love
A year to be more open and connected
Two years ago, after writing a news story about a few of our clever readers and what they learned achieving their New Year’s resolutions, I did mine differently. A year into my own experiment, I had learned so much that I shared it in a column.
That first goal to not buy anything (with reasonable exceptions for food and fixing things) reinforced a simpler, more sustainable life. My next resolution, “Yes, please,” was meant to be this year’s yang to last year’s yin of “no, thank you.”
The idea wasn’t that “yes, please” was permission to give into impulses or rationalized needs, but to push through whatever had been stopping me from trying something new. How else to see the world unless you push through to the other side? I made a list of about a dozen challenges that have been nagging for years; for example, learning to better maintain my bike, sew upholstery, broaden my computer skills, speak conversationally in another language, and make cheese. But if something new crossed my doorstep, like when my friend and brilliant textile artist Carla offered a day of indigo dyeing, I said “yes.” I said yes whenever I could.
Not only is life simpler and more sustainable, but it’s also richer and more fun.
That brought the social media expression of my life into sharp relief. For the coming year, I will co-opt Facebook’s stated mission, to be more open and connected, by quitting Facebook.
The main reason to shut down my account is one that has nagged me for a long time. Facebook’s real mission is nothing like its stated mission. For example, I’ve noticed there are people you cannot reach any other way than through Facebook. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. In Texas, we might share a lemonade on the porch and we’re cordial, but we just don’t invite everyone inside. So I would argue that when you can’t reach someone except through Facebook, then you aren’t really connected at all. Facebook is managing your relationships for you through the veneer of being “open” and “connected.”
I set up the Family Room blog as a place to explore ideas related to living with autism. It’s interesting that most readers come here via a Facebook link and will return to Facebook to comment on the topic, rather than connecting below and creating our own community–which, by the way, is not open to exploitation by a third party because I filter and delete all that garbage.
That’s Facebook’s real mission. And, they “move fast and break things.” After I watched Frontline’s two-part special, The Facebook Dilemma, I couldn’t be a part of it anymore. American newspapers are struggling because Facebook (and similar businesses) got the rules changed: they can publish with impunity while newspapers must continue to publish responsibly. It’s expensive to be a responsible company. But it’s worth it because, for one, the truth is an absolute defense. And people don’t die in Myanmar because you got so big moving fast and breaking things that you can’t clean up after yourself anymore.
It took Sam a while to accept my decision. He was worried that my exit would affect his experience. I respect that very much. People with disabilities need help living lives that are more open and connected. He finds community activities through Facebook. Because he can scroll at his own pace, he can absorb and react to more news that people share. He’s not impervious to the third-party nonsense, but he’s not going to show up at a fake rally meant to destabilize the community.
I’ll still be on Twitter because I use the platform for my job and I can’t escape it. And I know my departure from Facebook may affect my coworkers, so I will work to ameliorate that. I hope that readers who want to continue to be part of Family Room will use the green button below to bookmark the blog and come back once a month or so. This blog isn’t going away even though the Facebook teasers will.
My first objective will be to use my words to be more open and connected. Family Room will be one place to make that happen, along with all of the other ways we’ve always had to connect with each other (insert mail-telephone-plus-ruby-slippers icons here!)
My second objective will be that when I have something to share, I will share it with the person I believe would appreciate it most.
My third objective will be actively listening to others in the coming days and weeks. Because the best way to connect is to respond.
Sam taught me that.
Love people. Cook them tasty food.
Penzey’s Spices started in my home state of Wisconsin. I’m pretty sure I’ve been a customer for decades, because I remember reaching for a Penzey’s jar the first time I made so many recipes that I’ve been making for decades …
Roast chicken with lemon and rosemary …
Mexican hot chocolate with cinnamon …
Pasta with ginger and garlic …
They used to have just the one store near Milwaukee and I ordered by mail. They have shops all over the country now, but we still order online.
If your order is large enough, they’ll send you a little sample of something. For a few years, they kept sending me a spice blend, BBQ 3000. I guess maybe they thought since I lived in Texas, I would need a lot of that.
Like most Texas meat lovers, I think, I like to mix my own.
This last order, they let me know in a pop-up window what the freebie would be, and asked if it was ok. Dill weed. I clicked yes.
When the box arrived, they’d also sent a colorful bumper sticker. I didn’t put it on my truck. I put it in my front window, because it’s just such a beautiful sentiment.
Love people. Cook them tasty food.
True Blue Lacy
For the first time in 20 years, there are no dogs in my house.
Except for a very short, disastrous period with a hyper Corgi named Tippy, we didn’t have dogs when I was growing up. But I loved dogs. I studied all the different dog breeds. I read and re-read storybooks about dogs. I wanted dogs in my life.
Mark brought home our first puppy, Patch, when we moved to the farm in 1996. Part German shepherd and part chow, he grew to a gentle giant around the kids. A year or two later, a family we barely knew dumped their border collie mix at our place. We had tried once before, and failed horribly, with a rescue, so we worried about Rex. He had problems. But Mark had a good hand with dogs and slowly, but surely, Rex turned into a big, lovable lump.
Michael and Gus, January 2002
As farm dogs, though, they weren’t particularly helpful. My dear friend, Terri, was having good luck with an old Texas breed, Blue Lacy, at her place in the Hill Country. She brought me her pick of the litter in January 2002.
He’d only been with us for a few weeks when Paige got the flu. He wouldn’t leave her side until she was up and about again.
Paige and Gus, February 2002
Mark was a bit annoyed with me. Three dogs is a pack, he said, and they will be harder to manage. That’s ok, I told him, I want Gus to be my dog.
Gus entertained the kids as a puppy with his incredible energy. Once I sat my coffee down on the porch and he drank it as I looked away. The kids watched in wonder as he ran in circles, without stopping, for about three minutes, and then laid down and slept it off.
Left to right on the front porch at the farm: Gus, Paige, Rex, Michael, Sam.
Mark saw that energy could — and needed to be — directed. In very little time, Gus became Mark’s dog. I did a lot of work on the farm, but Mark did more. Gus loved to work. All you had to say was “should we go do some work?” and he ran to the door with such excitement, bounding ahead of you outside. It really was his favorite time of day. With “go ahead,” he’d scout for you as you worked the fences or a row of trees, alerting you to snakes and chasing off varmints. With “get ’em up,” he rounded up the chickens and the goats when they got loose. He tried to help when other people’s livestock got on our land.
This photo is a classic shot of Mark having one of his sit-downs with a young Gus. I’m sure all that Gus heard was “blah, blah, blah” (I can’t remember what he had done wrong at this moment either), but more than anything, Gus wanted to please Mark. These little sit-downs were amazing bonding sessions.
So when Mark went to the store one night and never came home, Gus was as distraught as the rest of us. Twice he went looking for him and came home shot. Both times the veterinarian, Nub Nabors, shook his head as he looked at the x-rays. The first time Gus was shot, the bullet went clean through his chest and hit no internal organs of any kind. The second time the bullet went through the two bones of his front right leg as if threading a needle. Nub just stared at the x-ray in wonderment.
After that, Gus gave up looking for Mark.
Fast forward to life in the city, which I’ve written about before. He enjoyed these past 12 months of retirement.
Today was his last day. He got cancer and his haunches wasted away until he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. This morning, when it was time to get up and take our fake patrol in the ditch, his new favorite time of day, he gave up.
The humane thing doesn’t always feel humane.
Gus and I have been sleeping on the sofa together for nearly a year. I could sleep in my bed tonight.
But I won’t.
Random thoughts running Frenchtown Road
Michael woke me today and insisted I run with him. “It’ll be the last time,” he said.
It’s a funny way to celebrate a launching, but that’s what it was. Last year was tough for him. He had started his adult life after graduating TCU in 2013 and then had to move back home last January. I got a front row seat watching what our economy is doing to the 20-somethings. At the end of one of his worst days, I found myself offering a most grown-up salve to his wounds, pointing to the barstool in the kitchen and pouring him a generous shot of Old No. 7.
In the past year that he’s lived here with Sam and me, we often ran together. His normal pace is crazy faster than mine, but he said slowing down to run with me strengthened other muscles. True or not, it was still a nice thing to say and do — slowing a 7:00 mile to run your mom’s 10:00+
Eventually, he righted himself. Today he packed up the car and drove to his new life in Austin. 
I resisted temptation to grab the camera and document the day (this photo is from one of his good days earlier this year), remembering back to Paige’s first day of kindergarten. She was the youngest, but she was feisty and she couldn’t wait to prove she was big like her brothers. When it was her turn to hop out of the car and head to her classroom for the first day of school, she did it with confidence and determination. Who was I to turn into a blubbering idiot about all my babies gone to school and ruin her first day being big for real?
So I just watched her from behind the wheel of the old Dodge Caravan and marveled at the moment.
It was icy cold today, but it was a little like that hot August day 30 years ago I drove my un-air conditioned car across the Nevada desert to Sacramento to start my grown-up life: Michael, being big for real.
Overheard in the Wolfe House #285
Left to right: Grandma, Grandpa, Chris, Peggy, Sam, Matt
Aunt Chris (above the chatter around the table at the bagel shop): Are you bored, Sam?
Sam (staring off in the distance): Oh, you’re never bored when you’re with family.
Happy 2015 Everyone!
The Heart Wants What It Wants
The house is a little quieter. Dixie died early Thursday morning.
Dixie “Doodle Bug” in the Indian Paintbrush, Spring 2013
I knew when I got home from work Wednesday evening she was in trouble. Lethargic. Eyes in a faraway place. When I picked her up to take her to the animal emergency room, clumps of hair fell on the floor.
I appreciate that Denton has an animal e.r. I told myself it was possible that they could get her blood sugar back in balance and she would be back home, but I also was no fool. I declined the diagnostic bloodwork and I checked the “do not resuscitate” box.
I left her there, a clean and well-lighted place, and slept through the phone call that came at 1:21 a.m. When I awoke at 5:15 a.m., to dress and go pick her up, I saw the messages waiting. I didn’t need to listen to know.
I always wonder what a veterinarian thinks of you when you decline care. I loved Dixie. She came into our lives just two years ago and she took up a big spot in my crusty old heart that has already been through fire and rain.
When Dr. Cody Bullock diagnosed her diabetes last November, he told me some people opt right then to put their dog down and he said wouldn’t judge me if I did. I didn’t flinch. We did a good job giving her insulin twice a day and helping her adapt to her blindness. But, looking back on the past few weeks, there were signs something was amiss. She was eating less dog food. (But so was Gus, so I thought it was just summer appetite). When we were outside in the evenings, she foraged for cicadas and grasshoppers (dead, of course) to eat. A few weeks ago, she vomited. She recovered. But it was black. She was bleeding somewhere.
I kept a close eye on her, but then there was a death in the family. I left for a few days. And then I worked two Saturdays in a row. I probably missed a clue somewhere, but I’m not going to beat myself up about it.
My little sister called me yesterday. Her dog was in trouble. Grand mal seizures. Awful ones. Not sure yet what’s causing them. So far not under control either.
She’s bracing for the worst. But she told me up where she is, in Park City, there’s a vet that comes to your house to euthanize a pet.
I wanted that for Dixie. More than anything. Doggie hospice.
My heart was already aching.
And again, I didn’t get to say good-bye.
See Sam Drive: Lost in mid-cities
If I ever doubted that no good deed goes unpunished, the lesson was reinforced today.
Michael had a job interview and asked to borrow the truck, since the air conditioning is out in his car.
(This is February, you say. This is Texas, I tell you.)
So out of his routine was he, that when he returned to the truck after the interview, he realized he locked the key inside. He called to ask whether there was a hide-a-key.
(No, son, a hide-a-key is something parents make their kids do with their own car.)
He didn’t want to pay for a locksmith if Sam could come with a spare. There was time. Sam loaded directions in the GPS on his phone and headed out.
Sam is not a fan of I-35. E or W. He took State Highway 114 and headed south on Precinct Line Road to where Michael was, in North Richland Hills. That was probably a mistake. Maybe U.S. Highway 377 would have been better. He got lost somewhere in Keller — so lost that he pulled over and called police to get help. They came and gave him directions.
Sam made it to the parking lot where Michael was waiting and the two of them were supposed to follow each other to I-820, where they would part ways at I-35W.
I thought all was well and then Michael called me again.
“I lost him,” he said.
Every parent of a child with autism knows this terror. And now his brother was learning it, too. Michael recounted as much of the situation as he could, starting with the moment he realized Sam was heading down State Highway 183 the wrong way, and I was at a loss of what to suggest next.
Sam had turned his phone off to save battery life. That worried us both. Not only was he not communicating with us, we knew “Siri” wasn’t giving him directions home.
“Call the police. Make a report,” I told him. “We can’t do this. We need the village.”
A co-worker (one of several that talked me off the ledge today) offered to take me home and Shahla provided a bit of support via text. Meanwhile, Michael was making a report with the police. I so hoped that Sam would be parked in the driveway when I got home, but he wasn’t.
I put an alert on Facebook and started to regroup. I would take Michael’s car and meet him and the police in North Richland Hills where they were making a missing persons report. (Because Sam has autism, it would have gone out immediately.)
And then Sam came down the driveway. I called Michael. The police shredded the missing persons report Michael had just signed.
Sam’s car parked in the barn formerly known as a garage
It took awhile for the emotions to settle and the conversation to begin. Sam knew he had separated from Michael and had been going the wrong way down the highway. But he remembered the directions Michael gave and when he was sure things weren’t looking right, he turned around and went the other way. He stopped at a medical center to get directions, too, and then he headed home.
(So, Tim Ruggiero, not only pizza places, but also medical centers are good places to get directions, we learned today.)
We gave ourselves a list of things to do, like Michael joining AAA, and Sam putting GPS in his car with a “home” button, and me putting a hide-a-key on the truck, so that all our good deeds trying to help each other out don’t get so punishing.
And, a big shout-out to all of the mid-cities’ finest. You got to know autism today and you did well.
Ways with bird
About this time every year, Mark and I would be negotiating over the spot where the turkey fryer would go. When the boys were younger, he often deployed it those evenings we made venison burgers on the grill and we needed to make as many French fries as a fast food restaurant fryer holds. That turkey fryer helped feed those boys with hollow legs. If Mark kept it close to the grill to manage the job as I worked in the kitchen on the rest of the meal, that was fine with me.
But the second or third year we made a fried turkey in it, Mark splashed. If he hadn’t been so swift at turning off the gas, we would have had a real problem. And by that I simply mean meat too randomly charred for consumption even by Wolfe family standards.
The incident didn’t phase my slightly pyromaniac husband. But I still reminded him each year that this wasn’t the way to share Thanksgiving dinner with the good folks of Emergency Services District No. 1 and it might be best to move that fryer just a little further away from the garage.
After Mark died, I gave the turkey fryer to my sister and brother-in-law, who raised two professional firefighters. They use it a lot for shrimp boils. And, I went back to this collection of Thanksgiving dinner recipes I started when the Fort Worth Star-Telegram would talk a local chef into helping a hapless reader — usually someone who barely cooked at all — develop a menu and practice it once before the big day.
I always admired the many ways those chefs could come up with a way to roast turkey. But I was collecting recipes for the sides and desserts to go with that big fried bird. The first year I made the pepita brittle, it almost didn’t make it to the table for its intended purpose garnishing the pumpkin flan. The soups were marvelous. And so many inventive ways to serve the cranberries. It’s a nice collection.
After a few years without our turkey frying guy, the kids and I appear to have settled on a favorite way to roast that big bird, a recipe that uses just the breast. Tonight, it just occurred to me why it may have become the favorite. Here’s the recipe for a hint:
The house is filled with the smells of smoky chile and maple. Texas plus Wisconsin. They go good together.
Turkey in the oven
Letters from camp
When I visited my parents last week, my mom brought out a pile of childhood arts and letters she set aside as keepsakes over the years. The basement had flooded in a bad hailstorm and the construction paper and mimeographs and report-cards-on-cardstock of my sisters and mine were threatened by the damp air.
She encouraged us to take our pieces back home. I found some watercolors I did as a teenager that weren’t half bad. We stumbled on several long lost family photos. Mom and Dad got to re-read heartfelt Mother’s Day and Father’s Day wishes. But the most fun came after we unearthed two letters my younger sisters, Chris and Karen, mailed home from Girl Scout camp one miserable Wisconsin summer.
Michael reveled in backcountry trips he took around the Texas Hill Country with Mr. Joe and the rest of the Georgetown Parks and Rec team. Paige’s complaints the year she joined them on a kayak and camping trip to Big Bend pale in comparison to those my younger sisters made of Chalk Hills Camp in Wausaukee. Both Michael and Paige later worked as camp counselors themselves at Balcones Springs.
The next time the kids start telling stories about their “character-building” childhood experiences and Mark’s and my role in deciding that they had to walk to school in the snow, uphill, both ways — well, I’m ready with these little classics.
Mom doesn’t remember her reaction to getting them. “I think they were coming home pretty soon after that,” she mused.
From Chris:
Tuesday, Aug. 5
Dear all,
Everyone is pretty homesick here. Karen has been crying a lot. She hasn’t been feeling too well. The bug has been flying around; it got into our tent last night.
Monday night everyone in our tent was crying of homesickness and mostly of the “friendly” counselors. Ha! The only one I like best is Baters.
Monday for lunch our patrol, Baters “Twick suel Jayujayleys” went on a bike hike to the dam and had lunch there and swam for about 10 minutes. There, I got a picture of a chipmunk eating some of our bread we gave it. I was about 2 ft away from it.
I finally found out my part in the play of Mary Poppins. I’m Michael but I don’t want to be in a musical where the parts are favored. They tell us to be fair!
Just as I was writing this letter, yours & Peg’s letter came in.
Karen Hart got stung by a bee.
Today, Karen’s unit (or patrol) is going on an overnight. I made a nature stationery, so the next time I write, I’ll use it.
A guy is here with his cameras. He’s going to [take] pictures all afternoon.
Sue has got a letter for Peg you can send up to her. I don’t know the address.
I better sign off now for tent inspection.
The weather cooled off, rain, too.
Love ya,
Chris
P.S. Can you write separate letters for Karen cause we don’t see each other often. Thanks.
From Karen:
30/31
Dear Mom and Dad,
It’s real hot up here. It took from 10 to 10 [9:50 a.m.] – 12:37 with a 20 minute stop at Clintonville. We went on a dumb treasure hunt that took us around the camp when it was boiling out and we ended up with a free swim. That was yesterday.
For today, it’s been good except my shoulder and my ears hurt when I talk.
We went for a swim and they put you back 2 or 3 steps. Liz is going in junior life saving and [they] put her in advanced beginners.
The food is good except the cornbread is rotten. Later, after rest hour, we’re going swimming and canoeing. We won a cleanest cabin award for the cleanest cabin.
If you want, you can send me more fungus stuff. The medicine says to apply four times daily. If Dad could write it out, it [would] be good. If you want me to, I’ll send along the medicine. I think I have fungus on my neck and I have it all over my face.
We went canoeing and the swimming alarm went. Someone just didn’t turn in their tag.
Love,
Karen
8/2
Dear Mom and Dad,
It rained yesterday while dinner but after dinner it didn’t rain. In our cabin, we have Tricia, Susan, Laura, Connie, Judy, Elizabeth, Karen. We sleep good except Cabin 2 is our alarm clock. They wake you up at 6:50. You don’t even need to wake up until 7:30 when the bell rings.
I had hopper yesterday. You have to set the table. You have to have perfect manners or they yell at you.
There is nothing real fun up here. You just go swimming and go to the arts and crafts center. Once we got to go boating in Michigan and the lost swimmer alarm went off. It was our leader’s tag that somebody else turned.
We had patrol and I’m patrol leader. I don’t want to be it, though. I’d rather be home than up here because it’s so boring.
I don’t ache much anymore except my toe. I smashed it going over the troll’s bridge when we were playing a game when somebody was leading us all around Chalk Hills camp.
The only time I get homesick is when you write letters or I write letters. I guess Peg is coming to camp tomorrow.
Love,
Karen
Here is a little more information about Chalk Hills, which was founded in 1939 and closed after the summer of 2001. Apparently other scouts have much fonder memories of camp than my sisters do.
The sibling experience
I didn’t tackle the sibling experience in my book about the first few years of Sam’s life. I didn’t feel it was my story to tell.
Many siblings of people with autism are starting to tell their stories. Paige and, especially, Michael enjoyed one book I picked up for them several years ago, The Ride Together. Paige wrote an essay for her nonfiction class at the University of Iowa that she will workshop at the Mayborn conference.
This young man shared his heartwarming story on YouTube.
Paige’s favorite lines:
“They thought he reached his fullest potential. He proved them wrong.”
“I play the big brother in the way I look out for him, but I still look up to him.”