Jerry still has not figured out the best position and angle for me to be able to see anything. He holds things at the best angle for distance, but within the best area for reading. So, of course, I can’t see it.

This is an issue I’ve had for decades, even before I met my husband.

Before the advent of technology, and the availability of books on them, whenever I was at church and trying to sing a song I’d find myself with the issue of sharing a hymnal with whoever was sitting beside me. I always found it difficult to do so.

Why?

Two reasons. My bifocals and the height difference.

Whoever I was sharing with ended up being enough taller than me that they needed the book held high enough to see that the book wasn’t even close to the right position for me to use my reading lenses. But they are also too close for me to use my distance ones. The solution was I never shared. To avoid being rude, I carried my personally owned hymnal with me to church each week.

Now one hymnal isn’t that heavy, but when you add scriptures, and Sunday School manuals, I had at least three books, if not four or five, in my bag each week. It got to the point that my children were carrying my bags for me because it was too much for me.

Thankfully, we now have an application that holds all the books, scriptures, manuals, and hymnals I could need at church. One tablet is a lot lighter than even one book. All I have to do is make sure it’s fully charged before church each week.

Now, I’m to the point I have to have something up and what do you know, I’ve written an entire post inspired by my desperation. The lesson this week is desperation will inspire some inspiration if you give it the chance.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

 

Online Quizzes and Me by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

I like to scroll through Pinterest for ideas, but occasionally I come across some quiz or other. Now, these sometimes don’t catch my interest, mostly because they have to do with some movie or TV series I don’t watch, but they do have a few trivia quizzes with attention-catching headlines, “No one gets this without cheating,” or, “You have to have an IQ over 150 to pass this!”

Okay, I’ll bite. It is usually quite fun. (I’ve been known to laugh at the results.)

I’ve taken quizzes on history, vocabulary, grammar, and even medical knowledge (just for fun).

I, of course, aced the vocabulary and grammar quizzes, but I took them to see what the quiz would say about my performance. Generally speaking, they insist I must have a Ph.D. in the subject. College drop-out here.

But that isn’t even as funny as the one I took which insisted I would have to be an RN to pass. Really? It was so easy; I didn’t have to dig into my long-ago memory of quizzing my stepmom for her RN exams. Every single question on there I either learned from shows like Emergency and MASH or just listening to my stepmom. There was nothing tricky or involved, it was just trivia. I aced it, and the quiz the makers decided I must be a doctor. Hardly.

Another fun one for me is history quizzes or American history quizzes.

For those of you that don’t know, my husband was a history buff. After so many years of living with him, I picked up on a few things. Again, they were pure trivia and multiple choice, so not hard at all, especially when most of the time I could eliminate two of the three choices because those two events happened in my lifetime! My opinion is, that you’d have to be randomly picking any answer without reading to flunk this quiz.

But then, I can say the same for those vocabulary ones. You only have three to four choices, and believe me, it was easy to eliminate all but one of the few I wasn’t sure of.

And in everyone, I’m supposedly a master of the English language and love to read the dictionary. Folks, the lexicologist in my life would be the big sister Konnie and I often refer to as Dictionary. I never cracked a dictionary open until I was in eighth grade, and I only did that to prove I was right, and never to do my vocabulary classwork. Never needed it.

But the really laughable one which claimed you had to have an IQ over 150 to pass. Really? Then make the quiz harder. My IQ isn’t that high (I know, I’ve been tested) and I aced your simple trivia quiz.

But then I’ve gotten some interesting outcomes on the personality or heritage quizzes, like the one which insisted that I must be of Asian decent because of my focus on family. Family comes first with some Christian faiths; you know like Catholics and well, our Church. You don’t have to be Asian to value family.

I took one quiz that said, “no one born in the US can answer these tough questions.” Okay, that one would be considered tough by anyone who didn’t live for decades with a historian and hadn’t studied pre-law in college. That isn’t me though.

For your information, the quiz is the one people have to take to become naturized citizens. And honestly, there are many native citizens who don’t know, or ignore, some of this stuff, but, again, I’m not one of them!

Though the one I took the other day was all about common phrases from other countries. Out of curiosity, I took it.

Fun quiz. Most of these common phrases were either Latin or a language based on Latin. Folks, I took French in college. Not fluent but I can at least introduce myself in the language and ask if they speak English. I also took a course on studying the root, or history, of words. Which means learning some Latin. Ergo, any language based on Latin I can usually figure out.

Of the few that didn’t fall into that category was one from Japan, which I learned eons ago from a fellow lady at church whose family had just returned to the states after years of her husband being stationed in Japan.

The other one has been used in at least one movie, enough so I’ve heard it in that movie’s ads. And, according to the quiz makers, I must be multilingual. LOL!

A semester each of sign language and studying the roots of words, plus two semesters of French, all decades ago make me fluent in only my Native tongue, period.

Happy writing everyone!

Of Blackholes and Interrupted Habits by Konnie Enos

I am not one of those people that panics when major issues prop up, like the stove catching on fire. However, when seemingly little things happen, I will go into a complete meltdown. One of the little things is being unable to locate my brush.

Why is this?

Probably because I brush my hair every single day. Part of this is because I can feel the tangles and it irritates me. The rest is just habit. I’ve brushed my hair every day for, well, for as long as I can remember.

Why am I thinking about this?

Last Friday night I went to brush my hair as usual, but I could not see my brush.

I started searching for it.

My overbed table has slowly become full of stuff to the point there isn’t even any room for my laptop, which is the entire reason I bought the table, but that’s not the point here. I move everything around trying to see my brush, but it doesn’t appear.

Next, I empty my purse, well at least the pocket my brush would fit in. It’s not there either. I start looking through my nightstand. I even check my garbage can. (You do not know how often things fall into it that I’m not throwing away.)

No luck. And now I’m panicking.

I ask Jerry to help even knowing that he’s useless at such things. The man just glances at all the places I’ve already looked and complains about having to get down on the floor to look under our bed.

Well obviously, a child would be more helpful but it’s well after 10 p.m. at this point so I’m limited on who I can ask. Fortunately, Royce was awake. Unfortunately, he searched in the same areas as Jerry did. I know I’d be better off with Melinda searching but she’s fast asleep.

This also leads me to my other issue. There isn’t another brush in the house for me to borrow. Even if Melinda was awake, she doesn’t have a brush. She has a wide-toothed comb she uses.

So now I’m all but to the point of tears and very upset because I cannot brush my hair before going to bed. I know need to get the tangles out before I attempt to go to sleep, or I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll find myself finger combing my hair half the night and pulling a bunch of it out.

Yes, I have done this before.

At this point, I’m tired and just want to sleep, but the tangles are already starting to irritate me, and my only option is a rattail comb I have. I only use the rattail to help remove hair from my brush. This night I attempt to comb my hair to get the tangles out.

Now, my issue with combs has always been their shortcomings. The most important one being they cannot get through all the layers of my hair. This requires me to comb it in small sections. The problem with this is I’d get one section combed out, but it would re-tangle the minute I started working on another section.

So, instead of a few good strokes with my brush and being done with it, I spent about half an hour, in tears because I was tired and frustrated, trying to get the snarls out and my hair off my neck so I could be comfortable enough to sleep.

I will admit it worked, but a comb is only a temporary solution. The next day, when Melinda was available, I told her about my missing brush. But she was no more able to locate it than anyone else had been.

My only remaining solution was getting a new brush because while a comb could do the job, it couldn’t do it as efficiently as a brush. For one thing, a brush can get through all the layers in one stroke, plus they can do larger sections. On top of that, they are much better at getting all my hair contained in a ponytail, so it isn’t on my neck.

Both Melinda and Royce told me that as soon as I got a replacement, my old one would show up. Of course, everyone knows if you replace something you’ve misplaced, it’ll show back up.

I got a new brush on Monday.

Yeah! I can brush my hair again.

As to the whereabouts of my old brush? We are assuming it found the black hole, which may well be under my bed. I am not eager to take my bed apart so I can clean up all the garbage that ends up under there, just to find a brush I’ve already replaced.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

 

Autism and Me by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

I recently came across an article online about what stimming looks like in teens and adults who are undiagnosed as being on the spectrum.

One of the actions they mentioned was an obsession with certain textures and “rubbing” or caressing these materials incessantly. Yeah, I do that. I have done so for as long as I can’t remember when I started. Konnie will back me up on this.

But another one was twirling their hair around their fingers or running their fingers through their hair. And boy did that bring back memories!

In my late teens, I resorted to doing my homework in my bedroom, rather than at the kitchen table with everyone else, because my stepmother was constantly on my case about playing with my hair. She found it annoying, and among other things, she insisted I wasn’t concentrating because I was playing with my hair, and that I wasn’t even trying to stop.

First off, I’d like to point out that this article clearly pointed out that people on the spectrum “stim” more often when they are stressed. The more stress they feel, the more they “stim.” In other words, I found doing my homework stressful, but having my stepmother harping and complaining about my “stimming” actions was just making it worse.

Mind you this was over forty years ago, back in the dark ages when medical professionals instead that Autism only affected boys. Non-verbal boys. Ergo I couldn’t be Autistic.

Second off, around that same time, I overheard my father complaining about how long it took me to do the dishes. He insisted it took me twice as long to do the same amount of dishes as it took my fellow teenaged siblings. My stepmother had countered that at least when I do dishes, she knows they are clean.

I have to admit she had a valid point. I can clearly remember one time when I went into the kitchen to get a drink while my brother was doing the dishes. I grabbed a glass he’d just put in the drain, inspected it, and put it back in his sink full of dirty dishes then I picked up the next one, and repeated the process, much to his annoyance.

I might add that back then I was in the habit of always checking the dishes for cleanliness before using them because far too often I’d found obvious bits of food still stuck to them. Our stepmother tended to do the same, but she was also known to ask, “Have you checked them?” when any of us were setting the table for dinner.

But the point of the matter was that I noticed without her asking. I always checked. In fact, I checked the dishes I’d washed before I put them in the drain. I was, and still am, a bit obsessive about ensuring the dishes are clean. Newsflash, my attention to detail is also a symptom of being on the spectrum!

So, my stepmother groused about one symptom I have and defended another one. I hate to break it to her, but she can’t have it both ways.

On the other hand, I learned that these days medical professionals who once said Autistics were non-verbal are now saying that an early sign of being on the spectrum is delayed speech. Yeah, got that one too.

Though back then my delayed speech was attributed to, number one, an inherent family issue of ear problems including earwax build-up and ear infections, and number two, I’m a twin and as such when we were little, we did what is termed “twin speak” which is talking in our own made-up language.

Konnie and I both ended up taking some speech therapy during school when we were younger, and I honestly still avoid using some words verbally because I have so much difficulty pronouncing them.

In other words, speech delays are common in our family to the point that Konnie was able to get her kids early intervention just by advocating that it was an inherent problem.

Her youngest, who was diagnosed in grade school, had been getting speech and physical therapy since he was a toddler, because of his speech delay.

I remember once Konnie commenting on how he needed so much more help than any of her other kids. As in he was “delayed” in more areas than just speech. When he was officially diagnosed, it all suddenly made sense.

At any rate, it is a good thing that nowadays medical professionals recognize that not all people on the spectrum are non-verbal boys.

Though finally knowing this about me, only makes it easier because at least now I know why I do these things.

Anyway, happy writing everyone!

Of Fleeting Ideas and Memory Aids by Konnie Enos

About the time I wrote my last post I came up with an idea for this post. Every time I thought about it, I came up with a few lines to start it, but I couldn’t write them down. Since it was always clear to me what I wanted to write about, I wasn’t concerned.

So yesterday, I realized I had to get it written and I opened Word to do so.

Do you want to know what happened?

My idea had flown. I can not even remember what it was or remember the lines. So, I tried my usual tricks to stimulate my muse.

I found some headlines and stories to read hoping it would stimulate an idea. And it worked. I read one story that got me thinking but by the time I’d opened Word the idea was gone, again.

By then it was late last night. My head was pounding for lack of sleep and therefore wasn’t functioning. Yawning and fighting to keep my eyes open is not the best way to try to write. I gave in and curled up to get some sleep, knowing I’d have to wake up early to get my post written.

Now, normally when I lay down to sleep, I can crash right away. I don’t toss and turn. I was already fighting sleep so once I was comfortable, I started dozing off. I could feel my body shutting off to the point only my brain was still sluggishly working.

Do you know what happened?

An idea for my post popped into my head. When I was already so out of it that I couldn’t move. Not to mention it was past midnight and I wasn’t going to get enough sleep as it was.

Of course, that was my last thought before sleep completely overtook me and I remembered nothing more until I woke up for my nightly trip to the bathroom. As usual, just a quick trip and then back to bed but it was long enough for that idea to cross my mind.

I was tired enough to ignore it and crash again. I was back to sleep in no time and remembered nothing more until my alarm went off this morning.

Lately, when my morning alarm went off, I just turn it off and go back to sleep. For at least another hour, if not longer. This morning I had enough sense to realize I couldn’t do this.

I got up and pulled out my computer dreading looking at a blank page and not being able to remember any idea. I also knew I wasn’t fully functioning. I hadn’t gotten enough sleep.

How do I know this?

Because I still have that headache, I’m yawning, and I’m fighting to keep my eyes open long enough to type a few words.

Now I’m sure everyone has heard of ways to keep ideas fresh until you can set down to write them out. Most notably, keep a notebook and pen handy so you have something to write ideas down with when you can’t set down at your computer to write. Something I hadn’t done.

There is also the advice to keep your notebook and pen on your nightstand so you can write those ideas that come to you when you’re too asleep to move down first thing in the morning before you forget them.

Getting your computer out and immediately opening it and your word program is just as helpful at remembering ideas.

Yes, my idea was to write about how I lost one idea for a post by not writing anything down every time I thought about it over the last couple of weeks but got and kept another idea by my sleep-deprived mind’s last-second ramblings. All because this time I wrote it down as soon as I could, which in this case was first thing in the morning.

 I am not recommending sleep-deprived typing. It just makes the headache worse.

Instead, make sure you are getting enough sleep, but do consider ways to retain your ideas. The always handy notebook works if you have time to write when the ideas come. Though if you’re like me they come when you can’t write them down. Like when you’re driving or keeping food from burning. You know, urgent things, like paying bills on time.

I did think about having a voice recorder handy for these times. However, I find it awkward to talk through my ramblings when there are other people around to hear me. I do not live alone. It could work if you live alone though.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Of Karens and Chads by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

Lately, I’ve read a lot online about entitled people and some of the stuff they’ve done, and it gets me wondering why I haven’t encountered more of such people. I have encountered one, but as I ignored him, there wasn’t a big scene.

It started out quite simple. The store where I do my grocery shopping has clearly marked entrance and exit doors. The thing is the exit doors are closer to the service desk where the electric charts are kept, which means I have to traipse into the store to get a chart.

Now that’s a pretty long trek for me, but by veering toward the exit doors, I cut off enough feet of distance that I can just barely make it to the carts. Now I have done this numerous times with no problems, except this once.

Here I was skirting past a swarm exiting the store when some man said, “This is the exit, idiot!”

As I already said, I ignored that judgmental prick and kept going. Of course, that fool doesn’t know me, knows nothing about me, and like I said, he was a judgmental prick. Enough said.

But why, for instance, haven’t I had one of these self-entitled fools accost me, someone who is very much ambulatory, for parking in handicap parking? Or better yet, someone complaining about me having handicapped plates.

I’ve seen stories where people leave nasty notes or other not-so-nice surprises for people that are parked in handicapped parking, usually without a placard or plate, but sometimes with, because they think the person isn’t handicapped. After all, they can walk. I saw one video where the “Karen” berated a healthy woman for parking in handicap parking, with handicap plates, when she clearly didn’t need them. She wouldn’t even listen to the woman, then the woman’s kid opened the side door to their van and asked his mother if everything was okay. The kid aged 9 or 10 at a guess, was in a wheelchair, making it very clear the healthy mother needed handicapped parking.

And let’s be clear, you can’t get the placards or plate just by asking for them. Your doctor has to fill out a form explaining your need to get them. Therefore, because I can only manage to walk less than 20 feet without assistance, I qualify.

Though even that hasn’t stopped some. I read a story about a young woman who, from the description given, has a severe case of EDS. She can put just about any joint out of place just by moving. She’s only 22, quite young, but clearly, she needs assistance.

Well, one day she was shopping in a grocery store and this older woman accosted her, insisting she was too young to be handicapped and that she should leave the electric charts for those who need them. Not only does this “Karen” berate the poor girl, but she actually pulled her off the chart and threw her to the floor!

I swear, if that had been my niece with severe EDS, I’d have strangled that woman! Do you have any idea how much damage could have been done to that poor girl by that woman’s actions?

And really, how can you be too young to be handicapped? What about those who are born with handicaps?

Another one I read was about an older man with major health issues, he can manage to walk with the aid of a walker, but if he fell, he’d need a ton of help getting up. He was entering a Walmart wearing a green vest with lots of patches and stuff indicating he’s a vet, and this imbecile mistook him for a Walmart employee (he was wearing a vest after all {insert eye roll here]) and his walker for a wheelchair! She forcibly took his walker from him, sending him to the floor in the process, so her teenaged daughter who was wearing a walking boot could ride in the wheelchair because she was “handicapped”.

Long story short, the man needed an ambulance, and the police were called too, but the woman refused to concede that he was a fellow customer and that she stole his walker. Right up until they lifted the seat on the walker to reveal his wallet and prescriptions in it.  She was arrested for assault and theft.

But they keep coming. I’ve seen tons where a so-called Karen insists a fellow customer is an employee because they saw that person help someone else!

Ye Gads! Since when do only employees help out people who need it?

I’ve asked loads of people to help me! Politely, of course. But then I’d be polite asking an employee because everyone deserves respect.

Anyway, happy writing everyone.