Mugsy 9:51 Thanks for the link - will help. Hey did anything ever happen about the ramp for Carol? Does she need one? I communicate with her, but I haven’t asked her about that.

Lily of the Valley-very cute, made me laugh, and little Mr. Sneaky is right next to me. Beautiful card too. Did you take graphic arts by chance?

zut alors/sdc Beautiful

Besides memories…my shoes. I love my shoes!

I’ll go with that…memories. I do have one beautiful picture that I treasure which is a snapshot of my autistic son jumping into a huge puddle. Treasured because of the memory it holds. My son as a toddler, was deathly afraid of rain and “getting water on his shoes.” Consequently he would not walk on grass with dew, wet pavement, or basically anywhere outdoors after it rained. Made for an interesting experience running errands with him on a day that graced us with an unexpected spring shower. Anyway, I tried several techniques suggested by special education teachers and behavior therapists to get him over this phobia. Despite the fact that these professionals were usually right on the money with strategies, nothing seemed to work and his panic just continued to intensify with time. I was feeling overwhelmed and my heart was breaking for him. At four years old, he would wake up in the morning and run to the window to see if there was a rain cloud hovering. A good day would have clear skies. If it was overcast, or heaven forbid a storm cloud was visible, the anxiety and anticipation would set him reeling. One day following a pretty heavy rain, I went out to the garage and was headed toward my car now beaded with moisture in the driveway. Much to my surprise, my son followed me though he stood several feet away from the open garage door. I saw the torment on his face as he looked out at all that wetness. A fine drizzle was still misting as I walked back into the garage. All of a sudden an idea came to me and I can say with certainty it came from a much more divine origin than my own head. I began acting as though I didn’t see my son despite the fact that I was aware his eyes were locked in on what I was doing. I went out onto the wet driveway and started dancing around madly with my arms twirling above my head and my chin pointed upward as I sloshed heavily with exaggerated steps and exuberant but disjointed gyrations . I started laughing (thinking about what my neighbors might be thinking) as I sang a spontaneous zany song about how much I loved this rainy day. I glanced back and my son had now come to the edge of the garage to bear closer witness to his mother’s never been seen before maniacal behavior. As I noticed what appeared to be remote interest on his part, I danced with greater vehemence and hooted and howled between the lines of my song to allow time for my brain to create the next lyric. An old friend that was visiting emerged from the house to see what was taking me and he began to laugh hysterically. He had known me for a decade and this was a side he had never quite seen. He then disappeared as I kept my focus and my son’s eyes grew wider and wider at the whirling spectacle that was his mother. The child that would have a hand-flapping meltdown at a mere drop of rain on his shoe now did the unthinkable. The miraculous. He crept out in inches to the driveway. The wet, sloshy driveway. As I continued to “not notice” him the tears rolled down my face in quantities that could have filled buckets but I kept up my song and danced like I hadn’t a care with the hoots and howls wedged rhythmically in between. I was ecstatic with the victory of having my little boy “walk on water.” I greedily pushed for more in that little world of my own where I continued to skip about. I went to the driveway’s end and began to jump in the puddles with a fervor that had me soaked from the knees down in an instant. I persisted though I had limited faith that my little one could challenge his fears and sensory issues enough to mimic me this far. Then, with lightening striking twice type odds something incredible happened. I turned around and saw my son jump right into the puddle behind me. He jumped high. Knees to chest style! And right at that very moment my friend re-appeared, camera in hand, and captured the picture of my child over that wet, wonderful, never-to-be-forgotten puddle and later gifted the wall in my hallway with a miracle frozen in time. An incredible, SMILING, feet still off the ground little puddle jumper that he enlarged in black and white rather than color. I guess there’s a metaphor in that. So the photo is the possession. The memory is what’s treasured. I truly did not intend to write a book on the post to this question. I will make this a one-time indulgence, I give my word. What gratitude I close with though to have a question let me remember that day once again. And to be able to share it…

Lily: lol My washer yesterday spewed water all over the kitchen. Damn thing rofl! Nany more happy washes with Ken, Lily. O Lord you don’t suppose—nah Barbie wouldn’t allow it.

Mugsy, Quan Yin is here too, I wouldn’t be without her.