Art for Art's Sake

Have I mention that I paint with watercolors? Of course I have. I just haven't posted any of my art lately.

Mission From God Part 4

Saturday

Finally a decent night sleep. After breakfast I sneak off  to see my friend BB again. We are both watercolorist, although admittedly she is better than me.She known as  "The queen of washes" and trust me, this is a watercolor technique few master. We noodle around with her paints and chat. Once again I'm struck by the relaxed atmosphere and the silence. Two hundred people make a lot of noise.

The weather turned cool and cloudy and if I had been a camper anticipating the retreat I would probably be pissed at the change. But I'm not so I'm not. The campers enjoy a full day of  swimming canoeing, making tie dye t-shirts etc. Never a dull moment. After dark there is an open air concert at the chapel pavilion. I don't bother to walk down to it because I can hear it from my tent while I read a book. My feet are ssore and I'm dead tired from the long and intense dinner detail. I can't imagine people doing that sort of work full time. 

Later I hike down to the lake one last time to hang out with the gang of volunteers. No moon tonight with the overcast sky but the mellow company makes up for it. 

Sunday

The campers gather  in a big circle on the lawn near the lodge and are invited to say what they liked most about camp. They all loved the atmosphere, the friendships and most of all the chance to just be who they are without judgement or staring from "normal " people. I never realized there was so much judging from society but then I don't pay attention. One of the perks of Asperger's -sort of-  is being oblivious to others. The best thing for me was sleeping and I mean it. The week was long, hard working but rewarding. I not used to spending a lot of time with large groups of people- even autistic ones so I'm ready to go home. 

Camp is over and I spend considerable time packing instead of canoeing as I planned. I should have gone canoeing. It takes forever to clean up the kitchen, disassemble the camp, pack  up the supplies and stow our gear in the cars. By late afternoon I'm exhausted and ready to snap. Just as the last of the campers leave, it begins to rain. I'm told this frequently happens; rain starts after camp or stops before it. Magic timing, man.

At last the organizers and crew head for Florence for debriefing and a well deserved dinner made by someone else. I enjoy the shrimp ceviche. 

Eugene is warm and dry when I get home around sunset. I'm just happy to be home and sleep in my own bed. 

Will I come back next year I'm asked. God only knows and she'll tell me, I'm sure.

Paraprosdokian of the Day

Paraprosdokian - a phrase or sentence that leads to an unexpected ending.

Light travels faster than sound. This is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.

Photo of the Day

Pets and babies are cute when they are asleep.

Photo by Alisa McLaughlin

Paraprosdokian of the Day

Paraprosdokian - a phrase or sentence that leads to an unexpected ending. 

"The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but it's still on my list."

Mission from God Part 3

 ( Disclaimer: I have altered some names and events in order to protect the innocent and avoid blame)

Thursday

Thursday already? Tuesday and Wednesday have blurred together. Today is preparation and a dry run before the campers arrive tomorrow. The ranks of volunteers swells along with the work to do. 

I manage to sneak off around noon for an hour or so with a friend who lives in Florence. We have a drink at a restaurant overlooking the river on a beautiful sunny day. Hanging out with my friend is so relaxing and I realize that being around people with ASD is more stressful than I anticipated. Having been around neuro normals all my life, I learned how to more or less behave but being around ASD folks is different and reminds me how much work is it to "fit in". I have one foot in each world but I'm not entirely comfortable in either. I wonder if this is the lesson Gaia is trying to teach me.

Back at camp, I decide my best skills will be in the kitchen. It's a full service one and for an aspiring sous chef, it's heaven. Four stoves, a double oven, warming oven, a huge walk in fridge and a "reach in" (which home fridges are). It has lots of work space and an industrial strength dishwasher. My first attempts at being the indispensable kitchen help fall flat. Kindtree has been doing these retreats for several years they have the camp well organized including the kitchen set up. I resign myself to being the lowly dishwasher but Honey, a large, enthusiastic girl completely dominates the kitchen- practically snatching the trays out of peoples hands as they are returned to be cleaned. "I'm almost done." she insists whenever someone  trys to intervene. Stymied, I plop down at a table and give up on being any use. The volunteer coordinator notices my sour mood and along with an equally large male coordinator they step in and insist Honey vacate the kitchen NOW. Within minutes another crew is able to get in -including myself- and the place is put into order soon enough. When I leave I'm tired but satisfied at actually getting something done.

The up and down trips to volunteer camp is tiring so I limit my runs. I bring along a small canvas "ditty " bag to carry what I need and it saves me trips downhill. Despite the walk the view is worth it. It's been mild and clear all week with sunsets that glow and a hypnotic view of a ripening moon on the water. A friend gave me two solar powered LED  ground lights which I post outside my tent and they are a godsend when I have to find my way back from the outhouse in the pitch blackness. Tonight turned so chilly I had to throw the covers over my head when my nose got too cold. Ah the joys of camping.

Friday

My shoulder is still bothering me, I'm not sleeping enough so I decide to move camp up closer to the lodge to save what little energy I have left. The uphill climb was getting to be too much. 

Campers begin to arrive in the afternoon and the number is staggering. Over a hundred and sixty people attend the two day camp. Kitchen detail is fast and furious work but very satisfying. For a brief time while the volunteer coordinator is out  so I take charge and getting things to flow amid the organized chaos was exciting. I watch the chef carefully and am impressed with his ability to juggle all the meals and people professionally. Having lived with a former professional chef, I know how important is it to stay clear while they work so I do the best I can to keep people out of his way. Not a easy thing to do with all the traffic.

I retire to my tent for the night, a short distance away. The trade off with the new site is the noise level is much greater being closer to more campers. This time I take some heavy duty painkillers I brought and sleep soundly.

A Moving Rendezvous

I wrote this short story while riding on the train from Seattle to Eugene on a large folded Amtrak napkin. Here's proof I can do subtext. Enjoy.

The Coast Starlight

For once the train was on time. She gazed out the window of the lounge car with mild interest. The typically gray Pacific Northwest sky did nothing to liven the endless green landscape. She sighed and looked at her watch-again. She knew the time and the scenery all too well. She made this trip countless times. The train slowed to a stop long enough for people to come and go. A few minutes later a man came into the car looking about as he walked down the aisle. 

“Is this seat taken?” he indicated the seat next to her. She sized him up before answering . He was tall and slender in a healthy way with a well toned chest stretching a dark t-shirt. His hair was as dark as his eyes-the gaze inquisitive but not intrusive. She shook her head and he sat down, stowing a small carry-on bag under his feet. 

“Thank God the train was on time.” he said, making small talk.

“Yes, last week it was over two hours late due to track work in Tacoma. Hellish.”  she added with slight irritation. She reached for her drink on the narrow ledge under the window .

“Blame UP, that company doesn’t give a damn about passenger rail ‘let them be late’ could be their motto.” his disdain equal to hers. They looked at each other for an unusually long time. He thought her long blonde hair framed the oval face attractively. Her blue eyes though, were cloudy, masking her state of mind. 

“We shouldn’t complain, we get to our destination without crashing out of the sky and never have trouble finding our luggage.” she  offered and put her empty glass down.

“This is true.”  he agreed. After a moment of idle gazing out the window, she removed a slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to him without ceremony. 

She got up and headed to the rear of the train where the sleeping compartments were and slipped into one. She  placed a blanket and two pillows on the narrow bed. It will do, she noted as she removed her shoes, dress skirt and shirt. A few minutes later there was a light tapping on the door.

“Come in.” she commanded as she sat on the bed removing her watch. The man from the lounge car entered and locked the door behind  him.

“No one saw you come here?” it was more a verification than a concern to her. He shook his head, he found her paranoia absurd. He dropped his bag and quickly undressed to join her on the bed.

They let nothing to the imagination but then they needed no exposition to explain their liaison. They were quick and volatile, writhing together to release pent up energy as the train rattled on. The narrowness of the bed encouraged the intertwining of their bodies as they fought to cross the finish line first. The release was palatable as they sank into their separate reveries; their bodies relaxed and spent from the effort. He looked down at her face, so serene and calm. So unlike the passive mask she wore as protection against the world.

He shifted his weight, his leg sticking slightly on her warm thigh. He was glad he pleased her. They remained still as a voice on the PA announced their next arrival in Portland. 

“You have to get off here?” she asked, wishing to linger in the moment. He mentally rescheduled his plans. His meeting with the bank could wait until the end of the week. He would spend the day in SF to finish some other business then shop for his daughter’s birthday present. What did teenagers like these days, he wondered, suddenly feeling his age creep up on him. He shook his head at her question.

“Whatever it is can wait.” he replied, his face revealing nothing. but he saw her regret before it slipped behind her own veil. She rose suddenly, pushed him aside and dressed quickly.

“It can never wait.” she said in her usual brittle tone.

“I’m doing everything I can to accommodate you.” he insisted, stung by her accusation.

“On a fucking train?” she snapped, oblivious to the pun she committed. It wasn’t like her to be so blunt and she smiled weakly in apology. He impulsively took hold of her wrist.

“We don’t have to be on the move, we can stay wherever we end up.”  he meant it, she realized, registering his pleading expression. She considered this for a long time as she gathered her things.

“I like traveling on the train.” she replied.

The Mission From God Part 2

Tuesday

 After a long morning of waiting for arrival the supply van, get loaded, pick up food supplies and drive out to the coast, me and fellow volunteers arrive at Camp Baker. I always thought I was a stressful type but I am a sea of calmness compared to Emma's level of anxiety. ASD people do not deal with transistions very well.

The camp is huge boy scout affair with a large dining hall and shower facility at the top of a hill. camp sites are tucked in amid a thick forest of pine trees.The camp is surrounded by Lake Siltcoos on it's shore is a boathouse and a swimming area. The volunteer camp is by the lake too, down a long sloping hill which means walking up hill -a lot. I was warned of the hike. 

"Hey I'm a big girl I can handle it. " I insist. 

I'm looking forward to resting and relaxing for three days before the campers arrive on Friday but the continued petty annoyances that have plagued me for weeks persists. A reliable pen runs out of ink and I had no back up, my flashlight batteries die and I neglected to bring spares. The final straw was when I sat down on a spot of pine pitch and wrecked my good pants. Apparently Her Holiness has a twisted sense of humor. 

The view of the moonlit lake made up for the disaster. That and a drink from my secret stash. I resign myself to these distractions following me like an unwanted seven year old. The air mattress which worked fine at home inexplicably wants to be weakly inflated despite my efforts. I also found myself having to pee every five minutes and realized that once again my period has come to ruin my vacation as it's done the last eight times I traveled. I thought I had defeated the little shit when menopause arrived but the leftover full bladder syndrome decided to come along. I discover going to the outhouse is an experience. The seat is rather low playing havoc with my stiff hip so I have to bend and stretch in strange ways. I feel like I'm doing yoga every time I pee which is a lot- remember?

At night I decide to go out to the boathouse to get a clear view of the night sky and I'm not disappointed. Awe inspiring barely covers the feeling as I gazed up at the endless stars. I was hoping for inspiration but instead there is a big yawning emptiness. No endless song or idle internal chitchat intrudes on the thunderous silence in my head. Even my mind is on vacation. 

My companion on the other hand,  is a chatty woman who never shuts the fuck up. She is a bright, smart woman who expresses herself in negative comparisons that are clearly untrue. This distorted self perception is puzzling and annoying.

Back in the brand new tent,  I didn't sleep well because of a sore shoulder and the confining space of the sleeping bag. I like my bedding to be roomy. I took some medicine and struggled to find a comfortable position. As I lay in the dark waiting for the painkillers to take effect I wonder again why I am doing this.

The Mission From God Part 1

Monday

There was a knock on my door at 9 am. I don't  rise until 10, ok I'm l lazy that way. I opened the door and there was a familiar face, a slender man with short dark hair and a hawk nose, dressed in black. He handed me a note.

"The Master couldn't  e-mail me?" I asked rhetorically.

"You're needed immediately." he said and turning on his heels, left. God's messengers are like that-  cryptic.

I shut the door and reluctantly read the note even before having my morning tea.The message was simple: an address and time later that day. I arrived at the appointed time to a small brightly colored house. I rang the bell hanging from the porch roof and noted a sign reminding people to kindly remove their shoes. An Asian woman answered the door.

"You're here to see God ?" the woman asked.

"Yes, ma'am."  I replied she nodded. I removed my shoes and was lead to the living room  decorated with a profusion of plants and three indolent cats.

God, the maker of all things, creator of the universe has asked me- no commanded me to take on mission before so I was ready but anxious. I was rarely confident about these assignments but you know the cliche-the Creator never  gives you a task you can't handle blah blah.

 I had been slothful this summer, spending too much time on the computer and musing sour grapes about my purpose in life. A train of thought always bound to get me in trouble. You would think I'd be grateful to break the monotony with this kind of work but guess again. I'm a borderline atheist and only my hard core catholic upbringing keeps me from going to the dark side. Whatever.

Then God appeared. She was a large black women wearing a robe with stripes of  bright colors favored in Nigeria. She greeted me warmly. 

"Alisa how good to see you. I love what you've been doing with your house this summer, keep up the good work." she effused a she gave me a bright hug.

"Thanks, Your Holiness." I answered, anxious to get the formalities out of the way.

"Oh please call me Gaia. " she gestured for me to sit down.

" I know how disappointed you are with the belated Asperger diagnosis." she dived right in.Uh-oh I didn't like where this was going. I gave her a chilly look.

Disappointed is a gross understatement. Indignation at being kept in the dark about a neurological condition throughout a difficult childhood, painful adolesence and unsuccessful adulthood sends me into a boiling rage. She cleared her throat to get my attention and stop my train of thought.

" I have  an assignment that will help you better understand this new world view." She went on sweetly.

Really? I thought, my brows doing a small sarcastic jump.

"Yes, really.You're  going to volunteer at this year's Kindtree camp retreat. You'll love it. Getting away from your remodeling work and out of the city. Camping out in the woods -with full kitchen and bathroom facilities of course. You need to see how  well people on the spectrum function.

"Excuse you but if you will recall I was lumped in with retarded and crippled kids when I was ten years old. I'm not particularly fond of  being around "odd' people so I think I'll skip this one. " Wow did she know how to hit my psychological sore spot.  Gaia merely smiled, ignoring my politically incorrect verbage.

"These are decent, kind people who only want to be accepted for who they are. You'll fit right in" She said pointedly. Yes, I'm afraid I will fit right in I sighed. 

We rose in unison and she gave me a big hug. The interview officially over, I left with mixed feeling about the idea. Would I fit in? How much work was this going to be? Did I have the stamina to deal with a large group of people for long periods of time over six days? I called Mary -Minn and accepted the offer to volunteer. Hell, I even agreed to go out a couple of days early to help set up. I cleared my schedule,  packed for a week long trip. I got a new air mattress and tent without really knowing what I was getting into. I'm a damn fool.

The ASD Cafe

I was out to dinner with some friends and owing to their various handicaps I assisted with getting their orders filled. friend Martha, recovering from ankle surgery, thought I'd make a good waitress. 

"With my Aspergers and poor social skills? I doubt it. I would last precisely five minutes until someone complained and I would tell them to f- off." I don't react well to difficult customers. Then I wondered. What would a restaurant full of autistics be like?

In one corner there would be a table of  people not uttering a word. In the other would be a table of people all talking loudly, at once. The staff  would mostly stand around staring into space while the cook obsessively cleaned the grill. One of the waiters never writes anything down because he can remember everyone's order- from the last three weeks., while the waitress has a full blown melt down about every ten minutes over the slightest mistake. 

It certainly would be a new dining experience.