Saturday Evening Stroll

On Saturday evening, Sam and I went on a walk at the local swimming area. Aside from a couple of fishermen, the place was deserted - not unusual for this time of day; not unusual for this time of year.

We walked in the low evening sunshine, through the long shadows and damp grass, passing the now quiet playground where, many years ago, Sam, and years earlier, his siblings, used to play. I glanced over at the empty swings and structures as we continued on - ignoring the echos of the past; ignoring how lonely and unnatural a place such as this looks without little kids, especially when it's bathed in golden light from the soon to be setting sun.

We walked the perimeter of the south field, finally turning back along the river's edge, passing the fishermen, who by now were standing knee-deep in the receding waters.

Crossing the footbridge, we followed the wooded edge of northern field, stopping occasionally along the way to look at the unfolding ferns and a solitary flower. And I wondered aloud how the flower got to this place, and why it chose to bloom in this particular spot - far away, it seemed, from any others.

At the end of the field, before the turn, we came upon a break in the woods, and we decided to follow a path we had never seen before. The path wove through the still blooming forest, branching off in several directions along the way.

We stayed with the path which followed the river and we walked mostly in silence with nothing but the sound of the river on one side, and on the other, somewhere high up in the trees, we could hear the tapping of a distant, unseen woodpecker.

Eventually, we reached a small hill. We climbed to the top and surveyed our surroundings - before deciding it was time to head back - back through the forest, back through the field. 

I wonder about connections to places like these - and to places where we live. I wonder about what we leave behind when we leave. Do we leave a part of ourselves? And what do we take along with us? Are we connected to our surroundings in more ways than we know? When we walk through familiar fields, or past empty playgrounds, are the feelings we feel nothing more than wisps of memories - or are we connecting with a part of ourselves which exists in these places, whether we revisit them or not?  

By the time we crossed the footbridge, the fishermen were gone. Sam and I headed back to the car, once again in silence - and together, we headed back home - he lost in his thoughts, and me lost in mine.
 

More Further Evidence...

... of the rapid decline of Western civilization. (Part Two of an apparently ongoing series).

I guess this speaks for itself, but I can't help but wonder how this came to be. I'm not sure what I have a harder time with - that someone would actually want to lick a poop pop - or the fact that this is marketed as some kind of friendship kit.

Parade Photos

A selection of photos from today's adventure...

Waiting out the rain.

This Morning's Brief Comment

Currently sitting in the car, waiting for the rain to stop and the Pide Parade to begin, explaining  to Sam what the letters, "LGBTQ" stand for.

Grinding Gears

It’s hard to write when I don’t have the energy- either mental or otherwise. And when I do have the energy, it’s hard not to whine. Today though, I’m whining...

Boy, do things ever get to a point where they will just move forward?

After a winter of dealing with rodent issues and sewer issues (remind me to call the excavator again) and health issues, I’m continuing to deal with workforce transition issues for Sam, along with the lifelong SSI issues.

The problem with writing about this is that I don’t in any way want it to come off like helping Sam have a normal life is some kind of burden. Far from it. I’ve said more than once, including to Sam, that Sam is a blessing and I don’t know what my life would be like without him.

But geez, do the gears in this machine ever get to a point where they can turn on their own? Does it ever get to a point where I can sit back and rest for a little bit?

I don't know how other people do this. Maybe this is a thing where it looks easy to me, from the outside. Do other people think that the things in Sam's life just fall into place, effortlessly. I don't know.

Some of this bad attitude is fueled by bumps, of some unknown magnitude, in Sam's expanded role in the workforce. It's been a little rocky for him - though not as rocky as he's aware of.

I don't put any of this on him. He works hard, getting up at six a.m. every morning, and he goes to off to work everyday - and I've never heard even one complaint from him.

But as I said, it's an expanded role for him, meaning new tasks and longer days - and all of this is done under a new supervisor who is just getting up to speed, as well as with a new caseworker, who is also getting up to speed.

And I'm trying to get up to speed - in understanding what I can legitimately ask for, and what I should expect in the way of support for Sam. I've written more emails and had more conversations in the last couple of months than I ever expected to.

I guess I must have thought, at least unconsciously, that his transition would go smoother than it has.

On top of this, I continue on with SSI (yes, that SSI). I continue to report his pay every month and last month, apparently nobody got it. That's too bad because last month was also the month that I included a letter of change in his status - that he's no longer a student, that he is working a "new" position, which means more hours with the same rate of pay, the same employer, the same job description, etc.

Being a glutton for punishment, I called SSI to see why I never received what seems to be a monthly update from them. And that's when I was told that they never received my paperwork.

This has resulted in what is called a "Technical Re-determination". What is that? Well, apparently SSI needs to see if Sam still qualifies for support. I'm not quite sure why this is - it's not like Sam is any less autistic - and I'm not quite sure what exactly has triggered this. Maybe it's Sam's change in status - which I just told them about, since my paperwork vaporized.

Whatever the reason, the guy on the phone mentioned that this usually happens about every three years. (Sam's been receiving help for just over a year.) This is only Mystery Number One.

Mystery Number Two is how all of the takes place. Apparently, it begins with a phone interview. That much we know. Sam, naturally, has to be present as he is no longer a minor and the world therefore needs his permission before they can talk to me (which I guess is wise on their part). How much he needs to contribute, what gets discussed, what I need to have available for information - all of this is a part of Mystery Ball Number Two.

But the best part of Mystery Ball Number Two is wondering where it goes from there. Is that the end of it? The answer is a firm "Maybe" - followed up by a firm, "Maybe not". It could be the end of it. It could also mean having to go to SSI Headquarters - with a year's worth of receipts for everything under the sun - some of which might mean something, some of which likely will not. We'll see.

We'll see.

The bottom line is (literally), the gears continue to turn, though with more effort that I would like - and it would be nice if they would turn without making that annoying whining sound.

Part III

Ok, here's the conclusion of the Mark-a-thon. We end with a semi-recap of Mark Knopfler's career. This one runs about twenty-five minutes. Well worth it if you're a Mark Knopfler/ Dire Straits fan. And if you're not... well, you're obviously in the wrong place.

Tonight's Video

Continuing with day (or rather, night) two of our Mark-a thon...

I can only assume you watched last night's music video. If not, you can go back and watch it here. Don't worry, I'll wait...

Done? Ok...

So, if you liked the song and if you like a little bit of history (and who doesn't!!!????), here's sort of a followup video for you to watch tonight. I think you'll find it both entertaining AND informative - and best of all, it's all for the same low, low price of zero dollars.