Those Days/June 1998
Note: Kevin is now 15. His speech is not always clear in that the words come hesitantly as he can’t get them out quite fast enough and has so much to say. He goes to a special camp in the summer, and has made many friends there. The public school system where he is “mainstreamed” remains a thorn in both Elaine’s side and his. Kevin is handsome, about six feet tall, loves music and movies, is curious about all the latest trends, and loves to socialize. He boasted to me the other day that he has two girlfriends at camp. Elaine, until recently, worked for Autism Speaks...
Read MoreThose Days/October 2004
When we first moved to our community 19 years ago, I was a dyed in the wool city girl. In retrospect, with that inimitable 20/20 vision, we moved prematurely. The third child wasn’t a gleam in our eyes, the middle one was only six months old and the oldest was two. We went from a high rise on a bustling city street to a red ranch house on a cul-de-sac where every store and sign of life was a two-mile drive. We moved in the spring, so at least the roads were passable since driving was my only diversion: with the kids in car seats, I explored a not-so-brave new world. I did try that...
Read MoreThose Days/July 1998
A note to readers: This piece was written in July 1998. I came across it as I was blogging about the notion of regret. What could be more compelling than the regrets of those who both administered and ingested thalidomide to control something as benign as morning sickness? Who knew? Thalidomide is still being used today primarily in the treatment of certain cancers. My summer job in 1971 was at The Rusk Institute for Rehabilitation in New York City. They assigned me to children’s recreational therapy on the fifth floor – assisting them to read and walk, and play. On my first day on the...
Read MoreThose Days/June 1996
Sitting at the dentist’s office last week, my husband and I waited while our eldest had a tooth extracted. I put my head back and tried to relax – and then I heard my husband moan. I opened one eye and glanced at him sideways. I wasn’t really in the mood for conversation. He kept sighing and tsking while leafing through one of those glossy men’s magazines with a pumped young guy on the cover. The guy looked like he had just jumped out of a pool, body oiled, glistening in the sun, tight abs, over-developed pecs…you get the picture. “OK. What’s the...
Read MoreThose Days/ November 1997
Stone steps lead down to our basement. They are worn and slippery, pitched so steeply that if you’re not surefooted, you could tumble down and fall hard. We affectionately call our basement “the dungeon.” The floor is partially sand and partially concrete. The ceilings are low and laden with over 200 years of pipes and wires: some new, some old, many simply remnants and no longer serving a purpose. A wooden door inside the basement leads to what was once a tunnel, presumably left over from Civil War days when slaves were spirited out to the railroad. The basement reeks of not...
Read MoreThose Days/November 1998
Steep concrete steps take you up to the train tracks in what has been my hometown now for 13 years. The red brick station house, if not for signs advertising the local radio station and where to place recyclables, looks like it could be standing in the 1800s in Anytown, USA. If look hard enough, I picture what it was like once when the steam engines rumbled in…weary travelers tumbling from this “new” mode of transportation. There is something still romantic about train travel, perhaps more for me since I am not a daily commuter. Perhaps I recall old movies where the dark...
Read MoreThese Days by Stephanie can also be seen here!
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