Autism, Harry Potter and A Mother's Love for Her Son. Part 1

While J.K. Rowling encouraged children worldwide to read. She also gave my son and I a place to call our own. This is our story.

 "Don't ever expect him to live in your world." Words burned into the deepest part of my soul. Spoken by a well meaning but ill informed teacher. Ironic seeing that the entire reason for this meeting with therapists, counselors and educators, was to discuss how to mold my child, just diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum after a year long process, to fit into their world.

Filled with rage, disbelieve, holding in tears that desperately wanted to escape. Head in my hands, I glanced up only to see my 7 year old son outside the room blowing me a kiss. At that moment, I knew two things. That he would no longer be a student at this school and no one should tell a mother that her child cannot, will not, do something. Ever.

"Mama What is wrong with me?" he asked on our drive home. Even at his young age he knew that none of his classmates had to endure the medical tests, have their play patterns observed or sit in a hall while adults talked about them. He knew that his "stims" drew stares, that no one else thought wearing certain clothes or eating certain foods was torture. They did not feel the anger he felt or had trouble making friends. He knew he was different. He hated being different, This boy of very few words had made it clear on several occasions, he wanted to disappear forever.

If only he could see the amazing  little person I saw through my eyes.

 "Nothing love, You are perfect." I answered as the tears I fought so hard to hold in, silently fell. My son was bound for greatness even if the rest of the world did not believe, I did. That would have to be enough for now.

As I tucked him into bed that evening, I knew one thing to be true. If he could not live in my world. Then I would find a way to live in his.

The next morning, armed with a trash bag, He and I discarded all reminders of his lack of conformity. No longer did he have to look at what others wanted him to be. He was finally going to be free. Free to follow his inner spirit, discover who he was destined to become. With a nod of his head, Out went the footballs, baseball mitt and bat, hot wheels, army men, action figures, anything that he did not want cluttering up his space was out.

After our work was done I looked around his room. For the first time I saw my son through his own eyes. For what remained were his truest passions. The foundation of who he has become 7 years later.

On his walls were posters of his favorite movies. On the shelves were characters from those films, for they had become his only friends. Super Heroes because he felt good should always defeat evil. Swords and Dragons because medieval times were cool, Legos to build their lairs. Art supplies that allowed him to bring the characters in his mind out to play. His collection of rocks and crystals remained in his treasure box. For "They have energy when you hold them" he explained.

Then there were his books. Shelf after shelf. When I asked him if he wished to part with some of them."No mama they have our memories in them" "When you read to me I go to those places in my dreams. No one makes fun of me there." he explained.

How I wished that I could make others accept my darling boy as he was. However a smile gathered upon my face all the same, for we had already proved the experts wrong. As I looked around, so much of me was represented in the remaining possessions he held dear.

Perhaps finding a world in which we both could live, would not be so difficult after all.

Does Social Media Affect Your Self Esteem?

While the Internet is a great way to connect with people, Have your opinions known. One must wonder if it can do more harm than good when it comes to how one feels about themselves.

How many times have you checked your blog views this week? Your Twitter followers? Do you wake up in the morning, check your Facebook before having your first cup of coffee?

For the past couple of months I have been connecting all my social sites with the same name/email address.  This after well meaning friends, acquaintances told me that I need to brand myself. Pick one topic, Make myself easier and appealing to follow.

So, I Prepared my once dead blog, all in the hopes to gain the all important and coveted followers. While I have been writing all my life. Marketing my musings like they were a shiny new toy is new to me.

Yet, I must ask myself, Why does this matter? Does it make the words I choose to express, my views, any less important? Should I be worried because I lost 2 Twitter followers or excited because I gained 5? If no one comments on my status does this mean that my topics are dull? Am I boring? Do I immediately re-invent myself. Or am I comfortable with the real me?

Back when I was a young girl. Long before there was an Internet, Before computers even. I was a writer. Daily entries in my diary disguised in spiral notebooks.Between the bindings lived stories, random thoughts, my dreams. Afraid that if I allowed anyone access to  those pages, ridicule would follow. So forever hidden they remained.

Now  not only are my friends and family able to read my daily activities, the world can as well. As a once extremely private person the thought of this is daunting. However to know that I, anyone, can have a voice is exciting.

While I appreciate any and all advice, I cannot tie myself,  this blog, my tweets or even my status update in a neat little bow. For I am too eclectic to do so. My life is messy, my interests many. My opinions, the stories I share, cannot help but to reflect this. 

While  one can become caught up in the statistics, logistics of social media.  They can  also embrace the opportunities given.  Meeting people from different places, backgrounds. Become enlightened,while learning of other’s lives. All while not worrying about conforming themselves, just to fit in one demographic mold.

It took 40 years of life experiences for me to reach this moment. Totally comfortable with my authentic self. If people that stop by my pages, would like to stay for awhile, I am honored. If not, that is alright as well. For I am a writer. My passion is the words on the page. If no one reads them, their importance is not diminished.  At least not to me. 

Deadliest Catch will never be the same.

The opening scene, season 7 of Deadliest Catch was an emotional one. As we watched our beloved Captain Phil Harris be laid to rest. His ashes placed in a crab pot, set down into the Bering Sea. Surrounded by his father, sons, friends, crabbing family. As viewers, This was our final goodbye. Even though many of us knew what was to be aired. It was another gut wrenching moment of reality, that Phil has left us, drifted onward to his next path.

From the beginning, this show or should I say Captain Phil, captured my attention, later my heart. Television shows are not usually my desired form of entertainment. Especially reality shows which are anything but. However Deadliest Catch was different.

We, Natives of the NW have a way about us. Free spirits, hard working yet laid back, the lovers/caretakers of nature. With the mountains above us, valleys below us, the vast ocean stretched before us. We take pride knowing that we live in one of the most beautiful places on Earth. The men of Deadliest Catch magnify this spirit tenfold. Bordering on insane to take on Mother Nature, the vast sea, the dangers they can bestow.

While their occupations drew me in, the personalities made me want to watch. Soon Captain Phil became my favorite. Here was a man that partied hard in his youth, worked even harder, was told that he would not amount to anything, he set out to prove them wrong. While he grew up in Ballard Washington, the ocean was his home.

Through the eyes of the camera. We came to realize that the one thing Phil loved more than the sea, were his boys Josh and Jake. When he candidly admitted his mistakes as a parent, I could relate. For I have made my share.
The love that he showed through his laughter, his teaching, even yelling to get through to them, made me feel he was a kindred spirit. I could hear so many of my own words, in the ones he spoke. Only wanting the best for them, he knew what it would take. Giving them every opportunity within his grasp, to make their own dreams become reality.

With a history of blood clots that hospitalized him during the prior crabbing season. He came back for the 2009/2010 season. Yet his health was still in question. Within his words, actions, there were subtle signs. Signs that he may not be around to teach his boys, all he wanted them to know. Say all what he wanted to say. Instead he focused on the most important message of all. They were loved and he was proud of the men they had become.

On January 29th 2010 while the Cornelia Marie crew off loaded their catch. Captain Harris suffered a massive stroke. While he gave a valiant fight. On February 9th, 2010, Phil lost the battle. Which was my son's 13th birthday. As I read the news on the Internet, I held in the tears. At one minute after midnight I allowed them to fall.

Last September I had the opportunity to meet Josh and Jake Harris at the Commercial Fisherman's Festival in Astoria, Oregon. Through the gentle reminders of well meaning fans, their heart aches, own personal issues. These two young men showed maturity beyond their years. For while they have become reality stars. No one can fake genuine kindness and gratitude. That is what they showed us on that day.

To grieve for a father, have your source of income taken from you, to battle addictions, face problems, Problems that no one should have to deal with that young, is hard enough. Yet, to do it while the world watches is beyond my comprehension.

During the time my own father worked in professional sports. I became the unfortunate witness to the ruin fame can do to a person. How public figures can be used, then thrown away by the establishment, the fans, the very people who put them on that pedestal.

My wish for Jake and Josh is this, That they put their time in the limelight into perspective, that they hang on to their true friends, follow their own dreams. May they ask for help when needed. Know that the true character of a person is not in the absence of making mistakes. It is in the ability to face a new day, fight the good fight. Stay true to themselves.

May they continue to lean on, believe in one another. For in the end what matters most is love, honor, family. May they forever look to their father as their role model, for he was the finest example of this.

What might have been their father's most important lesson of all, he saved for his last. What really matters in the end, is the journey. Who you chose to love along the way. Who chose to love you unconditionally. For that is the true measure of success.

Phil Harris, There are very few as blessed as you were. For in this life, you were loved by so many. May you have found peace on your new path in uncharted waters.

Thank you for the memories Captain. Your legacy lives on.

Being a mom to a teenage daughter can really suck sometimes.

Long gone are the days of ribbons and ponytails. When a shiny new toy or a trip to the ice cream store can fix my children's problems. No longer does my daughter look up to me as the one person that has all the answers. Instead I get a blank stare that cuts right through me prior to her walking out of the room.

If only I could shake her, until my life lessons become hers. However, That is not how life works. One must make their own mistakes, fall on their face and somehow find the way back to their feet again.

When your children are small you can put a Band-Aid on those hurts. Yet, when they get older your influence becomes less and less. One must hope that what you say to them does register. No matter how little that may be.

You cannot choose their friends, their passions, their ambitions, not even their boyfriends. Just try forbidding your child from seeing someone. For, I have tried in miserable failure. How I wish I could find her a boy who would bring her flowers, take her to dinner, tell her that she is beautiful, laugh at her jokes, end the evening with a good night kiss after walking her to the front door. Instead of settling for being treated less than she deserves.

Yet, I have been told that this is the trend. For boys to pull up, text to have the girl meet him outside, to go hang out somewhere, Or if there are plans for special evening. Then it is expected to go dutch or even have the girl pay more often than the guy. When exactly did this happen and whom may I ask are raising these boys?


All I can tell her is to not let anyone make you feel inferior for the true measure of a person is their heart. If someone wants you to change to fit in their mold of what you should be, walk away. Do not give that person another thought. For insecurity is the biggest attribute of a bully. Words are toxic.


"Believe" has always been my motto to both my children. Do not let anyone tell you that a goal cannot be obtained. That you are less than worthy. Success is not limited to those with straight A's, the star on the ball field or the prettiest girl in school. Because those things fade away, What you are left with is passion, desire the willingness to work for it.

Getting them to the point of knowing what they want to do with their life or what they wish to be is difficult. Personally this changes, Several paths I have chosen. Growing is a part of life, what I want now is not what I wanted 10 years ago. How can I help her become who she is meant to be, when I am still so uncertain of my own paths?

While I say that I have been there. With the gossip, heart breaks, pressures of being a teenager. Honestly I cannot say that I have. When I was a teen, many times you had to wait for your parents to get off the phone before you could spread a rumor. Now it takes one text message to ruin one's reputation.

No longer does one confine in their best friend, teens now travel in packs. Giving the word clique' a whole new meaning. You enter high school, immediately you receive a label. Freak, geek, prep, jock, emo, goth the list goes on. If you try to break out of that mold set upon you, then you become a poser. It is said that you discover who you are in high school. In reality you discover who you do not want to be. This is the stage in which my daughter is in. Looking around at others, deciding who can stay and who must go from her life.

One's child is not a sponge, nor are they made of clay for you to mold. If so my daughter would wear boho skirts, plant herbs in the garden while humming John Lennon songs. She would prefer to read Jane Austen, Yeats and yes even Harry Potter to watching Jersey Shore. She would fill journals with her dreams.

Instead she is her own person. One who will make mistakes, trust the wrong people, go in the opposite direction of where she should go. Make decisions based on misinformation. She will live for the moment, only to have tomorrow here before she knows it.

As her mom, It is my job, responsibility, to once again, dry her tears, help her to stand, while encouraging her to keep moving forward. That is if on that day she chooses to acknowledge my existence.

My artistic side...

One of my passions is floral design. Although I have not worked in a flower shop for 3 years. The knowledge I gained in that decade is priceless. How I long for my garden to be in bloom.

Valentine's Day

St. Patrick's Day planter

St. Patrick's Day Tulips

Springtime in Oregon

Today being the first day of spring here in Oregon. Or Ostara as my Celtic ancestors would say. We woke up to our usual dose of liquid sunshine. Living in a majestic part of the world has it's draw backs. This winter seemed overly long, dreary and wet. How I await the return of the sun.

My spirits were lifted by visits from some our woodland friends that call our backyard and the nearby forest their home. Since the addition of Raja Moon our chug doggie. They are a bit more timid. If only they knew she just wants to play. However, they realize that food is always a plenty and they are most welcome to stay.

While I love the sound of rain upon the windows, Curling up with a good book in front of the fire, during these cool months. With anticipation, I wait for the long hot days of summer. Family barbeques, water fights, walks along the trail, taking in the scent of lilacs and roses in the air.

Far off in the distance, those times seem. For the grass I long to feel between my barefoot toes, is now lost beneath muddy puddles. Evidence that winter is hanging on. Within the rays of hope radiating from the sky, streaming through the trees at this very moment. I find comfort. Maybe I should put on some rubber boots, embrace the present. Take the time to splash in those puddles. For, soon enough I will look back, longing for their return.

Our backyard lovingly known today as the swamp.

The one dry day we had this month. The critters came out to eat and play.

Summertime memories

Full Moon Rising

In honor of the "Super Full Moon" last night. Which I might add was hyped up a bit. I decided to make a resolution. Now most people make resolutions on New Year's. However I find the idea of keeping up one's best intentions for an entire year, daunting.

Full moon to full moon is much more attainable, At least for me. Being that it is the start of Spring Break here in Oregon. My new found motivation has a jumping point in which to launch. With my daughter out of school and taking 4 days off from work to head for the beach. My Taxi duties are also on holiday.

Thus leaving me with 4 glorious days to organize my space. My first full moon resolution. Finally I will go through the boxes of old clothes, unfinished art projects, school supplies, photos awaiting scanning and various memorabilia.

My reward will knowing that our unused items will be given to a charity. Along with myself receiving the space that I have been longing for. To read, write, create. All without interruptions of video games and television. A space all my own. To relax, connect with, rejuvenate my spirit. Just enough to go back to my old routine. At least until the next full moon arrives.