This week Judy of A Creative Writer in Process challenged the LBC with the phrase ” If I could travel in Time, I would……” I have listed all the writers on the right hand side of my blog under Writer’s Consortium. Please take time to read some of their varied and interesting responses to Time Travel.

If I could travel in time would I travel backward or forward? If I chose to travel back in time, would I want to meet famous people, live the life of a Roman Courtesan, or travel to exotic places? On the other hand, if I chose to travel forward in time, would I be in awe of a new century and new politics.? Would I space travel, take part in a revolution, and meet my great grandchildren ten times removed.

Funny that when I was younger, I would have found time travel most exciting and glamorous. Now, when I think of time travel, I think of plagues, and bombings, and hunger and other most unpleasant experiences. This may well be the result of the head cold that is hanging on, the codeine in my cough medicine, and the lack a good night’s sleep. Perhaps it has something to do with the wisdom of maturity or the grouchiness of old age. All I know is that I want to stay right here, steady on the course, with a prayer that my little boat of life sails on smoothly for a long, long time.

To be honest, I have in my own way, experienced traveling back in time . The year was 1987, my father was nearing the end of his life. He was back in the hospital for the umpteenth time and as his main caregiver, I was tiring out. I had been up with him most of the night, taught school all day, and was now headed back for a long evening at his bedside.

As I walked down the corridor to his room, the nurses cautioned me that he was still under the influence of strong medication and quite disoriented. With these words of advice in mind, I entered the hospital room. My father’s bed was close to the window and the fading sunlight of late afternoon played on the white spread of his bed. He raised his head and asked, “Is that you, Grace?” “Have you seen Mary Lorraine? She has grown so much since your last visit. ” Then he paused, laughed and boasted, “She talks a blue streak and you must ask her about the ice rink.”

The voice was vibrant and full of life. It was not the voice of a 90 year old, but the voice of a younger man. Startled at first, I soon realized that my father in his confusion had gone back to a time around 1939. He had mistaken me for his sister, Grace and he thought Grace had come for her annual visit. He was telling her about me. So much love and pride echoed in his words as he spoke about his little girl.

When I was three years old, my dad made an ice rink in the back yard for me and my brother. I am certain it was more for my brother than for me, but I was thrilled with sliding across the ice on my new double bladed skates. “Ask her about the ice-rink” relates to a family story about my inability to pronounce the word “ice”. My word came closer to arse so that I was frequently asked about the skating rink to which I would gleefully reply, “I skate on my arse.” One of those little jokes that soon became part of the family legacy.

As most of you know, I chose to be called Maria because in my Catholic school, I was surrounded by Mary’s and I longed to be different. My entire family was very patient about going along with my name change, so I was pleasantly surprised to hear my childhood name, Mary Lorraine, again.

I was also delighted to be mistaken for my Aunt Grace. My father had four sisters and his sister Grace was always known to be “the family beauty’” As I was growing up, I would look at old family albums and I remember trying to look at my profile in the bathroom mirror. Did I resemble Grace? I could see some resemblance if I squinted my eyes, but truthfully, I would never have Grace’s classic good looks.

In that hospital room, I was transposed back to a time before my own memory. I glimpsed what it must have been like when my father’s favorite sister came for her annual visit and I was given the unbelievable gift of hearing him speak of me in a way that demonstrated the depth of his fatherly love for a three year old daughter .

So does this confirmation of a special bond between a young child and her father qualify as time travel? Probably not. It does however, qualify as a sweet snippet of time. One that I will treasure for the rest of my life.

I am on my way to visit Kristi, Theresa, and the twins. So not knowing what to take my grandbabies this time, I decided to make them books from the latest album pages made for their Memory Books. I chose activities that I thought they would enjoy and made title and ending pagesfor each adventure. Next I printed them on 5×7 paper and lamininated the pages back to back. I finished by by punching a small hole in the upper right corner of each page and stringing them all on to a small ring clip.

I made Danica the Trip to the Aquarium and Eric, Magic Mountain. I thought I would share those two little books on my first night there. Since I would be there for book reading time a second night too, I made two more books. One is Christmas at Papa and Nana’s and the second one is Twins Third Birthday. If you click on a title, it will take you to the album.

All of my Memory Books are digitally made. I find this so much easier than all the old scissors, glues, and paper that go with scrapbooking. All of these pages were made using Memory Maker which is a relatively new program and one that is very easy to use. I highly recommend it.

So now I am off to pack my bag, gas up the car, and get ready for my two hour drive tomorrow morning.

I dug up this old photo of the puppies to wish you all an early Happy Valentine Day. I celebrated a birthday this week.. . very quietly. I had dinner with friends from my widow group, a luncheon with school friends, and breakfast with a new friend. I seldom see my boys or Dawn on my birthday. Usually they have been down for Christmas and this is a little early for another trip. Kristi is so busy with work and with twins, that we just couldn’t find a good day to meet. So she mailed her gift and card to me. I also received home-made cards from little Danica and Eric. I treasure them so much and like every proud Nana, I have them on the refrigerator where I can see them every day.

Our weather pattern is sunny for a few days, cloudy and rainy for one or two and then back to sunny. Hopefully, sunny will hold for awhile. My gardener is going to do some brick work in the backyard as soon as we dry out. We will make the brick walk wider and also increase the size of the patio area. Right now the patio table and chairs are squished up into a tiny area. Adding more bricks, will mean we can arrange the area in a more comfortable manner. I am also thinking of adding two more chairs and a little table near the back door. This is shaded in the spring and early summer and perfect for early morning coffee.

Living in a small town and doing all of our medical exams in Los Angeles at UCLA, has created a problem for us. We have no doctor in town if we become ill. We thought we were on a local doctor’s list, but when I went to make an appointment, I was told that since neither Bob or I had made an office visit in the past four years, we were no longer patients.

I suppose this makes sense, but we just haven’t been ill. So I started out looking for a doctor here and found it a difficult task. We have a problem keeping doctors and we have do not have enough doctors to meet the community’s needs. After being told over and over that such and such doctor was not accepting new patients, I found a recently arrived doctor who was taking new patients. I grabbed the opportunity and made an immediate appointment.

So today, I sat waiting an hour to see a new doctor. At this point, I wouldn’t complain if I had a two hour wait. When I finally got to see her and we discussed my good health, she wrote a lab request for a blood test and also a bone density test. I left happily knowing if anything happens to me, I am now Dr. Anvar’s patient.

I was going to make an appointment for Bob as he needs to find a doctor, too. The only problem is Bob is hard of hearing, the doctor is soft-spoken and English is her second language. So now I have to start looking for another doctor for him. Wish me luck!

Once again it is Friday and time for a topic chosen by the LBC, a group of writers who take turns choosing a subject to write on and to post weekly. This time the subject is” Visit or Visiors”. I have listed all the writers for this group on my sidebar under Consortium Writers and I invite you to go to their blogs and enjoy their different writing styles and their creative approach to the subject.

When it was announced that this week our topic would be visit or visitor, I was reminded of an old family story about Uncle Charlie and his unannounced visit.

Many years ago, about the time I was a teen-ager, a rather pesky relative decided to write a book about the family. Uncle Charlie was not really an uncle. He was, as the family was fond of saying, a second cousin twice removed. He was the widower of a distant relative on my mother’s side of the family and for some unexplainable reason decided to write a book about his wife’s family. The problem was Charlie was very old and had a lot of trouble keeping the many facts straight. All of this to the chagrin of my mother and her sisters who feared he would not only publish errors , but also release some old family skeletons that had been closeted for years.

I remember my Aunt Gladys calling my mother and going on and on about Uncle Charlie and how in Chapter 5 he had her first son born two years before her marriage to Uncle Angus. The stories of mistakes went back and forth across the telephone wires until most of the aunts, uncles, and cousins were either laughing hysterically because the mistake was embarrassing to someone other than themselves or howling angrily because it was their history being mangled.

Everyone agreed that what happened in the family needed to stay in the family and definitely should never be published. . . . ever. So over the weeks, the consternation rose as Uncle Charlie who did not like to telephone just dropped by uninvited to ask questions, or leave another chapter or draft of his writing for some unexpecting family member to read.

At this time, my mother had a good friend named Kitty. Kitty lived down the block from us and often stopped by early morning for a cup of coffee. On this particular morning, my mother was ironing clothes. She had started early because there was more than the usual amount that week. So when Kitty arrived, she was ready for a break even though she had just begun the tedious task of ironing the family’s clothing.

My mother had earlier shared the stories about the family and the self-appointed , but bewildered family historian, with her kaffeeklatch friend. So when my mom looked out the front window and saw Uncle Charlie slowly making his way up the front steps, she jumped up, announced to Kitty that she was going to hide in the basement and please would Kitty go to the door and tell Uncle Charlie that she was out shopping.

Mom quickly made her way down the basement stairs and her friend dutifully went to the front door to deliver the message, but Kitty thought she could make the story better. So she announced to Charlie that she was hired help and was there to do the weekly ironing. Well, old Charlie was more than a match for Kitty. He simply stepped around her and said, “Don’t matter, I’ll just sit here and wait for Grace to get home.”

This left Kitty in a dilemma. If she left, she would be caught in her embellished version of my mom’s lie. If she stayed, she would have to do the ironing. After all, she had just announced she was there to do the family ironing. My mom was stuck in the basement and Charlie’s ample backside was planted firmly on a dining room chair, right next to the ironing board and the huge basket of clothes ready for ironing. So quickly Kitty picked out a blouse, turned on the iron, and started to work. Doomed to the chore by her falsehood, she ironed, and ironed, and ironed while Uncle Charlie, who was known for droning on about all subjects, proceeded to talk non-stop. Poor Kitty was a captured audience for his stories and he was warming up to his visit with the hired help.

After my mom had spent two long hours in the basement, Uncle Charlie ran out of stories to tell Kitty. He stood up abruptly and announced that he would be on his way. As he left , he stated that he would catch the streetcar and visit cousin Esther. Kitty waited until he was safely away from the house. Then she called out the all clear to my mother who rushed upstairs to find her laundry basket empty and all the ironing completed. The two women laughed and laughed.

In telling the story later, my mom said, “The next time that fool comes to the door, I am going to make sure I have a book in the basement. I had nothing to read the whole time I was down there.” Kitty said she hoped it would be Tom Sawyer because my mom would enjoy reading or rereading the part about whet-washing the fence since she and Tom shared a cleverness at getting someone else to do the work.

Uncle Charlie continued to make surprise visits to relatives, but thank goodness, the book never did get written and I do believe the drafts that family members were given are long gone.

Once again it is Friday and I am more than happy to be back among the bloggers who make-up the Loose Writers’ Consortium. The title for this week is Quest. LWC blogs are listed on the right side of my blog. Please take time to read these excellent writers with their varied styles and ideas as they quest their way through this intriguing subject.

I am on a quest. It is a Quest for the Cure of Autism. Autism is a developmental disorder whose symptoms vary, but adversely affect a person’s social communication skills, fine and gross motor skills, and sometimes intellectual skills.

Here in the United States, 1 out of every 110 children is diagnosed with Autism. In England, 1 in 100 children. In India,the ratio is 1 in 250 children and in China 1.1 in 1000. My statistics for countries other than the U.S come from the World Health Organization and date back about four or five years. It has often been mentioned that not all countries report as thoroughly or diagnose as quickly as others.

I am far from alone in this quest. Ahead of me, march the scientists, physicians, psychologists, all the professionals with half-answers, differing views, and words that shout of their inability to solve this malady. Directly behind them stride the many politicians, eyes on the next election, promising new bills, new monies, and seldom delivering all they promise.

I walk with the other parents, grandparents, siblings, and all who watch beloved, promising little beings, fade into themselves and become lost to the world. Our footsteps are loud. We do not shuffle. We march determinedly along, reading each new report, searching for answers, believing someone, somewhere, will discover a new phenomena, a magic pill, an avenue that will bring about a miracle.

My grandson Eric first showed signs of Autism when he was a year old. Up to that time, he was outgoing, bright, and curious. His ability levels in all areas were on a par with his twin sister, Danica. Then before our eyes, we begin to see a dimness appear in his. We watched fearfully as he begin to mentally and emotionally withdraw from our world. More and more of his time was spent staring off into space. Often he would take off running, unaware of his surroundings and not able to stop. He was becoming locked in a world of his own. Eric began to react more and more in heart-breaking emotional melt-downs. Although similar to the normal tantrums of two year olds, they were very different in intensity.

Family concern led to doctor visit after doctor visit and finally, the diagnosis that Eric was a child with Autism. Such a crushing blow to all who love and care about this once happy and healthy child.
It soon became apparent that Eric suffered GI problems often associated with Autism. He was plagued with stomach cramps, diarrhea, and it became difficult to get him to eat. His once happy babbling seemed nearly to have stopped while his sister’s vocabulary increased daily. At Nursery school, she mixed with the other children while Eric preferred to be alone. Soon she was toilet trained and onto the next class. Eric remained behind in a class where being diapered was still acceptable.

Next came our days of learning all we could about Autism. Books were bought, read, and occasionally discarded. His mothers attended classes, took him to speech therapy, and play therapy, and met with the specialists to establish realistic goals for his progress. Soon Eric was saying some words, and his occasional smiles were moments of delight for everyone. Small glimmers of hope reigned supreme. And through it all, we became a family of technical terms. Terms such as; ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder), ST, (Speech Therapy), PDD-NOS – (Pervasive Developmental Disorder Not Otherwise Specified) OT (Occupational Therapy) and SLP (Speech-Language Pathologist). We learned more acronyms than Campbells has letters in its alphabet soup.

Eric continues to make progress. He has started ABA (Applied Behavior Analysis) training and attends classes four to five days a week. A change of diet to one that is gluten and dairy free. It seems to ease his stomach problems a little. The first time Eric said, “Mama” was a wonderful step forward. His smile and his use of the words, “Thank you” are remarkable. He loves his trains, cars, and anything that he can stack. All small steps, albeit important ones.

Love is a remarkable tool and Eric is a very loved and accepted little boy. Still I want more and more for my grandson. I want him to someday reach the full potential of his being. So for that reason, our family will continue our quest for a cure. I accept that today it does not exist, but I will always believe the cure lies right around the next bend.

Therefore, as I march along, I keep two thoughts in mind. First, that not so many decades ago, Infantile Paralysis was rampant and large numbers of children were crippled or lost their lives to the dreaded Polio. If we as a people, could find a way to eliminate that horrific disease, then surely a cure of Autism is possible

My second thought is one of gratitude. Gratitude for the awakening concern found in the media and a thankfulness for the Medical Community whose galvanisation has given rise to new therapies, new diagnosis guidelines, and whose ever-growing momentum reflects the importance of the Quest for a Cure of Autism.