What did you say?

I know passive-aggressive behavior when I experience it. We have all worked with someone who quietly undermines us, while having a ready alibi for doing so. We know people who do a task so badly they are never asked to it again. My recent favorite was a dinner invitee who insisted on bringing something. When pressed, I suggested something, a side dish, a vegetable? Of course, it is a sure bet that said invitee arrived bearing anything-but-that. There is a particular poison to this behavior because it is elusive as smoke. Me, I come from a family of aggressive-aggressives so I am always surprised. No one would contradict someone in this sly way. We were loud and confrontational. I don't recommend that approach either, but, at least, you always knew where you stood.
Now my friend M and I have coined a term for another odd, slightly-less-toxic behavior. We named it aggressive-passive. Writ large, I have seen it played out often on JUDGE JUDY. For example, on the show, a friend phones and begs for money and when asked to pay it back, the friend claims it was a gift or an offer, not a loan.
When the request is outlandish, it is easy to assume it is a joke and it will go away. "Take me with you to Europe. You pay." "Help me move this Sunday." However, for smaller demands, I am unsure. Maybe it is just thrown into conversation to see if anyone picks up the gauntlet. "Take me to dinner." "Meet me now." That's the passive part, I think. Either response, "are you kidding me?" or "ok, let's do it" is acceptable.
So aggressive-passive is not the poison that passive-aggressive behavior is, but still . . . . STOP IT, PLEASE or Stop it, please?

JRC Simchat Torah Oct 2012 (photo)

Mush!

Jeff, on seeing three husky puppies in the car ahead of us, "That guy could have his own sleigh!"

Now they tell me!

THE NEW YORK TIMES: Science study shows autistic children are likely to wander.

End of Summer

I inquired after a friend's daughter who just went off to university for her freshman year. After a brief rundown, he paused, "Is it uncomfortable for you to talk about kids in college?" Both the question and the solicitousness took me by surprise. No, it is not comfortable for me. It is true that my kids will never go to college, but it is not like the thought just occurred to me. I have been on an alternative parenting path so long that I can't even see the well-trod road anymore.

Of course, friends and acquaintances have inquired about Hart and Jeff, since both finished 12th grade in June. Jeff started at Evanston Transition House, a post-high school program through our school district for Evanston special needs students. He likes it a lot, and seems to be pretty self-sufficient these days. Each student has his or her own schedule and own self-determined goals. The day consists of some instruction and supervision in independent living skills and some work experience. Jeff just started work at Jet's Pizza and Northwestern University's food service, but hasn't said much about his duties. I suspect he assumes it is none of my business!

Hart moved in August to a group home in suburban Waukegan. He goes back to the Lake Villa campus via van for school and work. He loves his job in the greenhouse. The move has completely transformed Hart. No more outbursts or crazy behavior. He has been very motivated to live up to expectations and earn privileges, such as unaccompanied time in the community. It is hard to reach him on the phone, since he is often out of the house in the evening: at the Y, shopping, or on a recreational outing. I am purchasing a cell phone for him.

I have done more than my share of complaining over the years. I won't ever have a dean's list student or a university student of any kind, but I am proud of the boys' accomplishments. Sheesh, I am proud of my own.

Country Summer at the Old Town School (photos)

We practice furtively.

We perform to accolades.

Post-camp report

Also I found some Israeli girlfriends. Most of them are cute, like all of them.

_____________ Jeff

Guatemala, July 2012

Click the slideshow to see the photos in a larger format.

Camp Ramah overnight (photo)

Cove Commencement events (photos)

Suit-fitting

Post-graduation party with Tim

Another New Chapter

It has been a tough year all around. The loss of my brother Arnie has had an effect on Hart, Jeff and me that continues to pervade our lives. "Do you think about him a little?" Hart recently asked me. "I think about him a lot. He was my brother for forty-two years." So now I am the oldest sibling, of two, not three. That was the prelude to a bumpy senior year.

Too bad the IEP process doesn't call for a transition plan for parents, as it does for special needs students. That got a bit of a laugh at a breakfast I hosted with another parent of a Cove senior for our kids' teachers and "specials." But I was really serious. Jeff has been at Cove School for eleven years, since second grade. So I have been at Cove School for that duration, too. The parents and teachers have been my community, my safe haven, for a very long time. Jeff was apprehensive about finishing his senior year. Occasionally, he was tearful: "What am I going to do without Cove?" Although I would tell him about the next step planned for him--participation in our school district's Transition House program, which combines independent living skills with job training--I was secretly thinking, "What am I going to do without Cove?!"

Hart, too, has a big move coming up. Although he will stay at the same facility, he is shortly to move off-campus into a young adult group home. The pre-transition is taking place slowly, thankfully, with day visits to get used to the peers and staff there.

The upshot is that the boys' academic careers are over. I wish this was not so because Hart's school career has been so disjointed and spotty. Now that he is in a comfortable place, perhaps he could have made more progress, but now it is too late. Jeff became a devoted student at long last, in high school. He worked hard on math, and suddenly, last year, became an avid reader. Again, it occurred to me to wish that he had a bit more time for academics, but now he must focus on independent living skills.

My peers are seeing their 12th graders off to college this fall, but I will start a new job, too. After years of advocating for school services, now I must chase down available resources for developmentally disabled adults. A new challenge.

Jeff's Picasso (artwork)

Cove School Project Fair (photos)

A Bar Mitzvah, With Autism

The New York Times
Friday, May 18, 2012
By JOEL YANOFSKY

It should be interesting.

At least, that’s what I’ve been telling guests in advance of my son Jonah’s impending bar mitzvah. Sometimes, I wish we’d added this phrase — part disclaimer, part promo — to the invitations that went out a couple of months ago.

Anyone who’s organized a bar or bat mitzvah, a communion, a sweet 16, even a relatively big birthday party knows how much there is to prepare. But when your child has autism, as Jonah does, the preparations never seem to end; nor does the worrying about everything that might go wrong. So, yes, it’s even money that on the day of his bar mitzvah Jonah will do something interesting. I’m betting that just as the rabbi is briefing him on the significance of this time-honored ritual, Jonah will give a shout-out to his favorite animals, yaks and zebras.

That’s Jonah’s move. He’s a sweet, lovable child who, quite regularly, says or does something we can’t explain to other people — something that will invariably seem kind of weird.

But then everyone around here is acting a little weird lately. Jonah’s Hebrew tutor, for instance, is concerned about his dropping the Torah, thus dooming us all to an Indiana Jones-style curse. My wife, Cynthia, has concluded that there are too many guests and too few tables. “Someone’s sitting on the floor,” she keeps muttering. As for me, I fall asleep humming the tune to “Que Sera Sera.”

Whatever will be, will be. Our new family motto. It marks a dramatic change from how our son has been raised for the last decade. Jonah was diagnosed with autism when he was almost 4, and ever since we’ve not only been preoccupied with anticipating every behavior he has but have been analyzing why he has them: a parenting style that has effectively prevented me from thinking too far ahead. The future is a scary place for every parent, but it’s especially so for the parent of a child with autism. No one has ever been able to tell Cynthia or me with any degree of certainty what our son is capable of.

What I’m capable of is another story. Tradition holds that I make a speech after Jonah is done. I’m supposed to expound on what kind of adult I hope he’s going to become. “Today, you are a man.” That sort of thing.

But I still can’t imagine what my son’s adulthood is going to look like, even if I get glimpses of it every day. Now, as he waits for the school bus in the morning, he shoos me away. Evidently, I embarrass him and it’s high time, too. There is, also, above his lip, visible only to his mother and me, the ghost of a future mustache.

Once he’s off to school, I return to my speech-writing, though all I have to show for my efforts so far are false starts. Like, “I should probably explain why Jonah was talking about zebras before.”
I’m also tempted to explain what the last 10 years has required of Jonah and Cynthia and me — how we got to this point. When you have a child with autism you soon learn that you have to teach him everything, especially things most kids pick up intuitively — from playing with toys to carrying on a simple conversation.

Then again, I can’t leave out how much Jonah has taught me and keeps teaching me. Like how to accept him for who he is. For the growing boy who delights in the moment; the brand new teenager who’s remarkably immune to embarrassment; the young man who will always be, let’s face it, interesting. Come to think of it, not bad qualities to carry into adulthood. Worrying about what others think, about everything that might go wrong — as Jonah also keeps reminding me, by his example — is not worth the worry. Wrong is simply the wrong word.

In fact, I’d be wise to begin my speech by thanking my son for making me grow up a little. How’s this for an opening line? “Today, I am a man.”

Joel Yanofsky is a writer in Montreal, Canada. His latest book is Bad Animals: A Father’s Accidental Education in Autism.

In the Garden of Beasts, Eric Larsen

I just finished reading an interesting book "In the Garden of Beasts" -- about events in Germany in the 1930s, as seen through the eyes of the American ambassador.

My family must have been very worried about the political situation, but nothing was ever said while we kids were around, so I guess you can say we had a normal childhood. My dad must have thought, like so many others, 'Hey, I was awarded the Iron Cross for my service during World War One, they wouldn't do anything to me, would they?' It wasn't till he was forced to close his medical practice that the decision was made to get out of Germany.

________________ Erica Stux

I'm a social phenomenon

Devoted but Dateless

S**t Jeff says

"I am ready to eat now. I just needed some brother-time."

______________ Jeff

S**t Jeff says

"I have more brain power now that I shaved. All that fur was disrupting my concentration."

______________ Jeff

Dublin Ireland, March 2012

London, March 2012

Holocaust Memorial Day 2012, Yom HaShoah

I am reading a book titled Kristallnacht by Martin Gilbert, about events in Germany leading up to the Holocaust. Reading it makes me thankful that my parents had the initiative to get in a timely manner all the documents needed to emigrate. The book also made me remember my personal recollection of the day known as Kristallnacht, Nov. 8, 1938.

____________________________________Erica Stux

Daddy (that is Max) was among the Jewish men rounded up and shipped to Dachau even before Kristallnacht.

On that particular day I and a few schoolmates took the taxi that always brought us to school. On the way, we were astonished to see store fronts smashed and mechandise such as yard goods and clothing thrown helter-skelter onto the sidewalk. Arriving at school, we were told "No school today, go back home." Of course we kids had no understanding of the significance of what had happened.

Daddy was away for six weeks. The story we were later told was that someone told the authorities that Daddy's patients needed medical attention, they need him in his office. But this doesn't make sense - all Jewish medical and law offices were officially closed as of Sept. 30, 1938. Most likely, Daddy's patient Mr. Klieforth, the American consul in Cologne, interceded. So Daddy was let go and came home. He never talked about his time in Dachau. But he then redoubled efforts to get all the documents needed to emigrate.

The previous July '38 when we applied at the American consulate in Stuttgart for visas to settle in the U.S., Mr. Klieforth had written to his colleague there a recommendation to expedite matters for us. We received our visas on Dec. 15, 1938. We had previously gotten permission to be in England, but had to promise our stay would be temporary, only until our number came up to enter the U.S. Before leaving Germany, we had to turn over 20% of the family's assets, plus some other payments. We left for England in January '39.

Our furniture was packed up and put in storage until we should need it. Maternal grandparents remained living in our house in Cologne, but later they were forced to move into a small apartment. Grandpa died of natural causes in '42 or '43. Grandma was deported to Theresienstadt (we found out after the war), and died there.

Vroom

I can't believe it is almost time to leave. The toy Ferrari Jeff acquired in London has had some amazing adventures, all over Dublin. Jeff has made lots of friends with it, including an Italian guy who didn't speak English, except for "Ferrari . . . . Vroom."

On the Liffey

The jury is still out on how successful this new iteration of "Travels with Jeff" is. After several lovely days in London with Martha and her family, we are here in Dublin without knowing any of the locals. This means I must rely on maps, guidebooks, and, hallelujah, my iPad, for ideas and directions. It's a greater challenge than relying on a native.

Jeff's initial experience with a traditional Irish breakfast this morning did not go down well, and he spent the morning in bed. I hied myself over to the Chester Beatty Library to see the collection of rare manuscripts. It was terrific but probably not of interest to Jeff. When Jeff felt better, we walked over to see a more interactive museum about the Viking and Medieval history of Dublin, and its next-door neighbor, Christ Church Cathedral. We were befriended at the church by a group of senior citizens on a day trip of Dublin.

One thing has not changed, ever. All photos of Jeff show him holding a toy car. The car of spring trip 2012 is a large Ferrari he acquired through intense negotiations with Martha a few days ago.

Senioritis

I have been thinking about senior year. Jeff and Hart are not done with their education, but this is Jeff's last year Cove School. He has been quite conflicted about it. Sometimes, he has parroted the other seniors who profess to be glad to be getting out, at other times he has been wistful, saying, "What will I do after Cove?" I feel the same way. Jeff has been at Cove School eleven years, longer than any other student there. So, in essence, I have been there eleven years. This is has been my community, too, my safe haven among other special needs parents and caring teachers who love my son and are committed to his well-being.

Last night I attend the annual Cove School benefit. My last one as a Cove parent. It was lovely, and I know many people there. Of course, I am a veteran of many of these, eleven of them. Fun, but bittersweet.

But, lest I get complacent about the future trajectory for Jeff, here I am, as I write, sitting in the emergency room of the hospital. Things had been going very well for Jeff overall, although he started developing some worrisome tics a few months ago. His doctor suggested taking him off of one medication. He did fairly well, although the doctor warned us that he might be irritable, which he was! Then last week, he started having paranoid delusions, which has NEVER happened. I was summoned to collect him from school. Then a visit to the neurologist and he was back on track. However, tonight after getting home from dad's, Jeff sent some troubling emails to his teacher, and got aggressive and upset when asked about it. After I gave him a chance to cool down, I found him hiding in a closet and he refused to come out.

Off to the hospital. Turns out he is okay now, and did not have to stay overnight. Note to self: I do not have the luxury of complacency. Maybe Jeff and I can both do volunteer work for Cove in perpetuity.

watercolor elephant by Jeff (art)

Old Town School of Folk Music gala opening-Beatles Extravaganza

Arnie II

A few years ago, I had a re-occurring dream that I lost one of the boys in a crowded place and was frantically searching for him. I would wake up exhausted, then relieved, realizing it was only a bad dream. For the past month, I have had a similar experience, only that every morning when I awake, I realize it has not been a bad dream. It just feels that way. My brother has really died.

In the first few days, I was on auto-pilot, checking off related tasks on my daily to-do list. My brother Ted and I had the unenviable task of calling family members, then trying to identify Arnie's friends and co-workers and notify them. Telling Hart and Jeff was one of the hardest parenting tasks I have had to do.

It was a great comfort that friends here rallied around me. As people heard the news, they expressed their condolences or went out of their way when they saw me to speak to me. My Weight Watchers group sent a card signed by the whole gang.

Now things have quieted down. I have sent thank-you notes and Ted is working on the logistics of Arnie's estate. I have returned from a visit to my mother in California. I have resumed eating. The news isn't really news anymore.

People still solicitously ask how I am doing. Not so well, thank you. The mourning period is brief, but the loss is permanent. I am still walking around in a vivid nightmare. But thank you for asking.

December 2011 (photos)

Performing at the Old Town School

New Year's out east with Julian and Chloe

Cleveland Rocks!

Mom, there is a sign here that says NO SINGING. I put it up myself.

Patrick Scanlon,
Manager of Visitor and Member Services,

I want to thank you particularly, and one of the guards, for making our visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum very special.

As I mentioned, we had spent the past two days in Akron, attending my brother's funeral. Needless to say, it had been a terrible week for me and a rough couple days for Jeff.

I cannot express how thrilled Jeff was with his personalized tour and private Sting costume viewing. Afterwards, he said, "You know, they don't do that for everyone."

You really made our visit memorable and special.

Arnie

Obituary and guest book, Dec 6, 2011


"Remembering Arnie," Jan 25, 2012


Ted:

Before I share some thoughts about Arnie, I would like to give a special thanks to the relatives and friends who have come from near and far to Akron, even though it has been many years since the Stux Family has called it home.

But our roots are here, and I am grateful that you are all with us today as we remember Arnie.

I want to make special mention of Arnie's beloved Aunt Greta. As Allison has so accurately described it, Greta has a special and protective love for Arnie. She was not up to making the trip from California.

I knew one Arnie, and was always surprised by the others I discovered. He could be private, guarded, and even mysterious. We often joked that he worked for the CIA, and that all his supposed business trips just cover for his secret missions. If we had learned that it was in fact the truth, there would be no surprise.

My brother Arnie was always gentle and kind, without a bad word for anyone. He loved our kids, and Julian and Chloe loved their "Uncle Ernie." He could make them laugh, dance and sing, and always knew the perfect memento or gift to give them. During his visits, Uncle Arnie was at eye level with them, on hands and knees.

I can't ever remember him being angry, Or raising his voice, and I never remember arguing with him. As we got older we would see each other a couple of times a year, and talk on the phone and email, but Arnie never gave much detail about what he was doing, either professionally or personally. But I always had a sense of satisfaction and pride knowing that even though he was a man of mystery and didn't always share his exploits, Arnie had become a good man, living a life full of education, travel, sports, faith and friends.

Arnie went to Northwestern, then to the University of Pennsylvania, and finally to Johns Hopkins where he got his PhD. I always seemed to forget that he was Dr. Stux, my little brother, Dr. Stux.

Arnie travelled extensively around the country and internationally, giving talks to various engineering and professional groups, speaking on things that I can barely pronounce, let alone understand. He was a member of Toastmasters, something I just learned in the last few days, constantly honing his craft.

When he worked at Naval Research Labs, he was selected to attend a prestigious conference in Switzerland that Was a conclave of Nobel Prize winners in the Sciences.

Arnie was obviously very smart, but after his countless explanations of what he did for a living, I still could not figure out his work. Anytime I saw friends I grew up with, they would ask about my mom, Lydia, and Greta. When it came to Arnie, I would shrug, smile and say, "He is doing great. I don't know what he is doing, but he is doing great."

Arnie was involved with a martial arts group, and would sometimes go on what I called Ninja outings, which involved being outside at night, engaging in some sort of combat, from what I gathered. He played in a soccer league for many years, and was an avid hiker and runner. And let's not forget Ping Pong. Arnie played competitively until fairly recently, with success in each tournament entered.

Arnie's interests were endless. Piano and violin started at an early age. He was religious, active in the local Hillel, and could even read trope. He constantly took road trips, visiting friends all over the world. Turkey was a favorite place. He was rarely at home, and never just sat in front of the TV.

This renaissance man was just truly beginning to bloom, and has left us all too soon. His life cut too short, Arnie will be remembered by all who met him, worked or played with him, laughed or hypothesized with him. He loved his rich and full life every day, and your being here and all the messages of support we have received tell us how truly he will be missed.

Lydia:

What can I tell you about my little brother? We knew him and yet, he was unknowable. He possessed prodigious intellect, but told me several times about his joy in playing sports. I remember Arnie, ever the scientist, explaining to my boys how Lego blocks are made, but being equally comfortable shooting baskets with them.

I cannot enumerate Arnie's many hobbies and interests. I don't think I even know many of them. But that describes the Arnie I know and love. The things he liked, he pursued. Without showiness or fanfare. His passions weren't necessarily trendy or mainstream. If Arnie was interested in doing something, he did it.

Our mom says she is glad the music lessons paid off in a life-long love of music. In these past few days, I have looked for solace, comfort and quiet in my own music collection. The poetry of this song spoke to me so eloquently and profoundly.

The Valley
Jane Siberry

I live in the hills
You live in the valleys
And all that you know are those blackbirds
You rise every morning
Wondering what in the world will the world bring today
Will it bring you joy or will it take it away
And every step you take is guided by
The love of the light on the land and the blackbird's cry
You will walk in good company

The valley is dark
The burgeoning holding
The stillness obscured by their judging
You walk through the shadows
Uncertain and surely hurting
Deserted by the blackbirds and the staccato of the staff
And though you trust the light towards which you wend your way
Sometimes you feel all that you wanted has been taken away
You will walk in good company

I love the best in you
You love the best in me
Though it is not always easy
We will walk in good company

Photos of Arnie

HONK! November 2011, Deerfield Theater (photos)

New ESSC team skinsuits (photo)

WHERE ARE YOU, INKY BABY?? by Leila Handelman

YOM KIPPUR. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 8, 2011

“Hurry up, Leila. We have to leave for SHAARE TIKVAH BNAI ZION. Services start at 8:30 am. It’s already 9:10, and I have to be there when the past presidents are on the bima! It takes at least 20 minutes to get there!” exclaimed Neil.

“OK. I have to leave Inky’s food and water and clean her litter box before we leave. She’s upstairs in the brown room and didn’t come down with me yet. Having done the tasks, we left hurriedly, calling to Inky, “Inky Baby, your food is ready for you. We have to go to synagogue and will be back very late. Take care of the house. We love you!”

Checking all the doors first and then rushing out the front door, we were off to the long, long Yom Kippur day at STBZ.

Services were over at 7:30 pm. We had been invited to join Bill at a friend’s home for breaking of the fast way up north. Bill came out to get me, while Neil searched for a parking space. Upstairs to a very busy, crowded scene--to the buffet table groaning with all sorts of luscious dairy home-made dishes. Neil arrived. Our hostess invited everyone to come to the back porch where she blew the shofar for a Gadollah performance.

“Leila, Bill is going with me to our car, then we’ll take him to his car. It’s too far for you to walk. We will come back for you, so please wait outside. “Goodnight, my Father. Goodnight, my Mother,” and a kiss from Bill.
“Thank you, My Bill. I love you,” a goodnight kiss thrrough the open door, and back to 3501 and Inky.
It was 10:00 pm. “Inky Baby, we’re home!” we kept telling her as we climbed the front steps. Neil opened the front door, expecting to see Inky waiting in the hallway. No Inky.

“Inky Baby, Where are you?” NO INKY. Searched EVERYWHERE, constantly calling her.
Her usual places were empty--her Queen’s chair, the blue tunnel, climbing tower, chairs, couches, dining room table, Brown room upstairs, Bill’s room, our room, closets, basement, office…NO INKY!

“Neil, I don’t understand it. Where could she be?” “She’ll be someplace new that we don’t know about,” he responded. “It’s late, I’m tired. Let’s go to bed. First I have to take care of something. Leila! Look here in the mud room. We left the door open! I thought I had locked everything when we left!” He went out onto the porch, saw nothing, came back in and locked the door.

“Leila! Someone broke into the house! Come see what happened! One of the windows to the dining room has been smashed open, but it looks like nothing has been taken!
There’s signs of someone monkeying with the watches here on my desk. The bag with the camera is still here on the stool, there’s nothing out of place in the dining room or the kitchen. The computers are still here. Let’s look everywhere…maybe the burglars took Inky with them!”

“INKY BABY…WHERE ARE YOU?” Again a complete search of every possible place in the house,but now also in the back yard, the porch, the tubby-room, the alley …NOTHING!!!

“Let’s call the police immediately!” We were instructed, “Don’t touch anything, leave it the way you found it.” Two policemen arrived, with all sorts of questions, cameras, etc. to see if there was any evidence. NOTHING! “We’ll have another officer come to check for fingerprints, footprints, anything that might help,” they promised.

The outside storm window had been taken off, carefully leaned against the round table, the glass completely smashed out leaving a pile of the shards laying on the green “grass” carpet on the porch. The window had been unscrewed and opened up, the glass smashed out, the shards falling on top of the ones on the porch as well as the dining room floor. They had apparently been wearing gloves (no blood anywhere) and proceeded to crawl into the dining room through the smashed window frame. They took nothing, destroyed nothing, went through the watches box on Neil’s desk and then left through the mud room, unlocking the door to get out, pushing open the screen door, and disappearing.

“Here’s Inky’s picture. Can you help us and report her missing? She’s more important than anything that happened to the house.”

“No, we don’t do that. I will take a picture of your picture, but sorry. You have to do the searching yourself. We have all we can do to search for missing people! We an report whatever we can report and get the other policeman here for further research.”

And the police left.

We waited …and waited …and waited…No policeman came!
Neil went to his computer and printed up instructions on what to do when you have a missing cat.

It was after midnight when a police officer finally came.

“Sorry, I can’t find any evidence anywhere. I advise you to contact your neighbors to help you in the search for Inky. Contact the animal shelters; but we cannot help you find her. “

And SHE left.

Out on the back porch again. “Inky Baby, come to Momma” over and over and over.
“Neil dear, please put the floodlights on in the backyard so if she is there we can see her and she can see us.” Nothing.

Neil had to go to sleep. I couldn’t. Computer time to pass the hours. Out on the porch every 15 minutes calling “Inky Baby…Where are you? Come to Momma.“ No response. Composed an email to the family and very close friends informing them that INKY IS MISSING and that any plans we had might have to be postponed.

The information Neil had printed about what to do when your cat is missing had some excellent ideas so I put a pair of my shoes and the dress I had been wearing outside the back door. Filled her food dish and water and put it outside the back door also. Brought her cutie basket with her favorite toy mice (sprayed with catnip) to the porch in hopes that these items would entice her.

Back to the computer. Now it’s 3:45 am. Time to check the back porch again.

Opened the back door, and the screen door--nothing touched in the Enticement Department Items.
Looked at the Tubby House bathed in the yard lights, and gracefully coming around the corner was my lovely ball of calico fur heading for the stairs leading up to the porch and the back door.

“Inky Baby…Come to Momma!” Thank goodness there was no sign of any damage physically to her. She climbed the stairs, checked out the Enticement Items, ignored them, and walked into the mud room as though nothing had happened.

“Just taking a little walk, Momma” she seemed to say as she headed into the kitchen, the dining room, the bathroom to use her litter box and over to the broken window to possibly go outside again????

It was imperative to block that open window as best as possible until Neil could replace the broken glass. What is available at 4 :00 AM? Ah yes …put the 20” box fan in front of the window, pull the shade as far down as possible, move the drapes in front, and push the small cabinet against it all.

And who do you think is inspecting the entire operation right under my working hands? INKY HANDELMAN… pushing close to probably jump right outside again.

“No Inky. Don’t you dare!” I pushed her away. Thank goodness she knows what “No” means.

She was hungry. The wet food dish was filled quickly and she dug in very delicately. Then off to the living room to check out her belongings. Quickly she climbed up to the top of her cat tree and began an extended cleaning of her paws and tummy

It was time to bring in the Enticement Items from the back porch, and put them where they belong, but I was too tired to put my shoes and dress anywhere except on the stool at the door.

“Oh my … I’d better notify the friends and family that Inky is back!” So another email was sent to them …HOORAY … INKY IS HOME! Now we can all relax!

It was 5:00 am, and I finally climbed upstairs to go to bed. Had to read a few more chapters when I felt Inky Handelman, climbing on top of me for her nightly petting, then she disturbed Neil by trying to climb on his head and he quickly moved her off. “Everything is back to normal, Momma. I don’t know what you made such a fuss about!”

And so…today Neil and Bill have replaced the broken glass from all the windows and this epistle has been created Isn’t it lucky that we had no plans that required changing?

And that Inky is home safe and sound …until her next adventure.

Addendum from Lydia
What a relief and horrible adventure! I hadn’t seen your earlier email about the broken window and escape, but then I read through this one. I know Inky is happy to be home. She is a princess and I know she does not enjoy socializing with the lower-class outdoor rabble.

Senior year starts! (photo)

Jeff's first day of school, senior year at Cove

More Car Talk

I'm not going to sleep tonight. I'm going to dream about those cars ______Jeff

How did I miss this? All summer long, local owners of classic cars gather in a Skokie parking lot for a weekly, free, informal car show, sponsored by the local classic car club.

When Jeff and I happened to drive by last week, Jeff nearly leapt from the moving car. So we had to stop.

How perfect is this arrangement? Turn Jeff loose for an hour to revel in his element and hang out with a bunch of other guys who love to talk about their cars!

Nice note from the organizers of the show:
You so made my day! We work really hard to make a fun show for everyone and getting your note and pictures really makes it all worthwhile.

See you next Monday!

So Jeff set up his own mini car show in the basement.

Thing One, Thing Two

When people ask why I don't do outings with both boys together, I am hard-pressed to explain. Do they egg each other on? Is it because they set each other off? Um, sort of. Yes. Not exactly.

It has something to do with the extreme difficulty of having two closely-bonded, yet incredibly socially-inept children.

Recently before our daily phone call to Hart, I cautioned Jeff, "Hart has been having a rough time. We must really try to help him feel better."

So Jeff obediently took the phone, and without preamble said, "I got two new cool things this weekend."

SIGH. At least now, this kind of interaction is played out in two different zip codes. When both boys were here with me, no matter how angry, hysterical, or unhinged one was (or even, both were), they insisted on being in the same room, ideally occupying the same square meter of space.


I have tried to help Jeff make kinder, more empathic and socially-aware choices--if you were sad, would hearing that make you feel better or worse?--Jeff understands, but the concept doesn't stick.

Children With Autism, Connecting via Transit (NYT)

Children With Autism, Connecting via Transit

Front page article of the Sunday New York Times!

Jeff and I have been to the London Transport Museum and we make a pilgrimage to the Petersen Automotive Museum whenever we are in Los Angeles. It is interesting that museum officials are now catering to this specific target audience.

Jeff is older than the children featured in the article, so I have some perspective. I applaud the parents and museum staff for nurturing these kids' passion in positive pro-social way. However, we parents also have to urge our kids with stereotypical interests to see other things, try other experiences.

It may have been charming ten years ago that Jeff liked to talk about cars, but a decade later, I still have to cue him to change the subject or respond to the topic at hand.

A wise parent once told me that we have to give our autistic kids time in their world, but on the other hand, we have to patiently insist that they spend time in our boring, neuro-typical world, too.

Hart and Jeff at 18 (photos)

SEUSSICAL the Musical (photo)

GAP Adventures "The Best of Turkey" (slideshow)

Designs of Turkey (slideshow)

New Chapter

I could hear Hart screaming and swearing in the background when I answered the phone. He had been at his new residence less than 24 hours and now a third "incident report." I wonder if that's a record.

After a career in special education and residential settings, Hart speaks the specific dialect of therapy, as do I. "The staff is abusive!" Hart shouted into the phone. "Use your strategies," I urged. "Advocate for yourself. Say 'I'm new' or 'I need some alone time.'" But, as ever, my words to Hart are like whispering into a hurricane.

Hart has been "high-anxiety" for months, anticipating his move. It has been no picnic for me either, alternately calming him and visiting potential new residences. When we determined that Hart would move to a nearby suburb, I entertained all sorts of fantasies of frequent visits, dinner dates, outings to movies and theater; essentially resuming the enjoyable field trips we were able to undertake when Hart lived at home with me. As with most of my good intentions, this seems absolutely ludicrous now. I have had to arrange for special permission to take Hart off-campus for an upcoming orthodontist appointment. "Will you need a staff person to accompany you?" Oh, no no no. But after a moment, I agreed that if Hart was an elopement risk or aggressive, I would re-schedule the appointment.

It must be a hellish curse to consistently act against your own self-interests. "What possible benefit is it to you to antagonize your new roommate?" I asked Hart as evenly as I could. "These are the people who will care for you here. You just met them, and you are swearing at them?"

Note to self: reasoning with an unreasonable person will never work. Get additional cell phone minutes for frequent "incident" calls.

Jeff does not care for thunderstorms

"If I'm dead, you'll hear from me later."

Wolf, Boat, Truck (art)

Julian and Chloe (photos)

The GWEN TEN*

* or, things I have learned from my voice teacher over the past few years.

1. I am thy teacher who brought thee to the stage. Thou shalt have no other directors, critics, advisors before me.
   
   
2. Honor thy microphone and keep thy mouth four inches from it.
   
   
3. Flap not thy lyric sheet, but hold it still by thy side.
   
   
4. Remember the bright lights, thou womenfolk, and keep thy face to shine with makeup.
   
   
5. Sing not directly to thy loved ones, nor make eye contact with them.
   
   
6. Dwell near each other, thou duet partners, lest there be a great expanse between ye on the video.
   
   
7. Thou shalt not wear hats, boas, maribou, nor any rainment of poultry in the Cabaret.
   
   
8. Thou shalt not make any introduction, nor make apology prior to singing.
   
   
9. Thou shalt not look upon thy accompanist, nor shall ye call attention to any error made thereon.
   
   
10. Thou shalt not wear white nor pastel colors
    
    for these things are an abomination to me.

JELLIES, Shedd Aquarium (slideshow)

Click the title to see the photos!

Careers

All of us parents of special needs high school juniors and seniors are in a cold sweat. What are our kids going to do post-high school? I am ahead of the game since I can see Hart's and Jeff's strengths so clearly. My prediction for future careers:

Jeff, grifter. Jeff shows amazing aptitude for the confidence game. He is a genius at elaborate cons, involving his parents, caregivers, teachers and classmates. Although I am chagrined at this, I do have to marvel at the skill involved.

Hart, neighborhood crazy person. I recently told Hart's social worker that even I am creeped out by the strange gait, bizarre outbursts and non-sequiters mid-conversation, and constant muttering. Every community has a strange, harmless resident. I suspect I know who that will be.

William S Shore, 1921-2011

In the famous line from the 1967 movie "The Graduate", the character Mr. Maguire says to the young protagonist Ben - "I have just one word for you Ben - Plastics". Nearly 20 years before that, a brilliant young chemistry and medical student, William S Shore, at The Charles University in Prague was dreaming up ways to synthesize new chemical compounds, especially hormones, plastics and polymers, that would propel mankind into a new future of technological and medical achievement. William Shore turned those dreams into reality as the principal plastics engineer in the development of the Chevrolet Corvette body. In addition, he was one of the principal developers of the Clorox plastic bottle (1959) and the blow molding process by which it and the plastic milk bottle (1964) was created. In his later years, Shore's environmental concerns led him to create Home Environmental Products, a corporation devoted to lessening water waste and pesticide use in agricultural settings. A brilliant polymath and Renaissance man (Shore's family and friends refer to him as the Google search engine before Google existed - ask him any obscure fact and he would know it) Shore was also a world-renowned cosmologist andastrophysicist. Shore died of natural causes in Chatsworth California at 90 years of age on Friday, April 15, 2011.

Shore was the eldest of four sons, born into a Jewish family on February 26, 1921 in Czechoslovakia. After completing his undergraduate work in chemistry and physics Shore was taken to his first concentration camp in 1942 as a Jewish prisoner. Virtually all of the other Jews brought into this work camp died in the minefields, having been forced to walk in front of the advancing German fronts. Shore would always express his optimism as it was his destiny "to be at the right place at the right time". Shore had sustained a right hip injury that gave him a limp. The sergeant in charge of sending the young men out to walk long distances in front of the Army did not believe Shore could make the walk and kept him back at the camp to work there. Shore, and the rest of his family, was taken by train in the middle of the night to the Auschwitz concentration camp. His parents and one of the brothers and hundreds of relatives and friends perished in the camps. Shore survived the Holocaust, including the Auschwitz-Birkenau and Crakow-Plaszow (made famous in Schindler's List) concentration camps. Shore was then faced with a new threat when the Communists took over Czechoslovakia in 1948. Just before completing his doctorate, his visa to immigrate to the United States came through and took advantage of it making his way to Cleveland, Ohio.

The DuPont Corporation's famous advertising slogan" Better Things for Better Living . . .Through Chemistry" were his watchwords. His initial interest was in medical pharmaceuticals, specifically the development of synthetic steroids. In 1950 he worked on a process of synthesizing various 17 keto steroids at the Case Western Reserve School of Medicine. However, he made a decision to focus his chemical engineering brilliance on synthetic polymers useful in the industrial setting--specifically, plastics. He knew that theoretically polymers could be used for practically any purpose - from the early computer motherboards to automotive parts. He quickly became an expert in the following modification of plastic polymers to achieve very precise specifications required for industrial applications. In 1951, he
was hired as the director of research and development at the Dynakon Corporation in Cleveland Ohio. There, he perfected the art of creating plastic resins, specifically polyester,vinyl ester, and epoxies for use in fiberglass reinforced plastics.

Shore and Dynakon were at the right place at the right time in Cleveland Ohio, one of the major manufacturing centers in the United States in the post - World War II era. Its proximity to the big three Detroit automobile headquarters made it a natural for the subcontracting of automobile parts manufacturing. This became fortuitous for several Cleveland-based companies when General Motors saw the tremendous response to the original Corvette concept car at the New York auto show and decided to put it into production. Originally conceived in steel body, it was then decided at the last minute to produce the body panels in fiberglass reinforced plastics. This was done principally to save startup costs and provide the added benefits of a new technology and reduced weight.

In February, of 1953, Robert Morrison of the Molded Fiberglass Company in Cleveland received a $4 million contract for producing the 1953 and 1954 Corvette body panels. Morrison and company already had considerable experience in the production of fiberglass reinforced plastics but they were under significant pressure to achieve specifications necessary for automotive body panels that they had not previously produced. Morrison subcontracted with William Shore and his team at Dynakon to perfect the plastic resin. Initially there were many problems with the precise percentages of the Isothallic plastic resin, inert ammonium silicate, and fiberglass fibers. Eventually, Shore's engineering team developed the perfect resin blend. The final percentage was 41% plastic, 30% fiberglass and 29% inert silicate. The body panels were tested by GM engineers and found that they met all of their specifications.

On June 29, 1953 the first ofthe initial 300-1953 model Chevrolet Corvettes rolled off the assembly line. It was the first series production automobile made with a "fiberglass" body. Shore would always jokingly object to the designation of "fiberglass" body. He would say "after all it's 41% plastic and only 30% fiberglass". He much preferred another term of endearment for the Corvette body: "the plastic fantastic". To honor his work, Shore was offered one of the first 300 Corvettes at General Motor's invoice cost. His answer was "what am I going to do with the car with no backseat and a small trunk". When he found out that one of the early serial number 1953 Corvettes had sold recently for $1 million Shore said, "Like so many things in life, if only we knew then what we know now"! Shore had virtually no interest in automobiles - his focus was purely on the polymer material technology. Soon thereafter, Shore developed the plastic compounds for melamine dinnerware, structural building materials, plastic protective automobile side moldings, and many new applications used by the United States military.

In 1959, again at the right place at the right time, Shore was working on the development of highdensity polyethylene plastics. He realized that this material was far safer, lighter, and less expensive than glass or metal alternatives as containers for various liquids including milk or bleaches. Clorox .Corporation, the largest manufacturer of bleach in the United States, contracted with Shore to be one of their early producers of blow molded high-density polyethylene white Clorox bottles. Shore also helped to perfect the blow molding process for these applications. Five years later in 1964, these blow molded plastic bottles began to replace the glass milk bottle.

After a trip to Israel in 1981, William Shore's life was transformed. In this small country with no significant natural resources and little water supply, Shore saw the need to save water. A master photographer, Shore's prize-winning photographs were almost universally taken in nature. He published a book "Expressions of Nature Through Photography and Words", a compilation of his life's photographic work. His love of nature and the environment spurred his interest in the recyclability of plastic products as well as their potential for saving what he saw as the most precious product necessary for mankind: water, using plastics. He patented a production system for the use of plastic film of precise rigidity, flexibility, and porosity for the growing and storing of agricultural products. Fundamentally, his "plant packaging system" was a scalable combination of a greenhouse and terrarium that would preserve the water content and recycle it. In addition, it was a natural barrier to insects that would eliminate the need for pesticides and all of their environmental consequences.

Shore was a polymath and Renaissance man with a nearly perfect photographic memory. An incessant reader he became so expert in astrophysics and cosmology that he was elected president of the Cleveland Astronomical Society during the 1980s. Again, being at the right place at the right time was important for William Shore. In 1987, he worked tirelessly along with Case Western Reserve University personnel to create one of the most famous meetings of world prominent physicists: the 1987 Centennial Anniversary of the Michelson Morley Experiment. In 1887, the Michelson Morley experiment on the splitting of light was critical information for all the new physics, including Einstein's theories of relativity. This experiment performed by the Case Western Reserve University scientists has been called the "beginning of the second scientific revolution". Many Nobel prize winners attended the meeting including Murray Gell-Mann, Ph.D. Shore and Gell Mann discussed their mutual belief in string theory at these meetings and subsequently.

William Shore spent his final years studying writing and lecturing on his wide variety of interests. Of particular interest near the end of his life was proving that the biblical Genesis story and the Big Bang cosmological theory were expressions of the same reality and completely consistent. He famously said "if God wrote the Bible, he couldn't express it in terms of 20th century physics to people living thousands of years ago."

William Shore is survived by his first wife Carol Wilson Hudson and his second wife Erica Stux- Shore, two sons; Philip S. Shore, M.D. (wife Diana), and Robert M. Shore (wife Julie), and two grandchildren Adam Shore and Allison Shore.

Just Sing II

Cathy and I sing "I Never Do Anything Twice."

Caribbean Cruise, March 2011 (slideshow)

Click the title to see photos!

For the past two years, during Jeff's spring break, he and I have gone to Europe. These trips, while not elaborate or luxe, are masterpieces of research, planning and organizing. I know that Jeff would not want to "wing it" and he doesn't care for unstructured meandering. I found out in London that Jeff won't tolerate impromptu consultation with a map or guidebook either. So around January this year, I pored over the Internet to work out a trip to Belgium and the Netherlands.

But it was not to be. Jeff went off the rails for most of February and a European trip just seemed too daunting. I assumed we would spend spring break here, with Jeff playing with his cars and complaining of boredom, and me, pouting.

In February, I had an inspiration: a cruise! So my friend Meiya, Jeff and I headed to the Port of Miami for a week's cruise to Roatan, Honduras and Cozumel, Mexico on Celebrity Cruises' CENTURY. Meiya and I had a great time lounging, playing trivia games (best score ever on the Broadway musicals trivia contest), singing karaoke and eating. Jeff had a wonderful time, doing whatever it is he did aboard ship. We saw him for meals and occasionally he passed by us.

Nice Girls by John Moe (New York Times)

Nice Girls by John Moe

Life with Inky and Jeff

"It's cat duty time. I think she's on cat patrol."

"Inky is taking a bath. She looks like a a chicken."

Prodigal Son

J: You know the nice Jeff is back. He was on a cruise.

L: I am so glad to have him back.

J: Since he was on a cruise he sent the obnoxious Jeff to take his place.

L: Well, welcome back! How was the cruise?

J: Nice and warm in the Bahamas.

Evanston Speed Skating Club news

Every January for the past eighteen years, special needs skaters arrive from all over the Midwest for Franklin Park's Special Needs Skating Competition, to participate in one or more of four ice sports: hockey, figure skating, speed skating and sled hockey. This event is a precursor to the Illinois Winter Special Olympics which are held in Galena in February.

At this year's event on January 8, Jeff took first place in the H division, the tier of the fastest skaters. Special Needs skaters are grouped by ability rather than age. He won first place in all three distances; 333m, 500m, 700m.

Jeff is a long-time member of the Evanston Speed Skating Club, and ESSC's only special needs member. "Regular competitions all season with his age-mates have really motivated Jeff to work hard and improve his times," says ESSC coach George Babicz. "I'm proud of his win, but not surprised."

Jeff is currently a high school junior at The Cove School in Northbrook. Cove School serves students with moderate to severe learning disabilities. Jeff joined ESSC as a third grader: this is his ninth season skating.

"I initially thought of speed skating for Jeff because the demands of a team sport would have been very difficult, due to Jeff's disability," says his mother, Lydia. "I didn't know anything about speed skating. But the individual endeavor of the sport appealed to me."

Jeff also plays guitar and is on Cove's basketball team, but speed skating is his favorite activity. He has met Olympic medalist Shani Davis a number of times, often enough to have a running game of tag with Shani over the past six years. "The friends and experiences Jeff has had skating are wonderful, but annoying Shani is fun for him, too."

Universal Orlando, Florida (slideshow)

Click on title to see photos!

Heartbreaking evidence

I spent this afternoon again in the depth of the archive of the Jewish community. I found there something not really pleasant.

Samuel Stux - married to Katharina Loeb - had 7 daughters & 1 son.

One of these daughters was Malvine and another one was Amalie (born 25 Oct 1869).

This Amalie was married to Sandor (Alexander) Braun and 1 daughter & 4 sons.

Daughter Emma (b. 1 Jan 1899) got married to Emil Philippovic. These 2 had a daughter called Ilse Ernestine, born 1929 and died already at the age of 12 years in 1941. (family book p 102.)

The archivist looked in his files and found a file where Ilse is buried and there is mentioned why she died: Bromalpneunomie bei Idiotie = pneumonia with idiocy.

And according to that file she died at Baumgartenhöhe which is know here as where the mentally sick people are treated. A 12-year old girl?

So the archivist searched in his computer and found more information which is provided by the documentation archive (DÖW) and there it says she was indeed in the part of Baumgartenhöhe called 'Spiegelgrund'.

This 'hospital' Spiegelgrund was the place where the Nazis 'fulfilled' their children euthanasia programme . . .


Spiegelgrund, Deutsch

Spiegelgrund, English

G

Untangling the Myths About Attention Disorder

The New York Times,Tuesday, December 14, 2010,
Health

"Class" from CHICAGO Nov 2010

Go, Jeff, go! (photo)

ESSC Bulletin-16 November 2010

Having waves of genius, Jeff reacted spontaneously to the opportunity to win his second race. This is just not something coaches can teach. Jeffrey has been working at speedskating for a long time and has acquired a lot of experience. With confidence, Jeff continues to prove dominant, winning the remainder of his races. The crowd went crazy. Brilliant racing, Jeff!

Koala Lore

The big koala on the left is Two Thumbs. He was present on my first or second birthday from my cousins in Australia. Australian cousins--how exotic! Obviously, Two Thumbs has been with me a very long time. Two Thumbs was named after a koala character in a picture book, also a present from Australia.

A number of years ago, I found another koala at an estate sale. This smaller one appeared to be of the same material, design and vintage as Two Thumbs, so I bought him. Hart and Jeff dubbed him Two Thumbs' Little Brother. Shortly after that, Hart gave me the tiny koala, explaining that Little Brother should have a companion, too.

It's a charming story, a bit of family lore with chapters added by the succeeding generations. As family stories go, it's not quite as exciting as, "Grandpa's Escape from Auschwitz," or as amazing as, "My Two Brothers are YOUR Two Uncles." Stories of my childhood and my background aren't meant to displace the boys' lost lore. I don't know the background or stories of their birth family or native country. So I'm encouraging them to appropriate my narrative, and append their own chapters.

Maybe the koala collection is complete, but it's possible that there will be others added to it. Jeff and Hart can explain that it all began with Two Thumbs, the de facto patriarch of the koalas, and that other toy koalas joined him, each with their own history and narrative (just as the boys joined my family).

Snowflake makes her first kill . . .