Recently I read Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. The narrator is an autistic teenager, and his point of view is what makes the novel moving.
Marcia read the book after I did. I told her I was struck by the boy's system of determining what was in store for him each day. For example, if he saw five yellow cars as he rode the bus to school, it was sure to be a "super good" day. But if he saw five black cars on the road that day, he was doomed and wouldn't even bother to participate in the activities du jour. The boy's method seemed to be 100% madness to yours truly.
Marcia explained that the character's means of assessment were not so different from anyone else's. We have friends, for instance, who check their horoscopes first thing in the morning and expect fate to unfold accordingly. Others tune into the weather channel and design the day around those predictions. She reminded me that I have had days when I tripped over a tree root (without actually even falling down) between my car and the office and have concluded it was going to be a doozy.
With a baby in the mix, such inferences from one moment to the next are truly absurd. There are no good days or bad days. There are no days, only moments. In fact sometimes the moments seem to be strung together with no relationship to one another whatsoever.
A moment of true distress might be followed by another one of peaceful bliss. It's a good thing that I like surprises.
Just before Pearl was born, Marcia and I took an eight-week workshop on MINDFULNESS. Before enrolling in the class, I had always thought that the goal of meditation was to erase your brain and think of absolutely nothing. In the class I learned that in meditation, the idea is not to alter anything but to accept what thoughts are presently in your mind without judging or assessing them.
Maybe Pearl is here to teach me how this works, one moment at a time.
Hello Robin, Marcia, and Baby Pearl
What a wonderful site to update us all about the family's experience. Yes, baby Pearl will be your teacher . . . isn't that lovely and humbling? Keep breathing and noticing.
Peace and Hugs, Micki
Posted by: Micki Fine | 20 April 2004 at 08:47 AM