I don't know what's with me and the autism articles lately

These are a bit better, less depressing, though. Most of them are out of date (they all linked to the first one I saw, which I'll actually post last), but one is pretty recent:

One on the stigma-ness of autism, and differing scores of autistics on different types of IQ tests. I'm sure I've posted this before.

One on asking autistics to define autism. "The most striking observations were that all of them pointed out that unusual perceptions and information processing, as well as impairments in emotional regulation, were the core symptoms of autism, whereas the current classifications do not mention them." I find this statement to be promising.

One on how many autistic children perceive eye contact as threatening. This wasn't even news back in 2005.

And the one I tangentially want to talk about, about a woman with perceptual differences (seeing objects inconsistently where they definitely aren't, go read it) and how she adapts, well enough that she didn't realize she had these problems until she was an adult. Got it from autismhub.

I'm posting that article first because it's an awesome article and you totally need to read it (go, now!), but also because it provides a decent segue (if not exactly an excellent one) into something I've wanted to post for a few weeks but haven't figured out how to bring up. I'm still not sure how to talk about it and be clear, so bear with me - this is a perceptual difference of my own that's confusing the heck out of me, so I have no idea how I can convey it to everybody else!

Prosopagnosia (faceblindness) gets a lot of press. And I have that to some extent (back when Jenn was changing her hair all the time she occasionally changed it without telling me. I couldn't locate her in a crowd when she did. This is far from the most noticeable example of face-recognizing problems I've had), but what *really* impacts my life is my combination of total-lack-of-direction-ness and place blindness (which hey, rhymes with face blindness!). The first is bad enough - given two different routes to one location, I can walk both of them but still not be able to figure how they match up to make a whole; given three different turns, I cannot then move around and point to my starting point, nor can I guess which way I need to turn to get to a pre-determined end point, even if I know its relation to my start. The second is worse. Things that reasonably ought to look familiar don't, or don't consistently, anyway.

I have posted about this before, but not recently, so let me explain. If I enter a building from a different door than I usually do - even if it's, say, the door I *exit* from and I'm familiar with that lobby! - I will usually not see the building as a familiar place, nor be able to orient myself. If I approach a location from a different direction from usual, or at a different time of day or year, it will look like an entirely different place to me. And heaven forbid scaffolding has gone up or down, or they've repainted...! My family used to joke that if they turned me around, I'd get lost. Yeah, yeah, it's only funny because it is literally true. There was the time a family friend (whose daughter herself happens to be on the spectrum) dropped me off directly in front of my house, but on the opposite side of the street. I was ten at the time. I didn't recognize my house. I turned all the way around and must have looked directly at it, and I didn't recognize it. She had to lead me across the street, and I didn't realize where I was until I was on my porch.

I often mention the time I didn't recognize my own niece and brother-in-law when they were dressed in clothes familiar to me and when I saw them every week. I mention that story because it's unusual for me (though a good example of why "try harder" is a shitty thing to say when I (or anybody!) mention I'm bad with faces). I mention this story, of not recognizing my own home, because it is in fact completely typical of my experiences.

I have ways around this, of course. I look for landmarks. If I know I'm looking at Trinity Church, for example, I can work out where I am. (Landmarks don't have to look familiar to work. If I go to my mother's office from any direction other than the usual one, I look for Radio City Music Hall. It looks unfamiliar to me at any angle but one, but as it says "Radio City Music Hall" on it I know where I am and I can work out where my mother's office is by then looking for her specific facade. It doesn't work backwards - seeing the facade without first finding the landmark gets me nowhere, even if I remember the McDonald's right across the street. And seeing the landmark doesn't mean I recognize the building, that it "clicks" as my mother's office - I just reason it out the same way I would if I had a map but had never been there before. Likewise, back before the WTC fell I could always walk back from Wendy's to my mom at the AMEX by looking at the WTC until I bumped into Trinity Church. I could get from AMEX to Wendy's and recognize everything and not get lost, but not the other way around.)

Occasionally, even being careful to be very consistent and always come to places in the same way with the same entrance and the same time doesn't work and, for whatever reason, that place will *always* look unfamiliar to me. I don't know why. Times Square is one of those places. I really dislike the area for a number of reasons, but a major reason has got to be that no matter what, I can *never* figure out where I am when I'm there. It doesn't matter if I look for familiar landmarks, I still can't work out where anything is compared to where I am and half the time even the landmarks look unfamiliar. Yes, even the one that is in every movie or TV show about NYC ever, with the big electronic billboard. Unless I walk directly into it, I sometimes don't even register it as "hey, that big billboard" in my mind.

But here's something interesting that I've just noticed happening recently, though it may have been going on before then. My mother's office is pretty close to Times Square. A stop away on the train, actually, but sometimes I end up getting off at 42nd Street instead. Now, if I'm going up there I always get on the first car so I can get out at the most uptown exit. So if I get out at 42nd Street instead, I always get out at the same exit and, following the signs, take the same path (the only logical path) to get to the street. The time in the station is interesting in itself - periods of no recognition of where I am whatsoever interspersed with brief areas where I *do* recognize my location, but only distantly... like having seen pictures of the place often, but never having been even though I do know that I've been in that place before.

But I make my way to the street and my first goal, even beyond "get to my mother's office" is "get out of Times Square". I really don't like the place, you know. Now, once I head down a block I can work out, thanks to the grid system, which cardinal direction I've headed in. Then, if I'm wrong, I can easily backtrack (though as a New Yorker I hate to do this - more on this later) and make my way to any street address I please. I don't have any intuitive knowledge of left and right and curvy turns this way and that way, but in most of Manhattan I don't need it - all *I* need is to work out which way uptown is and I'm set. So I'm not too concerned - sure, I have a 50% chance of heading in the wrong direction initially (east or west), but then I'm clear.

But here's the weird thing. Even though that exit and corner is in "totally unfamiliar" territory, as is the entire surrounding area, the past five or six times I've gotten out there I've gone in the right direction every time. And I know, because every time I get out of Times Square, look around, think I've gone in the wrong direction because everything looks totally unfamiliar - and then spot Radio City Music Hall and realize where I am.

Let's be clear. I'm not remembering (at least, not on any level I can consciously access) which way to go. This isn't mostly unfamiliar, this is as unfamiliar as if I was dropped in Toronto, no matter how many times I leave that train station. And I'm not reasoning this out, either, beyond "Well, if I go the wrong way I can always turn around". I don't have enough knowledge or recognition to reason anything, at least until I see that RCMH sign. But this clearly isn't chance, either. I don't see any way it could be.

So this whole long post is to explain that even though I can't recognize an area, clearly some useful part of me can in at least some circumstances (sometimes, when places I know should be familiar aren't, I get lost about as often as I'd expect, or even moreso. This isn't surprising, though, which is why I didn't post about it). Which is pretty nifty, although I'd really prefer it if I could just know where I am directly.

Okay, remember I said that as a New Yorker I hate backtracking?

Yeah. That's 'cuz I do. Backtracking makes you look like you don't know where you're going, or like you can't tell uptown from downtown. THAT makes you look like a tourist.

While not all New Yorkers fall into this trap, plenty of otherwise sensible people can be found quickly popping into stores or walking three blocks out of their way to make total strangers they'll never see again think that they meant to go the way they were going. This is the same impulse that causes me (and I know I'm not alone in this) to walk faster than usual when I find myself in a gaggle of slow-moving tourists. My normal pace is *already* faster than theirs, so why do I speed up? Because I'm not them.

Other day, on the train, Evangeline had an open-lidded drink. (Bad move on my part, I know.) Train stopped suddenly and she got it all over herself. Whoops! As I asked for napkins, I reassured her (and the whole car) that she'd 1. change her clothes at home and 2. that I hate it when there's unidentified liquids on the seat on the train, I don't want to leave it like that and 3. that we'll be home soon. Why? Well, first to make sure everybody knows that the fact that I'm leaving a spill on the seat isn't through choice (seriously), but also, I worked out after the fact, so that everybody knows home is nearby - despite my n00b move, I Am Not A Tourist.

*thinks*

At least, I think that's why I did that. It was nervous chatter, but that particular nervous chatter seems to fit in with the whole "step into Duane Reade and everybody will think you went shopping" idea. (It's a silly habit, the refusing to backtrack. I'm trying to break myself of it.)

Ana's six now, btw.

Go Ana!

She's a hero. Today, as she was doing her homework on the porch, our neighbor came over and asked for her help. Her basement tenant had locked himself out, and his windows are tiny. So Ana climbed through, yes, we said, you can step on the bed! and she fetched his keys - and tried to bring them to us, prompting calls of "Just open the door!", which she did, and she SAVED THE WHOLE CREW! Hooray! What a day, when the babies key ran away.

I loathe goody bags, so we did a grab bag first (which the kidlets had apparently never done, though they were de riguer for christmas parties when I was a kid - but maybe it's a Brooklyn thing?) and we also gave some presents For The Whole Class: A set of lacing letters, two sets of alphabet stamps and a stamp pad, a dolphin stamp (because the school animal is the dolphin), several sets of letter stickers, a M&D birthday cake, and some construction paper. And two birthday-themed books. And, incidentally, some snacks, bowls, and cups that we didn't use for Ana's party. Some of them came with those special "box tops for education" on them, so win! Best part is that I can just repeat this present for Evangeline's pre-k and kindergarten birthdays. Go me! No idea what I'll do for Ana for the first grade, though - definitely some books (anybody want to suggest picture books of a more advanced level that talk about birthdays or feature birthdays prominently? Or chapter books suitable for a first grade library?), maybe a few games...? First grade is different. More craft supplies, for sure. (Which reminds me, I want to get some lefty scissors for the school, you know my feelings on that. I need to ask what teachers, aside from grade teachers, use scissors. Like, does the science teacher? The literacy teacher? Are they going to have an art teacher next year?)

To round out my stories, Evangeline was in her own personal horror film recently. She was wearing her clicky-clacky shoes (Ana is the language innovator, "clicky-clackies" for "plastic pretend dress-up shoes" is a term she invented. Evangeline picked speech up much faster, but Ana played with it more. This is an area of degree, of course) when I decided to be a tickle monster. I started to run towards her, but she cried in (mock) horror "I can't run in my c'icky-c'ackies!". I swiftly shifted to the lurching kind of tickle monster and she escaped in safety, closing a door in my face. Tickle monsters, like vampires, can't go where they're not invited, you know.

Herbs, ugh.

Our comfrey was thriving on Monday - about as tall as Evangeline, almost as tall as Ana. Tuesday it was about as tall as Jenn - and while Jenn is short, she's just not that short. Today it's tall enough to fall over and collapse on the ground and block the path - and that's just one of our comfrey plants.

I don't care what my mother says, we have yet to have the disaster that requires the use of the comfrey that ate New York. (Besides, if we do it'll probably because we're cut up from fending off the rosebush that ate New York. There's something about our soil, I swear.)

So I'm going to trim it this weekend. Now, I know comfrey is good for the compost, so some of it will go in there, but I'd like to save some for human use as well. You know, in case of zombie apocalypse and all the drugstores are closed. What's the best way to go about this?

Similarly, we only need one rosemary, not three. I like rosemary as much as the next girl, but seriously, I've never used more than half an acre in my pasta. And the chamomile - who thought we needed that much chamomile??? It's approaching the height of our crape myrtle, and that's just not cool. Perhaps the pending zombie apocalypse will bring about epidemic levels of insomnia, but in that case I don't think we'll exactly want to fall asleep.

So I want to save these herbs, and I want to see if I can transplant some of them someplace less in my garden... maybe I can move some into Lenore's yard next door, she won't mind, or I can donate some to the school...? (If they take, of course.) Then I want to encourage that chickweed to grow. It's doing a fine job of preventing erosion and more annoying weeds in the places we haven't tended yet. I like our chickweed!

And finally, remind me this weekend to stop by the Farmer's Market and pick up some nettle. If I should happen to plant that in the tulips and by our fence, and if garden thieves and trespassers should happen to get stung, that's hardly my fault, is it? Pretty funny if they do, though. My mother nixed this plan two years running, of course. Better warn the neighborhood kids, though - despite having some four different kinds of mint in our yard (pepper, apple, spear, lemon) you'll note I haven't said a word about mint overtaking our garden. Thanks to the kids on the block we're actually in the novel position of having to plant more this year, and I don't want one of them going for nettles by accident - ouch!