Back to blogging after a two month break.............

I have had a couple of months between blogs. Not that I didn't know what to write about, it's just that I seemed to have too many things to do at once. Not to mention a lot of stress…whoops did I just mention that?

However I did find bit of time for leisure. My art group was running through September and October plus we had a small exhibition, so I was kept busy painting and helping organise things. We are going to have a much bigger exhibition at Christmas time, and so I am looking forward to that. I shall be displaying around a dozen paintings. We are holding the exhibition in a hotel. Our stand will be in an annex between two restaurants, so our work should be seen by quite a few people.

I treated myself to Neil Diamond's latest CD "Dreams". Another scaled down mainly acoustic album of some of his favourite songs written by other people. I particularly loved "Ain't no Sunshine" written by Bill Withers and previously recorded by Michael Jackson and the Jackson Five. I also loved Neil's rendition of Leslie Duncan's "Love Song", a previous version by Elton John. There's also a fine rendition of "Midnight Train to Georgia".

I read some great books too. I enjoyed reading one of Dean Koontz's early novels "Shattered". Packed with suspense. A real page turner. Then I read "The Ghost" by Robert Harris, a political satire on the Blair years, although the disclaimer says the usual…"This is a work of fiction……any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental"…Hmmmm

I enjoyed it, but I didn't think it was as good as some of Harris's other works.

Then I read the wonderful, haunting "A Quiet Belief in Angels" by R.J. Ellory. One of the best novels I have ever read. Having dark undertones of death and a serial child killer who commits terrible gruesome murders; I never-the-less found it to be untimely a celebration of life. Of love. Of survival. Of triumph over adversity. Yes, of belief. An amazing book by an amazing author.

And through all of this I continue to classify Hubble Deep Space galaxies for Galaxy Zoo; the Citizen Science project that is part of Zooniverse. There is a lot of work, a lot to learn and there are a lot of strange objects out there waiting to find a home on our databases. It's looking through time and space…looking back through time and space and seeing the most incredible sights and phenomena. The early stages of the universe, the birth of galaxies and stars. The distances, dimensions and numbers are too vast to comprehend. It's all mind-blowing stuff!!

And that's not all. As the images are initially photographed and 'sorted' by Hubble's computer, I am the first human being ever to see most of the galaxies I classify. I am looking at something no-one has ever seen before. Quite humbling really.

Zooniverse has a few projects currently running. There is Moon Zoo, Galaxy Mergers, Supernova Zoo and there is also a fascinating project tracking Solar Storms. The collected data is then used to help astronauts in space.

And a new project is the wonderful "Old Weather". We are given the charts from ships that have sailed in a bygone era; at the beginning of the last century and during the First World War for example. We record the ship's charted weather conditions onto a computer data base. It is to be used to help forecast future weather patterns around the globe. Also the day to day activities of the old ships are charted, and so we transfer those onto the computer data base too, for historians to study.

I am currently on HMS Invincible. She was torpedoed and sunk at the Battle of Jutland in 1916.

And that's not all! I saw an article in a medical journal suggesting that a "Lesion Zoo' maybe in the offing!! Something to look forward to.

www.zooniverse.org/home?ticket=ST-1290970566r5259A5678700CCFD69

An enchanting ride through snowy Cornwall without the raindeers !

Yesterday I went to Trevaskis Farm ay Hayle, Cornwall for lunch. It's a twenty five mile drive from Newquay. It rarely snows in Cornwall, but Friday night it snowed and on Saturday morning we all awoke to the stunning sight of the coast, cliffs and beaches covered in snow.

But that almost paled into significance when we set off from Newquay and drove through the white covered fields, lined with snow covered hedges and trees.

Quite a lot of the higher branches of the tress meet overhead on the narrow winding country lanes, and it was quite simply a magical experience to drive under them; all of them covered in snow and ice. All sparkling in the early afternoon sunshine, as if nature had bestowed on them millions of diamonds.

I felt like a winter's bride on a sleigh ride! Woot, woot !!

I won't forget that drive. It was the highlight of the day.

FOOTNOTE: Picture shows snow around Porth near Newquay, and toward Newquay Airport

Philip, the story of my son and his struggles with Autism

This bog is about my son Philip. He has the form of Autism now known as Asberger's Syndrome. He is now an adult, living, if that's what it can be called in a care home in Bradford.

Looking back, I realised just how much we missed out on. Just how much more could have been done to help him, if only there was the level of awareness into the condition that there is today.

Yes. Looking back I remember how it was when he was young. I remember sitting in our kitchen and my son would be standing in a corner looking at the wall. He would stand there for hours. Contemplating some amorphous something of which only he was aware. It was his "place of solitude" when the world became too much for him.

Whatever solace he found in that corner, we never really did find out. I only knew that his corner and wall were his retreats when things were getting a little out of hand for him. Sometimes he would reach out and touch the wall he had been staring at. He would run his hand along it feeling it's smoothness under his touch. It was as if the continuum of smooth and cool compensated for the turmoil of the day to day living that often frightened and confused him.

So the corner was his place of solace. The wall was where he called his own personal 'chaos' to order.

And so it went on. Sometimes, if he had had a particularly bad day, which occasionally arose from an imaginary slight by a school mate, he would bang his head furiously against the wall and we had to pull him away to stop him from hurting himself. It was always a dangerous thing to do, both for him (head banging) and for us trying to tear him away and calm him.

Years earlier when he was a just few years old, the concept of Autism was just that. There were no umbrella terms at that time. No Autistic Spectrum as exists today and there was very little if any treatment.

As a young child he played endlessly with water. Splashing it around in the sink and watching it fly into the air. He got very excited doing this. It was as if he had found that he too could make his mark in the world. That all those crazy perceived situations that left him unable to cope could be exorcised like a ghost, when he turned the taps full on and threw the water around. And it was always followed by Mum doing a mammoth mop up of the soaked bathroom floor! But afterwards he always seemed more relaxed as if his personal demons had been driven out, even if only for a short while.

Alas, this fascination with water turned to a fascination with fire. Now we were in trouble. He had to be watched constantly, for we had visions of the entire house going up in flames.

At the time we were seeing GPs, psychologists, psychiatrists, social workers; the whole shebang. There were diagnoses and counter diagnoses going round. One moment he was Autistic. The next minute he was mentally handicapped (or mentally challenged to be politically correct). Eventually it was decided to put him in a nursery class with "normal" children. If he could match their scholarly milestones, then maybe he would be allowed to stay. But in short, he didn't. And so when he became too old to stay in the nursery class, he was transferred to a school for pupils with learning difficulties.

For the next few years, life for him and us wasn't too bad. He even acquired good reports and 'grades' at one point. As I was doing an Open University degree in psychology at the time, and some of that degree required research and thus quite complex mathematical formulas, I was surprised one day when he looked at a page full of symbols and said "That's a sum isn't it mum?". "Yes, Philip it is" I replied. I was then amazed when his teacher took me to one side and told me that he had developed an interest in arithmetic and he was getting good at it!

But all this was a long time ago and as his years at school were drawing to a close and he was now in his mid teens, his insecurities manifested themselves again and he became increasingly aware that he was 'different'; he was not like the other kids who played outside; who rough and tumbled and called each other names. He knew he could never be a match for them.

In no time he became increasingly paranoid, believing that the children outside were staring at him and calling him names. So he hid from them. Often when in the house, I had to draw the curtains so the kids outside could not "see'' him. At this time he spent hours and hours in his corner looking at the walls. Sometimes I could coax him out. Other times just trying made things worse.

Any eye contact, which had been reserved for myself and his sister, became non existent as he sunk further into his own world and shunned any outside contact. He became unable to look anyone in the eye. It was as if he was afraid of what he might read in another person's eyes. What he might discover in their souls. As if he might see himself reflected back through the mirror of their searching gaze. Gradually, he lost all contact with reality.

My increasing alarm prompted me to do some research into the condition, and gradually I began to find out about the 'different kinds of Autism' and that they all needed their own kind of treatment and handling of the 'client'. (As they were now called). I made a point of trying to educate the professionals, to show them that there were different degrees and different kinds of the condition. I have no doubt that they thought I was a neurotic mother and that I was meddling in things I knew little about and making their job more difficult.

It was only after many years of dreadful trauma, not only for my son but for the whole family, that the medics and "powers that be" conceded that he did indeed have Asperger's Syndrome.

But now there was little they could do to help him. His often bizarre and by now very violent behaviour patterns were ingrained into his personality. It was too late. He was an adult. Suicide attempts began, and time after time he was taken into hospital……

As his behaviour became unmanageable at home, he was put into one care home after another. All of them at first confident that they had the solution to his mental agony. All of them, after only about two weeks (yes) declaring themselves unable to cope with him, and thus he had to move on to yet another home.

Years have gone by and he is now "settled" if that is the correct word. He is as settled as he will probably ever be. He is a little more outgoing now, but the damage done back in his early years can never quite be undone.

He has mellowed, but I know that when things get tough, he stands in a corner and stares at the wall. But certain age brings wisdom, even to those afflicted with this awful condition, and now he knows just a little that the world is not out to hurt him and he can go to the pub with his friends and have an enjoyable time. In his later years he has found some part of himself, to an extent he has come to terms with his personal demons, and so he is not lost for ever any more. He now has a kind of solace. A kind of peace. A kind of life.

We all learn sooner or later that whatever happens to us, whatever rotten cards we are dealt, whatever goes wrong in our lives, we are still survivors. We have to be. We owe it to each other. We are the lucky ones who at least have been given a chance at life and when all the difficulties have been confronted, there is nothing sweeter than just being alive. I think Philip now knows that and makes the best of his limitations.

Sleepless in Crete

A balmy night. A beautiful greek island. Our last night in Agia Galina a charming fishing village/resort in Southern Crete.

The wine was following. The singing was flowing. The dancing was getting hectic. We had said we were going to dance the night away. Our bodies told us otherwise. And so about one o'clock in the morning, we all took ourselves back to our hotel rooms. Warmed by the wine. Some more than others.

And so it was thus that by the aforementioned one o'clock, I made my weary way hack to the hotel. I had not had too much wine, but a sore throat and sudden persistent cough - obviously I was going down with something - ensured that I had a headache anyway.

Back at my hotel room, I proceeded to get ready for bed in the usual manner. It seemed to be taking a little longer than usual because of the wine, the tiredness and the feeling that a flu bug had honed in on me at sometime during the holiday (or maybe just before).

Eventually I got into bed and I fell into a deep, deep sleep. A bit out of the ordinary really as I suffer from insomnia and so boy, I must have been exhausted.

Alas, this amnesic spell in blissful slumberland did not last long.

I awoke suddenly to a loud buzzing noise in my right ear. (I was lying on my left side). My head hurt like someone was crushing it it in a vice. The combination of the wine and the flu bug - or what ever it was - was doing me no favours. I tried to sit up to find out what the mysterious buzzing had been, but as I attempted to lift my head from the pillow, I could had sworn someone had hit me on the forehead with a baseball bat.

Finally managing to prop myself up and hearing nothing else in the immediate vicinity, I was convinced that the buzzing had been imaginary, partly due to a slight hangover which by now had me in it's grip and partly due to the sore throat and cough which in my wakefulness had returned.

And that wasn't all. With deepening horror, I became increasingly aware that in a few hours, I would (hopefully) be on a plane winging it's way across Europe. And that would happen following a one and a half hour car ride from Southern Crete across the mountains to Northern Crete and the Airport at Heraklion……Nausea raised it's ugly head at the thought.

Complete silence now reigned in the hotel bedroom and I was fairly certain that the buzzing had been something to do with my 'not very well condition'. I needed sleep. I had a busy day ahead.

And so I lay down, trying to ignore the invisible hammer blows that were now reining down on the back of my head.

Slowly I began to drift into a fitful slumber. Deeper and deeper and …….Buzzzzzzzz………..I shot up in bed and winced in pain. Clasping my hand to my now mushed up brain, the awful reality of the situation dawned on me……. MOSQUITO…arrggggg…..this can't be happening to me. Not now. Not with a hangover…and a sore throat…and a cough…and a generally lousy feeling…..No please God, don't let it be a Mosquito…………l'll do anything. I promise if you please let it not be a mosquito……

Nightmarish visions swam in the inner vaults of my mind. Long legged flying insects circling the bedroom waiting to attack me with their fang like mandibles, drawing blood and leaving God knows what in it's place.

Gingerly I got out of bed to make sure it wasn't a mosquito and that I was letting my imagination get the better of me. I swayed around the room nursing my throbbing brain. I turned my head with great difficulty, skimming the white walls of the room, and for a moment seeing nothing unusual I was about to lay down again and turn out the light when…oh no! There it was on the wall just above where my head had been lying a few minutes ago.

I looked around for something with which to terminate it's existence. Picking up a towel which had been laying on a chair at the side of the room, I crept up behind it and taking a mighty swing ( with which I almost toppled myself to the ground), the towel hit the wall and the mosquito vanished.

For a minute I didn't know where it was, had I hit it or had it made a miraculous escape at the very last nano second?

I looked round the bedroom. My head swimming. My throat raw. But I could see no sign of my nocturnal visitor.

Satisfied that it could not have disappeared so quickly I got back into bed and turned out the light. It must be dead. It must have just fallen down the back of the bed…..

Head pounding. Heart pounding, waves of nausea coming and going, but despite this discomfort I found myself gradually and mercifully falling asleep once again. Bliss. Rest at last. Maybe I would feel okay in the morning and the trip home would not be so bad after all. Maybe I would….Maybe…..

………..BZZZZZZ…….My God. It was louder this time. Had it grown? Had it really turned into a hideous flying monster with long dangly legs hell bent on tickling my face and having a quick snack as it skimmed past me? Just a little fun before it sank it's teeth into me? I saw it again in my mind, grown to a monstrous size. Retribution for me attempting to slaughter it whilst it's back was turned.

Defying the pain in my tortured, sleep deprived brain, I got out of bed again and snapped on the light. All quiet. No sign of any mosquito.

Never-the-less I decided that a bigger weapon was in need, (rather like a bigger boat was needed in Jaws), and so grabbing a magazine and rolling it up, I walked around the bedroom, by now almost weeping in frustration at the lack of sleep and the thoughts of the hellish flying, disappearing creature which was taking it's toll on my delicate state, not to mention my nerves.

A few minutes creeping groggily around my bedroom and still no sign of the vanishing mosquito. Examining the walls and at the same time feeling very sorry for myself, I saw that there was a crack where the top of the walls met the ceiling and over a certain length of time they had slightly parted company with each other leaving a sort of ledge at the very top of the walls. This must be its hiding place. Its vantage point from where it surveyed all that was below it (namely myself) and planned its dive bombing attacks.

Accepting that there was no hope of incapacitating it whilst it stayed up in it's hiding hole , I climbed back into bed. This time I pulled the sheet over myself, covering every bit of myself completely and I lay there quivering in what had now become a little tent - my improvised mosquito net, hoping for all I was worth that I would get some sleep...sleep. Oh how I needed sleep.

As it transpired, either I had mortally wounded my nocturnal foe or it had decided that it was in need of sleep too, for there was no more buzzing, no dive-bombing, no sign of it at all. For my part, I was desperate to catch even a few minutes of slumber, for I saw the first light of early morning was beginning to stream in through the louvred balcony doors; the very doors through which the flying monster had entered during the previous evening. Soon it would morning for real.

I eventually dozed off, and those few minutes I had wanted must have been just that. For I was to be awakened by another buzzing noise. This time it was the alarm clock that jolted me back into conciousness.

But a little sleep had been a blessing and my headache, which had been hammering away just a few hours before was now beginning to subside.

The long drive to Heraklion Airport on the northern side of the island happened with out incident. Well, that is if you're willing to discount a kamikaze taxi driver. But hey, I had made it. I was on my way home.

The following day, back at my apartment I was sorting out my clothes for the laundry when I felt a sudden stinging and itching on the side of my neck.

Oh yes, my flying, buzzing friend had made sure I had not left the island without one last momento.

I looked in a mirror and there it was; a fiery red bump. A souvenir from The Mosquito from Hell.

* * *

FOOTNOTE: The picture is of our last night on the island - just the usual shenanigans.