Mossify

Oh, dear. Time flies, and I think about writing things, and then I think about the State of the World (Dumpster Fire), and the death of the Pope (who, by all accounts, seemed like a very lovely man and quite open-minded for a leader of the Catholic church), and about the deporting of toddlers who are in fact US citizens (help, my heart), and other assorted Terribleness, and I can't bring myself to write things. 

And then another dust storm comes through and I feel as though my brain is filled with the fine grit that covers my car and my front doorstep and my nasal passages, and the pressure changes of the air cause my skull to squash my dusty brain so painfully that I just lie on the couch and do Nothing except contemplate whether I should take prescription migraine meds or save them for when things are worse, and whether my kidneys are going to shrivel up and die if I take any more ibuprofen. 

Sometimes when the headache dulls, I think about my People whom I haven't seen in far too long, and I acknowledge to myself how much I miss them (because, apparently, there needs to be Conservation of Suffering, and if my brain doesn't hurt, I must make my heart hurt instead?).  I wonder if I should tell them I miss them, but what purpose would that serve? To make them feel bad somehow, for not living closer or visiting more? Oh, no. The last thing I want is for someone else to feel guilty or burdened by my personal wants.

Everyone has their own life to lead. The only story in which I am the main character is my own. 

And so I lie on the couch, watching the bunnies hop, slowly growing mental moss as I await better times and the end of the windy season. 

Know that though I am quiet, I am still here, mossy and secretly soft, waiting for the gentle mist, the glow of the evening light, and you. 

And Then Hell Froze Over

My current state of irate is due to the blathering of RFK Jr. regarding autism.  I don't want to link to his statements, because they are on a level of wrongity wrong wrong that boggles the mind. Briefly: his remarks include statements that are outdated and dehumanizing, perpetuate stigma and stereotypes, and undermine progress that has been made in diagnosis as well as in the development of support structures and progress in disability rights for those on the autism spectrum. The Autism Society's statement regarding RFK Jr's comments summarizes things nicely.

And now, a group of leading autism organizations has released a joint statement -- for the first time ever -- calling for science-based decision-making, investment in research, and services for the autism community, and the organizations that have signed include Autism Speaks, which historically I (and others) have considered to be problematic. Agree with Autism Speaks? Hell has frozen over. And we are OK with that.  

The list of endorsing organizations is growing. Good. More voices together will increase the chances that they will be heard, and that they will drown out the nonsense spouted by RFK Jr. and his ilk. 

Although it is hard to choose which current events to focus on right now, support of the autism community is a cause that is very close to my heart, and that I feel needs an additional spotlight at the moment. For your convenience, the joint statement is reproduced below. Take a moment, if you can, to take a look. I might be preaching to the choir, but still, I want to add my voice as well. 

April 17, 2025, Washington, D.C. – As national organizations dedicated to advancing the well-being of Autistic individuals, the Autistic Self Advocacy Network, Autism Society of America, Autism Speaks, The Arc of the United States, Autistic Women and Non-Binary Network, Autistic People of Color Fund, and partners across the disability and public health sectors stand united in our call for science-based decision-making and increased investment in the research, programs and services the Autism community needs to live fully.

While our organizations reflect a broad range of perspectives and experiences, we are aligned in the following principles:

• Vaccines Do Not Cause Autism. Decades of scientific research confirm there is no causal link. Public health messaging must be grounded in science and protect all communities.
• Autistic Individuals Deserve Respect and Support. Public dialogue and policy must reflect the inherent value, rights, and diverse needs of Autistic people.
• Evidence-Based Policy Is Essential. We call on policymakers to work in collaboration with Autistic individuals, families, researchers, clinicians, and disability organizations to ensure policy is grounded in science and responsive to community needs.

We are deeply concerned by growing public rhetoric and policy decisions that challenge these shared principles. Claims that Autism is “preventable” is not supported by scientific consensus and perpetuate stigma. Language framing Autism as a “chronic disease,” a “childhood disease” or “epidemic” distorts public understanding and undermines respect for Autistic people.

At the same time, federal proposals to reduce funding for programs like Medicaid, the Department of Education, and the Administration for Community Living threaten the very services that Autistic individuals and their families rely on. Research must be guided by credentialed experts and inclusive of the complexity and diversity of the lived experiences of the Autism community—not redirected by misinformation or ideology. As leaders in the fields of Autism and public health, we are committed to contributing meaningfully to the ongoing dialogue and initiatives led by HHS.

We urge public leaders, institutions, and media to uphold scientific integrity and work together to strengthen—not weaken—the infrastructure of support for the entire Autism community.

Tax Season

 Herself speaks.

It's tax season. With the assistance of the tax preparer (who is awesome), all the tax returns are completed. There are a bunch for which I'm responsible - multiple trusts, extended family members, and the nuclear family itself - and each required gathering of appropriate papers, review, and the occasional state as well as federal returns. I still need to mail a couple of checks today.  But then it will be Done.

Tax season always makes me think of my Dad. Taxes used to be his job, and he no doubt was methodical and prompt in all of his tax return preparation requirements.  

I wonder: did he feel a sense of satisfaction when he completed this tax task -- or his other myriad behind-the-scenes tasks that he took care of every day? Did he ever feel oppressed by his responsibilities? Did he feel Taken For Granted? Or was he happy to see that everything was Done, and his loved ones had what they needed, without worry?

I think: all of the above. 

I am so in awe of you, Daddy. How did you move forward every day, uncomplaining, quietly competent, thorough and methodical and caring, without fanfare or even sufficient gratitude given to you?  The soul of a saint. So much given. You must have been Tired. 

I am sorry I did not express in words, how much I appreciated your efforts, Daddy. Perhaps I did not truly understand everything you did until you were gone, and I spent more time thinking about you, and I became You in even more ways. 

Be at peace, Daddy. 

I miss you. I am glad that you can have some well-deserved rest now.  

Hold The Line, Super Girl

In the days of yore when I was a youth in the 70s and 80s, I wore my Super Girl T shirt with pride, and we young women, in our seemingly eternal optimistic youth, believed that girls could do anything that boys could do. 

We read the articles and saw the news and were told the stories of heroines like Barbara McClintock, Mary E. Clarke, Susan B. Anthony, Sandra Day O'Connor, Elizabeth Dole, Sally Ride, Geraldine Ferraro, and Joan Benoit, to name just a few.  Woman, including women of color, making strides in science, politics, athletics, the military, and more. Fields dominated by men, particularly white men, to be sure -- look at us, we can be there, too. It was beautiful to know that we, too, had a place at the table. We could do anything. 

Sure, there were always stories. The sexism, the groping, the crude language and the arrogant dismissals of our work because of our gender. Those stories persist to this day, decades later. Because these things still happen, decades later. Don't be fooled. It hasn't ever gone away. Remember the MeToo movement? The price paid to get our seat at professional tables was sometimes very high. 

And now here in 2025, the country is under Presidential executive orders to scrub federal government websites and policies of anything relating to DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion). We can discuss what the purpose is of those executive orders, another day. The end result, though, is that pages and pages of information relating to the achievements of women and people of color are being scrubbed from the internet. Don't deny it. We can see it happening before our eyes. 

The stories that little girls like myself grew up on, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Access by the most common source of information -- the internet -- is no longer available. Yes, we can still go to the library and find a book. For those little girls for whom the library is distant, or for whom the books have been removed: what recourse do they have? Where do they go, to learn that women do, still (for now) have a place at the table? Are we to resort to Word Of Mouth? An oral history of Women? 

-----

I was flying home yesterday from a meeting. On the first leg of my trip, the pilot turned on the intercom to welcome us aboard and give us some information about the flight, and LO AND BEHOLD: IT WAS A WOMAN.  I wanted to cry.  It may seem like such an inconsequential moment to some, no doubt. But when only five percent of commercial pilots for this airline are women, it's not. 

There she was, with her soothing professional voice communicating with us, performing her job beautifully (such a smooth landing), going about her business. It might not have been a big deal for her -- just an ordinary day at work. But for me, it was a shining moment of Girl Power. We are still at the table. 

Hold the line, Super Girl in the cockpit. Your presence means more to some of us than you will ever know. 

Thirty-two

 Offspring the First has turned thirty-two.  Where has the time gone? 

You are a ray of sunshine, a tender and thoughtful heart, a kind warmth to all you encounter. You are out there in the big world now, and I hope that the world is not too much for you, because the world is cold and can be cruel. But you create your own bubble of light wherever you go, and that may be enough to protect you. I wish for the best of everything for you, always. 

Go forth in joy for your next year, Offspring the First. I love you so much. Happy birthday. 

What!?

Why is she looking at me like that!?

The Things We Carry

 Herself speaks.

Offspring the First and her charming husband were in town over the weekend, and we were able to see them briefly for a bit. It was lovely, as always, to see her and her smiling face. Offspring the Third was there as well, and it was reassuring to see him too, as always, and delightful to have the two of them in the same room together. There was an Offspring the Second-shaped hole in the room; I have missed his presence so much, and am trying to walk the line of respecting his independence and freedom, while still wanting to reach out and encourage him to come home for a bit to ease the ache of his absence. 

I don't know when I will have all three of the Offspring together in the same room at the same time again. I try not to think about it. The weight of that unknown future can be a heavy grief for me if I allow it to grow in my heart, but I will not do so. It is important to be glad for the Offspring as they move forward with their unique lives, and not to try to hold them back out of any sort of obligation. 

I will not ask the Offspring to help me carry my own feelings. That would be unfair to them. They should be Free.

Fly, Offspring, fly.

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. 

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. 

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

-Kahlil Gibran, On Children