Autistic Rantings by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

Do you ever have trouble not correcting people when they are wrong with verifiable facts?

My answer? Of course I do! Come on, I’m OCD and on the spectrum. Inaccurate facts drive me nuts. Which is probably why this dang AI trend is driving me crazy. I mean, this has to be AI because how many people are this stupid?

Not long ago I found another instance on Facebook of a writer talking about knitting and showing crocheting! In this case, he was talking about an actress knitting during her breaks on set, then eventually teaching her fellow cast and crew members to knit as well. He had a picture of the cast or crew member doing a specific handicraft while on set.

The problem is the handicraft was crochet, not knitting!

Get these straight folks – knitting takes TWO needles; crochet takes a single HOOK!

And if you can’t tell the difference between a couple of needles or a single hook – you need your eyes, and possibly your head, examined!

But that isn’t the only glaring error I’ve seen on Facebook recently, and repeatedly.

You see, it seems AI thinks any sibling that doesn’t share both parents with you is a stepsibling, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

If you and your sibling have one parent in common, they are a half-sibling to you. It is only when one of your parents married one of their parents, thus making the two of you siblings, that you are stepsiblings.

To put it simply, if you share a biological parent in common, you are half-siblings; if you are only related because of a marriage between one of your parents and one of their parents, you are stepsiblings.

I.E., some shared genetic connection means half, only being related through marriage means step.

I don’t know how much clearer you can get than that, but then I thought the difference between two needles and one hook was an obvious difference between knitting and crochet, but AI or stubborn fools persist in calling them both knitting.

Folks, that’s like saying sewing and embroidery are the same thing!

Which is absurd.

Sewing and quilting are rather closely related, but quilting is, after all, a subset of the sewing craft while embroidery is a whole other art form, even if both use tiny metal needles with these minuscule holes on one end.

It is a whole different skill set.

And believe me, I know what I’m talking about. I’ve done all three.

By the way, embroidery is a major category with a whole line of subsets, like cross-stitch, counted cross-stitch, tapestry, and others I can’t think of the name of right now.

And, yes, there is a difference between plain cross-stitch and counted cross-stitch!

Counted is way harder, period.

Another craft that uses needles is beading, but nobody seems to mix that up with everything else, even when you do beading along with most of these crafts, including knitting and crochet!

I have done counted cross-stitch with beading on more than one occasion.

It just baffles me that people can get two totally different crafts confused but can tell the difference between two very similar crafts.

As in, they know the difference between sewing and quilting (similar crafts) but think knitting and crocheting are basically the same thing.

In what universe?

And in what universe are stepsiblings a reference to any sibling who does share both parents with you?

I really need to know that one because Konnie and I happen to have two half-brothers. We share a father but not a mother. They are still our brothers, but they are not our stepbrothers.

We don’t have any step-siblings. Which isn’t to say we haven’t had them. Over the years we did have stepfathers who did have children from a previous relationship. Don’t ask me how many or how often, because they never had their other children in the same home as us. I’m only sure of two of our past stepfathers who had other children. In one case, we once ran into one of his children at the store; in the other, Mother mentioned his other children after his death.

Yeah, no relationship with them, but they did exist.

Now our half-brothers we lived with for a time. We were actually living with Dad when the youngest of the two were born.

And considering I heard from both of them on mine and Konnie’s recent birthday, we clearly have a relationship with them.

Actually, on our recent birthday, I heard from all our living siblings.

I emphasized “living” because that would have been weird to hear from the oldest of our brothers, and only full brother. Weird, and possibly a little scary.

I have five siblings. I heard from four of them.

Anyway, happy writing, everyone!

Of Memories, Celebrations and Birthday Cakes by Konnie Enos

Yes, this is the same picture for last week. Yes, it is now 50 years since Bonnie marched in that parade.

I have different memories of that day, mostly because I wasn’t in the parade. I’d chosen a place to watch from just after where the parade would pass through the old underpass. (I’m not even sure it’s still there.)

I chose this particular spot because of the shade. The high bank behind that side of the sidewalk was topped with some overhanging trees or bushes. Between the wall and the greenery topping it, it afford some protection from the sun. Since it was summer, and I can recall no clouds to speak of, heat was a given, and I do not like being overheated. Frankly, I did not envy my sister marching in the parade at all.

And as I remember, Bonnie was on the other side of the street when she marched past. I did see her, but she wasn’t close enough for me to say high to her.

I do, however, remember one participant in the parade who got very close to me, close enough I could have touch her mount if she’d paused a few seconds longer.

I can still see her, a young woman, all dressed up in a cowgirl outfit, including the hat, riding a beautiful mostly white, or at least very light-colored pony. The young woman’s hair was also very light colored. As she pranced over to my side of the road, the young woman smiled and waved at everyone, and I did the same back.

Now that in and of itself wasn’t remarkable enough for me to even think about after that day, even then I could remember seeing those ponies and how close she came to me.

But what makes it so much more memorable to me is something that happened much more recently.

You see, over twenty years ago we moved into our current house. In the process, we met a very sweet older couple. He was remarkable for his size. I’m sure he’s over a foot taller than I am.

She was remarkable because every single time I saw her, I had a very clear image of a young smiling cowgirl. And I could not fathom where I’d seen that cowgirl or why seeing her reminded me of the cowgirl.

I asked her where she’d grown up. Tried to figure out if we’d ever lived in or around the same area or went to the same college, at the same time. Just any reason why I would see that cowgirl every time I looked at her.

It was several years later when I was sitting in her house with her, her husband, my husband and one other lady just talking, while we waited for others to join us for a meeting we were having.

As I recall we got on the subject of memories, and or celebrations and somehow the Bicentennial was brought up. And this wonderful woman launched into a story about how she’d gone to visit her uncle and was supposed to head home that Saturday morning (Saturday, July 3^rd, 1976) but instead her uncle practically manhandled her into riding their last pony in the nearest Bicentennial parade. She explained that someone had gotten sick, she was a last minute, available replacement.

Possibly because she was talking about riding ponies, out of sheer curiosity, I asked her where this parade was.

My jaw about hit the floor when she said my HOMETOWN.

And it instantly dawned on me that I wasn’t seeing flashes of just any cowgirl. I was seeing her, much younger, but her.

She could remember being in the parade but didn’t remember anybody in particular she waved at. I obviously retained the memory of seeing her. And with another event to connect that distant memory to, I have not forgotten it since.

The only other thing I remember from that conversation was that everyone there was absolutely astonished that my husband and I were even old enough to remember the Bicentennial, let alone having been teenagers at the time.

I’m sorry, but twenty or so years ago, we did not look like we were in our forties.

Also, when I saw the picture for Bonnie’s post, I quickly placed who was front and center and exactly when it was taken. Then I attempted to get my husband, son and daughter to figure out who was in the picture.

Since they couldn’t see her face, none of them could figure out it was Bonnie.

And yes, I can remember the Ross Park picnic on the Monday after the parade, complete with our birthday cake, and the comment about it being for our country’s birthday. I told them it was for our birthday.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

 

Bicentennial Memories by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

There has been a lot of talk lately about people asking others if they remember our country’s Bicentennial.

For reference, on the back of the above picture there is a notation in my handwriting that says, “Bicentennial ‘76”. Additionally, that’s me front and center.

So, do I remember the Bicentennial? Boy, do I remember that weekend!

Though my telling of that weekend needs to start a few weeks back.

As you can see from the above picture, I was in band, and I played the B-flat clarinet.

And clearly my memories of that historic weekend start with being in the summer band class.

Most particularly, I was in the 6^th grade summer band class, as that was the year of school I just finished. I was also the shortest person in my section, which I probably could have tolerated if my fellow classmates hadn’t decided to make a big deal of it.

It didn’t help that I had not yet learned how to keep my mouth shut, and lying isn’t in me.
(It seems I’m on the spectrum, go figure.)

At any rate, when one of them pointed out I was the shortest in class, I had honestly informed them, “Yeah, and I’m the oldest.”

It was the first day of class, so they wondered how I could be so sure. I basically told them I was behind in school; I was 13 and would be 14 in about a month. All true.

And I should have kept my mouth shut. But it got worse a few weeks later when one of the girls expressed the opinion that maybe someone had forgotten to give me a pinch to grow an inch on my last birthday.

Being honest, and still not knowing how to keep my mouth shut, I let them know I hadn’t received any birthday spanking, and that requisite pinch, since like I was 10.

That was by far one of the biggest mistakes I’d ever made, and it was most unfortunate that I’d already told them, way back when I told them how old I was, exactly when my birthday was.

Yikes! The next thing I knew, all 13 or so of my female classmates were conspiring to overpower me and administer my birthday spanking and that badly needed pinch on my coming birthday, which, quite unfortunately, fell on a day when we were scheduled for class.

I was not looking forward to this event. After all, these girls outnumbered me and were bigger than me.

Ergo, while we were marching through town on Saturday, July 3^rd, 1976, my mind was more on whether or not I should ditch class on Monday.

And thereby what happened when we reached the end of this parade is forever etched into my memory, because for me, it was epic.

Here is the gist of what happened. As we reached the ending point, our band leader faced all of us and informed us that, owing to the momentous holiday falling on a Sunday, class was cancelled for Monday.

Now, as we were school kids, you would think we all cheered, but owing to the plans of the majority of the clarinet section, our band leader ended up staring at us in stunned silence.

I might point out that the one boy in our section, had no reaction at all and all but one of the girls in our section (almost in unison) snapped their fingers, stomped their foot, and said, “Oh, shoot!” while the lone remaining girl all but collapsed to the ground with her hand on her chest and breathed a very heartfelt, “Oh, thank God!”

That isn’t to say that I do not remember the rest of that weekend because I do.

At one point on Sunday the 4^th, my siblings and I played with sparklers in our yard; then we went with our mother to watch the fireworks display. Afterwards, because of traffic, it took us so long to get home that by the time we entered our house, it was already July 5^th. Konnie and I pointed out it was now officially our birthday and demanded our presents.

I do not remember what Konnie got, but I do remember I got the Barbie Dreamboat. I actually still have it.

And later that day we packed up a picnic, along with our cake and ice cream, and went to Ross Park to continue our celebration. Which is where someone saw our birthday cake and said they thought it was a cool idea to have a cake for our county’s birthday.

I guess she was thinking about America’s birthday because that day there was a festival in that very park as part of the Bicentennial festivities.

Anyway, happy writing, everyone!

Of Stream of Thought and Little Guy by Konnie Enos

Last week, with insufficient warning to step in for her, my sister let me know her health wasn’t allowing her to type anything for her post. I did grapple with the idea of me substituting for her, which I have done before, but my brain was stubbornly stuck on the idea that I didn’t have to write anything for another week.

That and I’d had absolutely nothing happen to inspire even a germ of an idea.

Most of my posts are retelling something that happened in my house, usually something funny. The antics of a furry family member, or something someone living here did or said. Occasionally, it’s a description of some event or another that has taken place in here.

Then there is the stream of thought post where I randomly type for about an hour whatever comes to mind. Those probably happen more times than I care to admit. Most often weeks like this one where I not only have had nothing spark an idea, but also there has been little going on around here.

My days generally start with my daughter’s little guy wanting to cuddle with me. We assume he wants to be here because I move around far less than my daughter does.

I spend most of my days sitting on my bed, generally on my tech, though sometimes I do pull out one of my books to read. There are also the occasions when I pull out a craft to do. (Lately it’s generally a crocheting project.) The point is, I’m not getting up and down a lot, so he can snuggle without me moving away all the time.

Then there is my daughter.

In the morning, she brings little guy into my room than starts her day. This includes turning on lights, opening curtains, and sitting herself up on the end of the sofa with whatever tech or crafts she plans on doing that day, or books she plans to read. But she doesn’t sit still all day.

Between her sessions sitting she will pace or skip the hallway. It is such a regular occurrence that I warn all visitors not to enter the hallway without first checking both ways because she could very easily come flying past without notice. And yes, when she is skipping I literally mean flying past. She goes fast enough to create a breeze.

Then between sitting and skipping, she is constantly getting up to do chores.

She has, all on her own, decided that to keep our house clean she must do the chores I cannot do, which means all floor maintenance is her responsibility. I know how to sweep and mop, and could probably still do it, but doing so always wrecks my back for at least a couple of days. This means I cannot do this chore daily and with all the dogs we have, plus a couple of men that are constantly going out back, our floors need daily sweeping and at least weekly mopping.  

My back also prevents me from scrubbing the bathroom, so she is regularly doing that or forcing her brother to.

Now these aren’t the only reasons she moves around.

She also spends time everyday making sure our plants are well cared for and getting enough sunlight. Then on top of all that she gets up every two or three hours to get some more food. I think the only one of the seven hobbit mealtimes she doesn’t get something to eat is the last one. But then, unlike hobbits, she isn’t getting large mounds of food. Usually, it’s little more than a snack.

In other words, she wisely eats only enough to satisfy her hunger, whenever she is hungry. I should be more like her.

There are times her little guy does snuggle with her during the day, but often that is when we are all sitting down at the table for dinner. He gets rather upset if he cannot spend that time in her lap. Fortunately, unlike our other dogs, he is under ten pounds and generally not in her way while he is sleeping in her lap. Him being in her lap sleeping has the effect of preventing her from getting up and down all the time.

We’re not at all sure why he wants to spend his days snuggled with someone. Perhaps a warm body, or maybe he simply doesn’t want to be alone for any amount of time. That would explain him being loudly insistent on being in my daughter’s lap while we are eating.

I personally think the main issue with little guy; is he is also very old. Between his health, and his age, we’re lucky he’s still alive. Pushing 17 is very old especially for a little dog like him.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.