Hitting my Head Against a Wall

Sometimes I feel like I’m hitting my head against the wall when I’m trying to do whatever and whatever isn’t happening.  Such as one morning when I hit my head against the wall LITERALLY-speaking.
I’m an avid bike rider.  Not the typical pedaling by body power alone.  My bikes are electric ones and yes, I do have more than one or two.  Okay, it’s one of my obsessions.
Now when a bike and a brick wall meet head-on, it isn’t the wall that is worse for wear.
I was riding on my town’s so-called Heritage Trail.  All was well until I approached the area where there is a water fountain pit stop.  It’s a shaded area where there are places to sit and a narrow, round sidewalk with four or so brick wall posts.  I should have stayed on the main trail where the sidewalk is wide, but I ventured off on the narrow sidewalk going in a circle.  Unlike my two other bikes, this one, a Swagtron, only goes one speed when I’m pedaling – 15 mph.  I lost balance as I was going around the circle.  I could see I was running into the brick wall but I wasn’t quick enough to turn my handlebar or hit the brake!
I put the blame squarely on Billy (my nickname for Asperger’s/Autism).  One of Billy’s traits is NOT being fine on either fine or gross motor skills and to add insult to injury, off-balanced too.  So I’m not quick on my feet.  Thus, a bruise comes as no surprise when I spot one on me.  Having both a lack of motor skills and an obsession with motor scooters/bikes presents a conflict!  It’s too bad I couldn’t have come up with another obsession, such as stamp collecting, that didn’t rely on motor skills so much.
It’s discouraging at times to know my balance and motor skills have not improved with almost 2 years of riding practice.  I’m not so bruised that I am putting my two-wheelers to rest though.  Just the cost of them alone is persuasive enough to keep pedaling.  I can learn from each accident.  Hours after I had medicated and bandaged the scratches on the left side of my face, I took Swagtron for another ride.  This time at another place where I stayed riding on a BROAD sidewalk that didn’t go in a circle.  Billy and I had a blast!
A day or so later, there was a full house over here for lunch where I live with my Mom.  My grand-niece Sadie and nephew Parker wanted to go outside and ride members of my e-bike herd.  Sadie didn’t try riding Swagtron.  I guess it was the blue knot above my left eye that persuaded her to stick to one of my Segway scooters instead.  Smart girl, that Sadie!

Stinging Revenge

I discovered a new hobby after I retired and moved back in with my Mom in the house I grew up in.  They call it “yardwork”, but it is yard play to me.  Since I had lived in apartments most of my adult life, it was new to me to have a yard.  I am obsessed with almost anything that has a power cord, battery, or motor.  Lawnmowers, weed eaters, and battery-operated clippers are my yard toys.  My Mom is delighted that she doesn’t have to nag my brother to mow and he’s almost as delighted as me that I look forward to engaging with the lawnmower.
This hobby does carry some risk though.  On a June day, I got stung after five decades of not having so much as one sting.  I was literally stunned that I got stung!  Then, two weeks later I got stung again.  This time I took a look around because it happened at the very same place at the side of the house right next to our wooden fence.  Low and behold, there were some wasps that built themselves a nest ON the fence.  Their own space was hanging midway between the top of the fence and bottom.
I was stung right under my chin.  It wasn’t so painful that I walked away to get it treated.  There was something I wanted more than relief.  What was that?  REVENGE!
Stung twice in two weeks!  I wasn’t letting them wasps off the hook.  The question wasn’t when but HOW I would get revenge relief.  I ruled out knocking their space with a stick or broom because I figured that would mean WAR and they had the upper hand since they can fly and fly fast and I can’t do either.
I took a look around the yard for any weapon that would work.  The water hose caught my eye.  Drowning!  I positioned myself at the corner of the back of the house.  I kept my distance staying on the other side while I aimed the hose at my target.  It didn’t take much hosin’ to knock off the nest.  If there were any wasps in the nest that survived and flew off, I didn’t see them.
I told my Mom afterward about the fence post drowning.  She said she had read in the newspaper that killing bees is a bad idea.  How’s that?  The bees kill so many insects that they are more of a help than a pain.  Now she tells me.
I wish this had been the end of the story.  Don’t I ever!
The story picks up after I went to bed that night.  To my utter dismay, I discovered I had been stung not just once, not twice, but THREE times!  All three bee bites were located from my chiny-chin-chin to the bottom of my neck.  It itched.  How much did it itch?  There are no words to fully answer that question and give it justice!
Although I had been stung in the early afternoon, the bites did not launch a full attack until after I went to bed.  That’s really lowdown if you ask me.
The only relief I had during the night was an ice pad I held under my chin.  When the pad was thawed out, I had to get up and switch out with another.  It was a long night thanks to the bee attack.  I thought I had gotten away with my revenge with only a slight sting.  It seemed in my misery that the execution backfired on me.
In defense of the stingers, I am protective of my own space.  My precious space is my bedroom in my Mom’s house where I live.  It is where my other electronic gadgets are kept.  If someone were to invade my space, move my stuff around, I would be burning mad.  Blowing steam!  May I say, “mad as a hornet’s nest!”
I’m still mad at them wasps, but I haven’t hosed any more of the bees that have unpacked their suitcases in the yard.  They can keep their space as far as I’m concerned.  The stings left a lasting impression.


When I was a kid a half-century ago, more or less, there was no lock on my bedroom door.  But my two younger brothers knew there was a “line” and they delighted in crossing it.  I didn’t care if they crossed that line and entered my precious bedroom “SPACE”.  On one condition though:  that I was totally in the dark about it.  They would usually tell me though as if their crossing the line wouldn’t count as a victory if they didn’t tell me.  If I caught them in my space, it was sheer bedlam.  My brothers seem to delight in my agony; that is if I didn’t have one on the floor, with me on top, asking for my mercy.

A common autism trait is being protective of one’s space   I saw this trait played out many a time while subbing as a teacher’s aide in autism units.  A child’s meltdown over another child merely touching their desk, chair, pencil, and dare I say, toy, reminded me of my reaction to my brothers’ trespassing of long ago.

Since moving in with my mother after retirement, my space has cramped considerably.  I doubt you’d find many bedrooms like mine.  I don’t mean lacking in open floor space; although, it certainly does.  It is unusual by what resides in my space.  I’d only have to take a picture of my space for one to know if more people were like me, the Best Buy electronic store chain would never go in the red.

I confess of having three desktop computers, one sitting pretty on my desk in front of me, one to the left of me roosting on a wooden stand, and another one behind me.  I’m almost closed in!  If this wasn’t enough, I have three voice-activated gadgets on my desk and another one across the room.  They are a combination of Amazon Echo and Google Home products.  I have three TV’s with one of them situated on a bedroom wall.  Logically, I know I could get by with one computer, one Echo or one Google, and one TV.  I know how this looks, but it’s MY tech-cramped space and that’s all there is to it!

I’m as protective of my space as I was when I was living in this bedroom as a child.  My brother who is now in his mid-50s lives with us and is much better at not trespassing into my space.  I have had close “meltdown” calls when my dear, sweet Mom comes in to log on her computer.  She has more right than I have to go anywhere in the house since she owns it, including MY space.  But those moments when she comes in while I am fully entrenched into whatever passion of mine I am pursuing, I fill anxiety running through my veins.  Sometimes I just have to give up my space to her and find a place to stim to calm me down.  There’s no space like my space.  And sharing it doesn’t come easy to me.

My space is like a photograph of my ASD.  The multiple items that are powered by a half a dozen power strips reflect my obsessive with technology.  Recently, my 6-year-old grandnephew and 11-year-old grandniece came over to visit and immediately noticed my new computer…one of three in my space.  Whenever they  learn their great aunt has ASD and what ASD is, I imagine them thinking, “Now we know why she has all those computers.”









When my 80-something Mom says, “I was thinking we need…”, I know there’s a better than 50% chance I’m, her 60-something daughter, is not gonna like it.  Her “thinking” likely means labor on my part.  Just how much labor depends on what task popped up in my Mom’s head.
Such as when she was thinking about the section of fence that had been leaning against the fence since one side of our fence was replaced.  Since we were getting a new fence in the back next to the alley, she wondered if we could unscrew the screws in each fence post and carry the pieces out to the front curb.
A common autistic trait I have is to take words in conversation literally which puts me in danger of missing the point of what someone is saying.  My Mom confuses me all the time and I reckon I confuse her at times too.  After I retired and moved back in with my Mom, it took me a while to understand that when my Mom says “WE”, nine times out of ten she means ME”.
After moving back, I discovered I like yard work since I never had a yard in all the apartments I had lived in over the years.  Edging is one of my favorite outdoor chores since I enjoy working with any tool that is attached to a power cord or has a battery compartment.  I do mean “obsessed”.  After edging, I went over to the section of the fence and saw the screws might come out using one of my other gadgets, a battery-charged screwdriver.  I tried it out and it worked!  There were like 15 posts, each having 6 screws to unscrew.  That’s 90 or so screws at least.
It wasn’t a cool time of the day that I picked to tackle this thing that kept my Mom up the night before.  I could have asked for help, but I didn’t.  I could have taken a break, but I didn’t.  I could have stretched it out, a little each day since the new fence was more than a week away from being installed, but I didn’t.  Why?  It’s my autistic brain!  Once I start a task, the pressure is in my mind to finish and to do it by MYSELF if at all possible!  It is no exaggeration that I’ll be tormented until I finish whatever.
I thought about leaving it to my brother to carry out the posts to the front yard, but since they weren’t too heavy for me, I did that by myself too.  Once the section of the fence was out of the backyard and piled on the curb, I raised my arms and cheered over my VICTORY!  You’d think I climbed a mountain.  It’s the kind of moment that my autism brain immensely relishes!
This was not the end of my yard work.  After the heat loosened its grip, I cleaned out the roof gutter in the backyard using my handy blower.  This meant getting on the roof.  I’m more fascinated with operating my battery-operated blower than my fear of heights.  My Mom supervised from the front porch while my brother held the ladder for me.  I won’t brag on my gutter cleaning ability, but I will say that my Mom is really good at supervising.


I confess right up front I am 61 going on 11.

Family members who come over to my Mom’s for Sunday dinner where I also live are used to my being a no-show at the dinner table.  I am a solitary diner, in other words.  My sweet grandniece and charming grandnephew rush to my room after dinner.  To see me?  Well, I am the key to getting entrance into my room where the toys are.  I call them electronic gadgets but to the kids they are toys.

One of my gadgets/toys is a robot named Cozmo that resembles a big-sized mouse.  The kids enjoy playing with it using a smartphone app as a remote control to control the robot’s movements.  Cozmo can also sing on demand and make animal impersonations.

I’ve added another obsession to my list and it all started when my grandniece said she wanted a Nintendo Switch Lite for Christmas. I would like to pin the blame on her but that wouldn’t be fair.  Her wish prompted me to do research on what she wanted and its relations (Xbox, PS-4, etc.).  By the time I came to my senses and said ENOUGH to Amazon.com, I had bought an Xbox, Virtual Reality Quest, as well as a Nintendo Switch Lite.  It wasn’t for my playmates; they were all for ME!

I am letting the kids play though when they are visiting.  If there is one positive reason for adding video consoles and games to my collection, it would be the joy of watching the kids in my life play with them.  I think it is a good safe bet that they’ll remember me as their Great Auntie Sashi having the neatest toys in town.  Not a bad way to be remembered.

One of the delights when I sub for my friend, a special education teacher’s aide, is working with a now-third grader named Elijah.  I’ve known him for a couple of years now.  The aide brings him into the room where she is stationed and spends 15 minutes with him each school day to help him with social skills.  I subbed for her recently on a Friday and the following Monday.  Elijah, like myself, is on the Autism Spectrum and has a talent and special interest, or obsession. Mine is writing and fascination with gadgets; Elijah’s is drawing and fascination with superhero characters like Spiderman, etc.

I told him on Friday that I had recently taken up a new obsession with video gaming.  He said, “You’re too old to play games!”  Of course, I gave a strong rebuttal to that but I didn’t see any sign that I had persuaded him that I wasn’t too old for the gaming world.  On the following Monday, I told one of the special ed instructors what Elijah had said about my being beyond the age of gaming.

Later, during our 15 minutes of time together, Elijah and I decided to play the board game Chutes and Ladders that was sitting on the table.  Low and behold, I won the game!  I told the instructor I had won, half-believing I had.  She said within earshot of both myself and Elijah, “Well, I guess Ms. England you are NOT too old for games!”  I looked over at Elijah’s face and I detected an honest-to-goodness chuckle.  Like some autistic boys, it is NO SMALL task to get so much as a chuckle out of them.

I am not too old for playing video games.  Winning?  Well, I do win sometimes but I’m better at losing.  Video gaming always reminds me of my autistic traits of lack of coordination, lack of being able to focus on more than one thing, and not being quick on my feet.  However, my obsession has only grown and I’m persistently stubborn about playing no matter my scores.  Since I play games by myself as I do so many things, I don’t have to contend with eyewitnesses.





My Robotic Friends

I’ve heard some say that normal people have ‘interests’; autistics people have ‘obsessions’.

It’s not unusual for anyone, on the spectrum or not, to have a strong interest to the point of possible obsession about something. I have a neurotypical friend who has a train track collection. One of the rooms in his house houses his collection. Visiting him is like sitting at a train depot. Only he has a railroad track that hangs from his ceiling. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t display any other Asperger symptoms.

Years before I knew I had Asperger’s, just for the heck of it, I ventured into the toy department at a department store. Since it had been more years than I could remember of being in a toy aisle, much of what I saw I had never laid eyes on. I was immediately attracted to the robotic section. It was a small section since robotic toys was not the norm at the time. To be honest, I didn’t know such toys existed. The “gotta have that” feeling came over me and I gave in.

I should mention that I was in my 40’s when I purchased my first toy robot. No such thing existed back in the 1960s when I was that age where the toy section was the “only” section. It was a bright red human-like robot attached to a remote control. It reminded me of the robot on a TV show, Lost in Space, which was a big hit back in the 1960s. It was easy to figure out how to operate and provided loads of fun for a 40-year-old going on 10.

This purchase was the seed of what would become a robotic clan residing in my bedroom. I fell head over heels with “Red” and immediately started shopping for it a companion, and then another, etc. I’m still in the market to this day. Last Christmas, two months after turning 60, I added “Cozmo” to my collection.

That’s how it is with my Autism. When I try something and don’t like it, I never want to have anything to do with it again. But if I like something, I will go totally and absolutely and positively OVERBOARD!

I didn’t just stick with toy robots. I went practical, too, by adding a robotic vacuum to eat the carpet dirt and dust. I added a robotic mop to digest the dirt off the kitchen floor. The practical robots do what they are made to do but are often interrupted when they invariably get stuck such as under the recliner or in a corner. The drawback to having them is having to rescue them.

A neurotypical may have a vast collection of items such as trains, dolls, baseball cards, etc. because they have a genuine healthy interest. There’s nothing unusual about that. In my case, my obsessions are things I really like but I go overboard with. As far as I can tell, they aren’t interfering in my day-to-day life. In between playing with my robots, I do get my chores done. After all, someone has to turn on the vac and mop robots.

Two Traits at War

According to Interactive Autism Network’s website, although poor motor skills and clumsiness are not currently part of official DSM-IV diagnostic criteria, such deficits figure heavily in clinical accounts and assessments.  Individuals with Asperger’s often display an odd or uneven gait when walking or running, trouble with ball skills, difficulty with balance, poor handwriting skills, and difficulty imitating or mirroring others’ postures, gestures, or movements. 

Poor motor skills and clumsiness are two of my challenges of living on the Spectrum. When I started writing this blog, I was nursing the left side of my face with an ice pack. When one’s face goes head-to-head with a brick wall, it is never the wall that cracks up.

Another common trait is restricted interests (obsessions) which are for me calming and assist in reducing my anxiety. One of my interests is electric scooters/bikes. As you might imagine, this “motor” interest can collide with my not being so fine with fine motor skills.

My newest bike at this writing was a Swagtron EB-5. It arrived on a Sunday and was almost fully assembled except for the seat.  And, wouldn’t you know, it was the seat that would be the thorn in my side, a burr in my saddle, and a pain in my neck.  My problem was the clamp that was not doing its job of adjusting/tightening the bike seat.  Seats are pretty important in order to have a safe, and comfy ride; well, not big on comfy since I haven’t yet ridden on a bike seat that was rear-friendly.  

I did try riding Swagtron inspite of riding it with its seat all the way DOWN.  The e-bike ZOOMED off like a rocket when I pedaled.  My reaction time is much less than the bike’s. “Swag” and I took a tumble.  I was relieved my new bike wasn’t hurt but “Swag” fell on my left foot.  No broken foot but I had a swollen one within an hour or so.  

My grand-nephew claims his Grandpa and my brother can repair anything.  Well, it didn’t take Grandpa long to put “Swag’s” seat in its place.  I was amazed watching my brother’s fix-it work.  He didn’t even need to glance at the instructions.  Repair and assembly work is not under my list of talents; although, I give it a good try when it is one amidst my herd of half-dozen bikes/scooters. I lack in fine motor skills as well as gross motor skills. In other words, my brother can handle screws, nuts, and bolts for better than I can.

When a bike and a brick wall meet head-on, it isn’t the wall that is worse for wear.   The same bike, Swagtron, that I fell off of a week prior hurting my foot was the bike I ran into a wall the following Friday.  At least, my foot had healed by then.

I was riding on the local city bike/walking trail.  All was well until I approached the area where there is a water fountain pit stop.  It’s a shaded area where there are places to sit and a  narrow, round sidewalk with four or so brick wall posts.  I should have stayed on the main trail where the sidewalk is wide, but I ventured off on the narrow sidewalk going in a circle.  Unlike my two other bikes, “Swag” only goes one speed, 15 mph, when I’m pedaling.  It will go slower if I just use the throttle and forget all about the pedals. I lost balance as I was going around the circle.  I could see for a few seconds I was running into the brick wall but I wasn’t quick enough to turn my handlebar or use the handbrake.

I put the blame squarely on Billy (my nickname for Asperger’s/Autism).  One of Billy’s traits is lack of motor skills and balanced.  I’m both socially and physically awkward.   Or, as I often say, I’m not quick on my feet with communicating with my fellow man, driving behind the wheel, and with my bikes’ handlebars.  Thus, bruises and scratches are almost as common to me as moles .

My balance and motor skills have not improved with almost 2 years of riding practice.  I’m not so bruised that I am putting my two-wheelers to rest though.  Just the cost of them alone is persuasive enough to keep pedaling.  The best I can do is to learn from each accident.  Hours after I had medicated and bandaged the scratches on the left side of my face, I took “Swag” for another ride.  This time at another place where I stayed riding on a BROAD sidewalk that didn’t go in a circle.  How did it go? Billy and I had a blast!

Thorns and Blessings

It was a Saturday morning and it was one with much anticipation in the household. My Mom, brother, and I all got up earlier than usual because my brother’s daughter was dropping in. It would have been nice if it had just been her, but her bringing my brother’s 8-month-old first grandchild made it FANTASTIC! My Mom and brother had seen him once, but it was a first time for me.

If it had just been a visit between myself and my niece, I would have talked her ear off.  HA!  Even with the addition of one, the baby, it would have been okay since he can’t talk yet. In a conversation where there is more than two, I don’t talk anybody’s ears off.  I wish it wasn’t like that but my Autism is what it is. 

During the visit, I could only take so much sitting there while the others socialized. I wanted to hold the baby but I didn’t have it in me to ask. If she had handed him to me, I would have gladly held him. Maybe my niece didn’t offer him to me because she noticed my cough. It probably was for the best since I was ailing with suspected allergies but just in case I was contagious, I wouldn’t have wished my crud on anybody, especially a baby.

I took as much as I could and then retreated to my bedroom and engaged my computer. It occurred to me that I could give my grandnephew one of my collection of gadgets. It was a remote car toy. I returned to the living room and gave it to my niece explaining he might like it when he gets older.  My niece gladly received it and I was relieved about that. The sweet baby boy took a shine to it with his Mom handling the remote. 

This made me feel so much better about their visit. It was awkward for me to enjoy the visit socially, but I could contribute a gift. Ironically, I wouldn’t have had such a gift along with my herd of gadgets if I wasn’t Autistic.  I thought at the time, “Autism has both its thorns and blessings.”

Autism is a thorn in a group setting for me. It doesn’t matter how well I know or don’t know the people in the room. However, my Autism special interests/obsessions have helped me out as it did that day. I hope he will find out what his second cousins already know: their Great Aunt has the BEST toys in town!

In the Eyes of a Child

When the usual family members come for Sunday dinner, I hide out in my room playing with one of my adult toys like a computer, laptop, or one of my robots to name a few. My grandniece and nephew leave the dinner table first and dart to MY room. I could say it is because they want so badly to see me, but truth is, it’s the objects of my autistic passions (electronic gadgetry) that draw them to their Aunt’s room. Oh, and they adore me too.

On a Sunday, my 9-year-old grandniece had a curious look on her face when she looked at what was residing in my closet. “You have a pantry in there?” Well, that’s true. A microwave and small oven with food items above on the shelf would qualify as being such. Isn’t that what a kitchen is for? The kitchen is my Mom’s territory. I eat in the bedroom and my meals are completely and totally a solo affair. It’s just easier to cook my meals in my own room.

What really had my grandniece curious than just a food pantry in a bedroom closet was why I just had boxes of cereal and oodles of sodas. I told her I had Autism. She didn’t know what that was and I figured as much. I told her when she learned what the word meant, then she’d understand why her Aunt Sashi was that way she was.

This is another bright side to my Autism. If I was a neurotypical, I dare say it would not be my room that my grandniece and nephew darted off to on Sunday afternoons.

What happens if you keep an Aspie from following his special interests?

I answered this question that someone asked on a website. The question brought all sorts of words to mind. Some I wouldn’t repeat. I settled on:

WARNING – be prepared for WWIII!

If someone tried to keep me from my special interest, for instance, my electric scooters, it would be, more or less, the equivalent of taking a pacifier from an infant, a favorite toy from a child, a cell phone from an outgoing teenager, and the remote control from a couch potato.

It is my special interests that are the bright side of living on the Autism Spectrum (AS). I call it compensation for AS’s dark side. If there was a bottle of pills that would take AS away, I would not take them if I had to give up my compensation. I’d give my bottle to those who have AS who are unable to live independently and take care of themselves.

There is an exception. If one is pursuing a special interest and it is a threat to themselves or others, then intervention is a must! For example, I gradually increased my exercising from 6000 to 30,000 steps. This occurred after I bought a Samsung Gear watch that counted my steps. Walking became another obsession and I went overboard. How much? My doctor told me to reduce my exercise because I was losing too much weight. I agreed to rack it down to 8 to 10,000. Most days I stick to that. Most days, that is.