This blog is dedicated to:

My beautiful, big-hearted baby sister and her valiant, generous hubby, and my most loyal and supportive friend YS – thank you for helping me eat better, look beyond my feet, reach out, live my dreams and keep on keeping on, knowing always that I am loved.

My canine angel, Lucy Like a Charm, who shares this wonderful journey.

Food: Friend or Foe?


Poignancy at its most refined, and the succinct dynamic relationship with materiality, so alive in the autistic parallel embodiment, is grippingly vibrant in Emma’s words.

Originally posted on Emma's Hope Book:

Food understands emotions in ways no words can, but sometimes the body disagrees and chaos ensues.  Mind begins to roar and everyone feels misunderstood.  Trying to appease all parties is impossible.

Have you ever felt full, but ignored the body’s message and eaten more or eaten foods your body is not friends with?  Do certain feelings prefer certain types of food?

Understanding that some foods emotions are in love with are enemies to the body is a devastating realization.  Being kind to all involved is challenging and maybe only a few people have truly accomplished this.

Pancakes! Pancakes!

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Wrapped inside cocoon of solitude

Rest… renewal… restoration

Blessed isolation

In the company of silent Angel


Sonic punctuations

Musical fragments


When was the last time you breathed with such resonance and depth? Continue reading

Beep. Leave a Message


Today was a glorious nonverbal day for me. I don’t need words to commune with Lucy. We think and speak through out senses. Here is yet another poignant post by the amazing Emma… so timely, about words… “They elude, slipping and sliding
they have no legs
slithering in the muck of misunderstanding”…

Originally posted on Emma's Hope Book:


Waiting for a message that cannot find its way

from brain to muscles

that connect to sounds we know to be

recognizable words with understood context.

They elude, slipping and sliding

they have no legs

slithering in the muck of misunderstanding

those words that manage to escape from my mouth are heard,

but baffle.

Battling it out for recognition are the silent thoughts that are not

“you need to take a turn to share

“you have to wait our turn

“you want to go fast?

“you have to share”

Words, words and more words.

She has language they say, but the language she shouts is not a language at all

buffering frustration, relieving anxiety, clouding meaning

I’d whisper if I could

but I can’t.


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Reflected in Others’ Eyes


Facing Self. Facing Other. Facing reciprocity in the Self-Other / Other-Self conundrum. And emerging… Universal themes, embedded in one woman’s beautiful and honest journey.

Originally posted on Married, With Aspergers:

One thing I said to people when I came out as a trans woman was that I’m still the same person. And indeed I do not feel like I’ve become somebody different at all. I do however feel less constrained, more free to express myself in a way that feels natural. I no longer feel that I’m playing a role, fitting in with what I believed people expected of me when I presented as male. It’s as if I had been confined, a square peg in society’s round hole, but by taking the step to be true to my own sense of identity I have been able to cast off the false act.

Some of the changes that Anne has noticed since I started my transition:

  • The first thing she said, which others have also remarked on, is that I appear much happier.
  • My gait has changed. I used to…

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Space of Mind

A recurring theme right now… More Space of Mind… Putting aside Theory of Mind, whether Neurotypical or Autistic. Theories are nebulous, fluid and changing, there is nothing that I can smell, touch, taste, see or hear. Right now, it is tumultuous, and I want to exist inside a clement, graceful and gracious Space of Mind.

Inside this Space of Mind, proximal and distal senses unite, meander, frolic and reciprocate. Dancing around warm, crackling campfires, wordless, no yakkity-yak, we are socialising with the elements, in conversation with materiality, vibrating and pulsating personifications of atoms at play.

Beingness. Gazing at pulchritude. My Lucy, her entire body in synchronicity, quivering in some kind of unknown, unspoken sensorial concentration, as she sniffs each leaf, each blade of grass, and tiny speck of bark on the eucalyptus trees. “Thinking through the body” – art in a parallel embodiment.

Hindering Progress


A beautiful post by Emma. And timely for me too… right now echoing with deep resonance inside my whirring Space of Mind… Thank you, once again, Emma!

Originally posted on Emma's Hope Book:

Digging through ghostly shards, pummeling the words that shout from within, understanding too much, the vice grip of constant anxiety offers the spoken words access that no one can fully know.   I fight to voice what I mean, but “Mindy” and “Rebecca” crash through and grab the microphone from my hand that finds tenuous comfort in the string I wrap around and around like a carousel.

August, 2014 August, 2014

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not nice


The Incredulous Niceness of Being – oven baked fries with yinyang mayo-tomato sauce… no, not nice… just a snack for a hungry girl.

Space of Mind. For a moment, let’s try to drop the Theories of Mind. Yes. Space. Shall we instead try to perceive the idea of Spaces of Mind… With all its sensory properties. This has been reverberating in the hallways of thought lately.

And within my Space, there are droplets of reflections upon certain words, soundlessly uttered, that seem so loud they cannot be ignored.

Meandering now to a specific word that has been dancing and wriggling around for awhile. Someone used the word, “nice,” as a virtuous state of being. She stated with pride that the people in a certain region in Australia (where she resides) are “nice” people. Indicating what? Yes, I know, most people would not give something like that a second thought, if at all a first. However… me… I am still pondering… Weeks after the fact…  Continue reading


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Standing under the arch. A looming foreboding. A comforting covering. An oxymoronic juxtaposition. Trundling along towards an end that is far too near, autumnal chants that incite the demons of fear… Yet, dancing underneath the sheets of toxic foam, spring is valiant and defiant.

The Sensory Gremlins are at it again. Not merely the insistent neuropathic pain, but the indefatigable Dust Bunny Mob, the Grime Spectres that lurk in kitchen and bathroom, the endless loads of laundry, and dishes to attack – these monsters demand a battle spirit of intense vim and vigour, which I sadly and frustratingly lack.

I just want to focus my limited resources on my work. It is distressing. Not being able to direct the strength of my innate autistic focus upon what matter most to me. Well, alongside Lucy, my work is of utmost importance to me – oases of rest, regeneration, inspiration and tranquility. Lucy and work, that is. But I have scant time and physical fuel left for the two, because I am frantically chasing tiny leviathans. Yes. Tiny Leviathans!

In the meantime… the deadline looms nearer and nearer. The nausea sitting just beneath my diaphragm like a sinister black statue is growing, the curl of its mocking smile lifts higher as the time draws nigh – and laundry, dishes, Dust Bunny Mob, Grime Spectres join forces in a deafening roaring silent Dies Irae chorus.

Food is a temporary solace. But cooking and eating also means more dishes to wash.

Lucy is my only sensory clemency for the moment. The happiest time of my life. Yet, the dichotomy is cogent in its own tangible material parallel existence.

a busy week

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A busy week. Where did the time go? How do we sense the passage of time in place and space? I feel through my fingertips the liquid dust slipping, sliding, seeping inexorably towards, then past, and away from me. So much tiredness. Bursts of frenetic scrambling scrunching engaging with mind and concrete materiality. Body and mind in a grumbling atonal dissonant Call and Response. The dishes pile up as I plunge into work. I need a Jeeves – I can feel the grittiness of the floor under my feet. Washed and dried laundry waiting for me in an impatient mess. Boxes of ‘things’ still unresolved. Visual discomfort. I need shelves. And a Jeeves. Continue reading

pleasant thoughts

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I am tired out, run down and just exhausted – too much human interaction, and the intensity of emotion is overpowering. The sheer weight of the facts and figures, logical deduction and analyses, vs. the bog of perplexing inane arguments in response to critical truth, and yes, that Aspie thing, you know, questions still unaddressed, that really gets me down. A non-cadential stretto in raging crescendo. I need to leave the concert hall. Wagner would be proud of the drama, for sure.

In the midst of the noisome pestilence, the tumultuous churning of debris, there were some truly beautiful moments in my day. These little things actually do matter more on a personal level. They give me strength and offer tranquility. Safe havens for my thoughts and emotions, and clement grace for my fraught senses.

Lucy – there is no imperfection in her.

Food – I am thankful to have food, and to enjoy the challenge of making simple fare look and taste good.

Fruit! – my tomatoes have grown! I planted these from seeds taken from fresh tomatoes, and they are growing at last. Thank you, Rick, for keeping my plants alive (well most of them are alive, the important ones, so it’s all good!).

And now, I shall retire into bed with my beautiful warm vanilla hound. She is there waiting for me. Good night, everyone.

We wish for all Greyhounds to have this blessedness!