Katie Turns 13
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J0341653I am now in possession of a teenager.

Part of me has no idea how this happened, and the other part knows exactly how it happened. My daughter and I are thirteen years older than we were when we first met on a stormy January night an hour after she was born. Many things have changed since that fateful day, but not the unwavering conviction, the certainty, that she and I were meant to be together.

I had no idea what was in store for us when I agreed to adopt Katie and take her home, but I have never regretted the decision to invite her into my life—even though it cost me a marriage and a career in environmental advocacy, not to mention financial security, social conformity, and a lifestyle that seems, in retrospect, blissfully free of chaos, paperwork, and struggle.

It was, in some ways, the best decision I have ever made. Certainly one of the bravest.

This week marks the anniversary of that choice. I wanted to celebrate, even if Katie was rather blasé about the whole thing. She was more excited about visiting a new special needs camp run by Via Services, located in the Cupertino foothills.

32583202654_e5e090b8e6_kThe weekend before her birthday, Katie packed her duffle and attended camp. She had a wonderful time despite far too much rain. This camp has a focus on cooking, which Katie loved, but also an indoor gym for days when the weather won’t allow outdoor activities. Apparently my daughter is a big fan of the elliptical machine! Katie baked (and ate) pie, attended a dance, made new friends, and discovered workout equipment. In short, she loved it and can’t wait to go back.

On Katie’s birthday, Melissa (our new tutor/sitter) and I met with our kids at Emerald Park in Dublin for swinging, rock climbing, sand play, and cupcakes. Then we headed to Rockin’ Jump, a fabulous trampoline center located a few blocks away.

IMG_1011Katie had been to Rockin’ Jump several times in the past, but it had been awhile. Strangely her incredible memory only applied to the place, not the JUMPING! At first she was afraid to leave the narrow bands that connect the trampolines. She inched along and flinched whenever a kid came near her. Melissa and I had to coax her out to the center of a trampoline and then get her used to the bouncing motion. I’m serious. Katie was anxious about bouncing. Go figure.

It took some patience (at least on my part), but eventually Katie was laughing and jumping nonstop. As predicted, I had to bribe her to leave with dinner at Red Robin. Katie wanted “chicken on a stick” with a coke. Anything for the birthday girl, who polished off her meal and half of mine, then ate a few more chocolate cupcakes while opening her presents at home. All in all, it was an excellent day.

Maybe I’m crazy, but I think the teen years may be the best yet.

Until next time,
Cynthia

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Dating … Again
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ONLINE DATINGI’m dating again. This isn’t a place I expected to find myself after my marriage to Michael 1.0 in 1994, but it comes with the territory following a divorce, thankfully I got help with this since I found everything about my husband using a private investigator from investigationhotline.org so I decided to take a divorce. I get that. I’ve had my share of mid-life dating adventures and mishaps over the past eight years where I went out and had fun, I even used toys as a p-spot vibrator sometimes. Actually, more than my share. But after I met Nate in 2014, I thought I was closing that chapter of my life.

Turns out I was wrong.

After breaking up and then fumbling around, struggling to define the terms of our new situation, Nate and I have finally reached a tenuous accord. I’m sure more discussions will follow, but for now, we are friends and dating other people.

At least I am.

Which means I am once again subject to the whims and foibles of the fifty-something male.

Already two men have dumped me after the first date, and another potential suitor couldn’t manage an email exchange. Yet three men have emerged who seem different. Perhaps I’m different this time around. For the first time in a long time, I am no longer apologizing for me and my autistic daughter. If a man can’t handle us, that’s his issue, not mine.

checklist-1295319It’s liberating, this new stance. Everything seems more relaxed, more fun. I’m being authentic as well as brutally honest, with them and myself.

My unplanned life is messy and imperfect. So am I. It’s time to stop pretending I’ve got everything figured out.

My mother, on the other hand, likes things neat and tidy. Mom will once again advocate for a pretty relationship. Something that checks off all the boxes. A round, symmetrical love.

Unfortunately that’s not the shape of my heart. My heart is big and bold. It’s been broken and patched back together. It has scars and staples and smears. There’s a mismatched piece that is my adopted daughter, and another grafted chunk that is her birth family. There’s dark, shattered parts dedicated to Michael and the Murdoch clan, plus softer, lighter bits that Michael 2.0 and Nate added.

My heart is beautiful, crazy, mixed-media art. It tells the story of strength, resilience, and hope. It speaks of sorrow and second chances, and more importantly, love. I’m not sure Mom gets this. She wants everything to look good, but the older I get, the less I care how something or someone looks. What’s important is how they make me feel. Do I feel accepted and valued or judged and criticized? Do they lift me up when I fall or kick me when I’m down? Can I tell them anything—even the things I’m afraid to tell myself? That to me is real love.

In my definition of love, the colors are vibrant and spill outside the lines. Kind of like autism, now that I think about it. I’m totally okay with that, and the man I date must be too.

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What are you doing differently in 2017?

Until next time,
Cynthia

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An Uncertain 2017
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aggression-656795_1920It’s been a grueling two months. First there was the election and it’s aftermath. An acquaintance called it similar to a pandemic: sudden, shocking, and widespread. It’s the best description I’ve heard so far, although I’d prefer an element of self-infliction because I can’t help feeling we brought this situation on ourselves. My chapbook was finally released after a long delay, and I threw a fun launch party. Even so, I’d barely rallied by Christmas. Shopping for ten kids and nine adults nearly did me in.

Two days after Christmas my daughter and I both came down with a particularly nasty cold/flu. We were shaking and feverish for three days and barely left my bed. Another four days until we felt somewhat human. A second week until our energy and appetites returned. Even Katie was wiped out. When my restless and ever-hungry child has no energy or appetite, you know something is terribly wrong.

By the time we were more or less well, the President Elect’s cabinet picks were threatening my mental health. And Nate and I were cycling through an on-again-off-again relationship, unable to decide how to proceed following our breakup. It rained nonstop. The arbor just outside my living room came down in a storm, crushing several shrubs that had managed to survive the drought. The sunroof in my aging car started to leak. The faucet in my shower broke. It seemed anything that could go wrong, did.

child-865116_1920The only ray of sunshine in this bleak, stormy time was my fabulous luck in finding a wonderful tutor/aide/sitter for the two days per week that Katie does not attend Open Mind School. Katie and Melissa immediately clicked, and Melissa dove in and began learning the basics of rapid prompting method. She will pick up where the terrific summer school aides left off with reading, writing, and math, plus use materials provided by Open Mind School.

In the afternoons, Katie plays with Melissa’s two daughters. Her speech and social skills are already improving. Audrina is getting some much needed exercise, while coaxing Katie to try new things. Bella is facilitating communication at the park. Our husky loves the extra attention. It’s a win-win situation for everyone.

As we move forward into an uncertain 2017, I’m feeling a degree of hope. While I’m not sure what’s going to happen in our country or our world, I finally feel that I have a program in place that meets my daughter’s unique needs. It was an exhausting ten year struggle, but in the end, so worth it!

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For the first time, I’m feeling confident for Katie’s future. (Wait! Did I just say that?) I wish I could say the same for the rest of us.

Until next time,
Cynthia

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Tomorrow I’m Reading at the Valona Deli Poetry Series
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Tomorrow I, along with Kirston Koths, will be featured at the Valona Deli Poetry Series. I’ll be reading from my debut poetry collection, Across An Aqueous Moon: Travels in Autism.  The event takes place from 3 to 5 p.m. in funky Crockett, California. An open mic will follow the featured readers.

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It’s an honor to have my work selected for this long-running poetry series, which is hosted by Connie Post.

If you are in the area, please plan to attend.

Until next time,
Cynthia

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Happy New Year!
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It’s 2017! How in the heck did that happen?

Happy New Year

Wishing you a peaceful, prosperous, gratitude-filled year.

I’ll see you in a week with more of my Unplanned Life….

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Happy Holidays!
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Katie and I wish everyone a peaceful and relaxing holiday season.

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I’ll be back in three weeks with more of my Unplanned Life….

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Hope Blooms
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yellow-370256_1920It’s hard to have hope after the most qualified woman—technically the most qualified person, male or female, in decades—loses an election to a compulsive liar without an ounce of relevant governmental experience. But something about the fear and the shock, even the near paralysis, felt familiar.

Strangely but definitely familiar.

I couldn’t figure out what it was.

Then it hit me. The election’s aftermath was similar to how I felt in the wake of my daughter’s diagnosis with autism spectrum disorder.

Sudden, pervasive, and life-altering.

Overwhelmed and terrified.

But most of all, hopeless. Totally and completely hopeless.

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Ten years ago, I had to fight my way back to hope in the aftermath of my daughter Katie’s diagnosis. It seemed an impossible task. In the wake of last month’s election, it seems equally impossible now. But autism taught me that hope is always possible.

 

“Hope is always possible.” 

 

Yes, you read that correctly. Hope is always possible. It won’t happen overnight, but it will return. I promise.

Here’s a poem from my new book, Across An Aqueous Moon: Travels in Autism. It seemed particularly relevant today.

HOPE BLOOMS

Hope blooms amidst the grass of doubt.
I scatter seeds of time in the vast tracts
of my mind and watch you grow unbidden
toward your strange, silent sun. What
an unfolding it has been, my wild and
thorny rose, dropping petals one by one
to lead my halting heart through hazy,
unspent rain and fields of golden nettles.
I have dreams enough to litter the endless
sky with stars—enough to carry you
not where I had planned but
wherever you must go.

It will take time, but hope will bloom again in the United States and the world. I believe that.

Until next time,
Cynthia

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Featured Reader at the Valona Deli Poetry Series
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I’m excited to announce that my debut poetry collection, Across An Aqueous Moon: Travels in Autism, will be featured at the Valona Deli Poetry Series on Sunday, January 8, 2017.  The event takes place from 3 to 5 p.m. in funky Crockett, California. Kirston Koths and I will be the featured poets, followed by an open mic.

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It’s an honor to have my work selected for this long-running poetry series, which is hosted by my friend and fellow autism mom, Connie Post.

If you are in the area, please plan to attend.

Until next time,
Cynthia

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What I Learned At My Book Launch
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Patton_Cynthia_COVLast Sunday I had my book release party at Swirl on the Square, a stylish local wine bar. I’ve never has a book published, so I’ve never has a release party. Or a book launch, for that matter. I had absolutely no idea what to do.

My book, Across An Aqueous Moon: Travels in Autism, came out four months late, arriving on my doorstep only a few days before the traumatic/exciting (depending on your viewpoint) presidential election. Folks who had pre-ordered received their copies during the two weeks following the election. I may be brand new to publishing, but even I knew this was pretty much a total disaster.

Even worse, after the election I had trouble getting excited  about my brand new book. If a first-time author can’t muster any excitement about her own project, you know the situation is beyond grim.

Wallowing in post-election angst, I procrastinated on planning the release party. I figured I’d wait until January. (At that point, it seemed January 2017 had to be better. Silly me.) Then a non-writer friend with no connection to autism read a poem in my book and began to cry. She said she couldn’t wait until 2017. She wanted a party NOW! My mother agreed, so I scrambled to pull one together before the holiday party season was in full swing.

Here’s what I learned at my book launch.

  1. December isn’t the best time for a book launch, but it sure beats the week following Donald Trump’s election.
  2. Food is nice, but people don’t attend a book party to eat. (Hint: They come for the book.)
  3. Bring a small stand or easel on which to prop the book up. It just looks nicer. Plus you won’t have to obsessively fiddle with it all afternoon.
  4. Expect to be nervous and flustered. Don’t even consider reading anything that is emotionally challenging—unless you want to cry at your own party.
  5. Plan in advance what you will read and in what order. You might veer wildly off script due to nerves, but at least you won’t panic or drone on for too long. Or worry that you will.
  6. Bring change and a container of some sort for money. You don’t want to be scrounging for quarters or dollar bills during the event.
  7. Don’t try to talk and sign books at the same time. Trust me on this.
  8. Do plan in advance what you will write when you sign your book. Yes, it lacks both spontaneity and creativity. But that beats your family and friends watching you stare at the ceiling with a blank look on your face while everyone titters nervously.
  9. Don’t adopt a Husky, and if you do, don’t ever let your child open the door for the sitter. Because the three of you will end up running down the street chasing said dog when you should be setting up for your book party. This will serve to exacerbate #4. You will also be sweaty. Very sweaty.
  10. Most importantly, don’t obsess over clothing with the new man you haven’t met in person yet. If he helps pick your outfit, your first date will be strange. Really strange. As in, scratch your head and confound your girlfriends strange. There will be no second date. In fact, he will close his online profile and leave dating altogether. Simply because you are a neurotic writer who can’t dress herself.
  11. Forget #1 through #10. Just relax and have fun. It’s your book party!

“Just relax and have fun. 
It’s your book party!”

Until next time,
Cynthia

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In the Time of Wolves
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wolf-725380_1920Lately it’s been hard to get out of bed, much less write. But I managed to funnel all of my anger, disappointment, sorrow, confusion, and fear into a poem. It still feels kind of raw, this newly hatched work. But then, given what’s been going on in this country the past few weeks, perhaps that’s the point.

So here it is. In all its raw and nasty glory.

Enjoy!

 

IN THE TIME OF WOLVES

I’ll admit I didn’t bother to read it before. I squeezed
into a white pantsuit, took my daughter to vote.
Said be sure to remember this day, then visited
the park so she could swing. Didn’t think twice
when stroller-pushing moms in yoga pants
stared at me instead of her. We were both
flying high.

As sparkling wine chilled, the country burned red,
a wildfire of hate ignited by a gilded joke gone bad.
Cried myself to sleep, woke to a world unrecognized.
Everything an assault. A friend said how bad
could it be? I steeled myself, read the so-called
plan, and saw in its words a second destruction
worse than fire.

No Environmental Protection Agency.
No Endangered Species Act.
No Superfund.
No clean air or water.

I knew it would be bad, but not this,
not whole-scale destruction, not gang rape
of Mother Earth. It’s tragedy of the commons e
except this time corporations are people.
We’ll be the starving sheep. Great Spirit,
forgive us. We know not what we do. The words
strangled me.

No climate change.
No Paris Treaty.
No shift from fossil fuels.
Just coal, oil, shale and drill, drill, drill.

They will be hunting now, tracking wolves
in Yellowstone. Some had already been shot,
but now it’s open season. In the harsh years
since relocation, the wolves have adapted,
grown wary of roads, men, traps, and guns, yet
somehow improve whatever they touch—
unlike us.

Wolves have multiplied, spread as far as Oregon.
A lone male crossed into California, rediscovered
the Sierras. I take comfort in this, picture him
slipping through silent forests, scaling wind-swept
ridges, sleeping fearless beneath the stars,
searching, always searching, for a place
to call home.

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Hang in there, my friends. We’ll get through this. Somehow….

Until next time,
Cynthia

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