“Captain Benwick reading poetry aloud while Captain Harville mends his fishing net is a little image of how she imagined a secure home and a sense of belonging.”
I read this morning, sitting under the parasol on my yard. The early morning breeze tells me that the autumn is not far off. I can taste the fall when I step outside early in the morning and in the late evenings. Under my feet are three dogs- one is mine and two are my neighbor’s. They escaped their gate to make their morning visit. As I read an excerpt from “The Real Jane Austen: A Life in Small Things”, I can easily identify my little image of a secure home and a sense of belonging: Me writing in my outdoor setting and the dogs relaxing by my feet. It’s the perfect harmony of all things that are small and simple yet real. Right here, right now, in this very moment, I feel so content, so happy, and so relaxed. I feel so healthy.
My last few activities before I forced myself to sleep was: fighting the urge to drink a glass of wine, popping a pill of Advil PM, and researching on the mild symptoms of autism. It was to prepare for my job possibility that may happen or may not. Either way, it can’t hurt to prepare so I have been doing some readings on autism. Sensitivity to lights and sounds. Strong attachments to patterns and routines. I feel my heart reaching out for the kids with autism already because I, too, in some ways, can relate to these symptoms. It’s my daily struggle. So much stimulation, so many surprises, I feel like a fish out of water half the time of the day.
It’s these little moments when I sit on my deck, soaking up the morning sun that I feel at home. I feel so safe and this strong sense of belonging soothes my disturbed senses. On this particular morning, I play Hawaiian tunes to remind me of my happy Hawaii days. My daughter starts to dance slowly as if she was born with the hula moves. She’s throwing flowers and grasses she picked this morning as she dances her way. The dogs are spent and panting quietly by my feet. This, I can live with. And I assume heaven will be like this. Or maybe better. And I can’t wait.