Now, I’ve been posting about food and wine here. I’m sure, at this point, you think that all I do is eat, drink, and apparently weigh 300 pounds because I merely eat and drink. Not so.
I have a son. He is five, at this point. He is beautiful, with big blue eyes, sandy blond hair, a dimple in his cheek. He likes to laugh, he plays like crazy, he’s the “happy kid” (I always have people going “The Boy is so happy!”), and he’s the love of my life–in that wonderful special bond that a mother has with her children. He loves cats, dogs, t-ball, any Pixar movie, eating lots of food, and all the other sorts of things that five year olds enjoy.
He is also on the Autism Spectrum.
Autism is strange. Most people think of Rainman when they hear the word autism. I knew a touch more than most because I have a cousin who is severely autistic. I don’t see him often as he lives in the greater Chicago area but I’d hear the occasional story or see him at the occasional family event. He’s non-verbal, wild, restless but he’d burst into laughter or smile or hug my uncle from time to time. He’s the traditional image of an autistic child you see in the media: rocking, self-absorbed, effectively mute. He’s also my cousin and hard as it is to communicate with him, he has the family’s love (which in my massive family can be downright overwhelming) and has made real progress as my aunt and uncle struggle with his treatment.
If that’s all you’ve seen of autism, you relax when you see your child behaving in a typical fashion–starting to talk, walk, hug you, smile, laugh. All those things that you go “hey, autistic kids don’t do that, surely, I must have dodged the bullet.” You aren’t told, as a new parent, that there are other signs of autism (and this is only an abbreviated list, simplified because I don’t have the formal sheet in front of me at the moment): certain types of play, inappropriate laughter, speech delays, motor delays, refusals to meet the eyes of those he is talking to, fixations on either items or certain words, echolalia. These are all things you have to watch for, I was told later. Except they don’t tell you that when you’re holding your newborn or infant.
So, when The Boy was evaluated at two for speech and motor skills (and I thank god on a regular basis that the part-time daycare he was in was staffed with observant and intelligent people) and they did a conference and carefully and delicately explained that he showed signs of autism, I mentally shut down. My grandmother had died two days before and I was literally leaving the meeting to drive to her funeral. I couldn’t believe that my smiling, laughing, loving little boy was in the same class as my cousin (I was woefully uninformed in those days) and I refused to take their observations seriously. They didn’t know my son. They were wrong.
The results were enough to get The Boy into the special education preschool at my local school system (at the time, I was living in Southeast Michigan). I still miss those teachers–he had the same teacher, aide, speech therapist and occupational therapist for two years and with their guidance, The Boy made fantastic strides. And he loved being in school, trotting off with his backpack bouncing on his back and a big smile on his face.
But I wouldn’t acknowledge that it was anything but simple delays. And part of this comes from the difficulty of diagnosing high-functioning autism. The spectrum is so vague, so wide, that plenty of kids would seem to be on it at a young age. Our pediatricians and school officials were all cautious and said over and over “give him time, give him time”. I was happy to take that recommendation because the alternative was terrifying.
He has gotten better. Huge strides have been made in his speech, though he still doesn’t communicate very much and is rather self-absorbed. His physical skills are much better: he cuts well, he writes well for a child his age, his drawings of people have made real progress, he can climb like a little monkey. He’s funny, he’s loving, and despite his inability to communicate well at times, other kids like him and invite him to play.
But he is still on the spectrum, somewhere. I’ve finally come to terms with this, in my heart and mind. I can imagine some people judging me, right now, right here. Sure, I suppose, it could be deserved. But when you have supposed experts in your life saying, “Just wait, just wait” over and over, it’s easy to pull some reassurance from it. It’s easy to just assume that it’s merely a delay and he’ll get over it–half the people are telling you that, after all. But you can’t know the terror of having your child diagnosed with something out of the ordinary, something that will affect him his whole life and could keep him separate from society in some way his entire life. You can’t know that till it happens to you or someone incredibly close to you. I certainly had no idea. Frankly, I hope most readers out there never ever have to experience it.
But it isn’t that simple and that’s a cowards way out so I’m finally doing the right thing. Our insurance covers a visit to The Kennedy-Krieger Institute, one of the premier institutes in the country for diagnosing and treating the autism spectrum. I feel confident that we will find more ways to help The Boy progress toward kindergarten.
It is a lonely feeling, however, having a special-needs child. Most people don’t understand your world and either pity you or avoid you for fear that their own child will be “affected” or “infected” or some sort of trashy nonsense. I sometimes lay in my bed at night and rip myself to shreds, blaming all of this on me: something I did, something I ate, some defect in my genes, something in what I didn’t do for him. It is easier to be rational in the light of day but in the dark of night, the heart takes over from the head and it isn’t usually pleasant.
I don’t know. I suppose like everything else in my life, this will be ongoing. I have my son and he’s perfect to me. Sometimes he makes me mad, frustrated, or sad. Sometimes, I feel like my heart will explode because of how much I love him. Either way, he’s mine and we’re together, us against the world. For good or bad, I can’t imagine this any other way. I suppose that’s the funny thing about life, hm?
One of the things I’d like to do as my life takes a new direction is learn more about cooking and wine.
Right, I know that right now you’re saying, “Crazy internet lady, you’ve said this before!”
Ok, ok, mea culpa, I totally have. Nonetheless, it is a goal of mine. It is one that has to be approached slowly and gingerly at the moment; I’m lacking in funds for frivolous things. It means a special weekend dinner here, a bottle of wine there (like maybe with a paycheck). I have decided that all of this learning in the beginning of a lifelong sort of lifestyle change and process so much as I’d like to just rush, I can’t and I’ll deal with it. Mostly.
Anyway, Saturday I decided to start trying to learn more about wines. I meandered down toFrederick Cellars (which is located in Shab Row for the Frederick-familiar). They have this really lovely, large space with high ceilings. It’s interesting, clearly a work in progress, but definitely full of potential as a place to have a few drinks or entertain a group. I was greeted by one of the owners, a lovely woman named Emily, and proceeded to enjoy myself greatly for the next hour, chatting with her and sampling a variety of the wines.
Initially, I tried to take a few notes on the wines I tasted (which were, by the way, their Chardonnay, Rose (which isn’t available for sale yet), Merlot, Riesling, and Eye of the Oriole (a rather pleasant blush)). I got a tasty dish with cheese, crackers, grapes, and a pair of chocolates made by The Perfect Truffle, a chocolate maker who retails there and in his own separate storefront further down Shab Row. I had all the best of intentions!
And yet Emily proved to be a great conversationalist, interesting, straight-forward, honest, and exactly what you’d hope to meet in someone who produces wine. Most definitely not the sort of vintner who takes a snobby route (my title for this entry is actually a twist on her words describing what wine is, at it’s core), I felt welcome and like I was being introduced to the wines, as opposed to be “sold” on the wines. I am not completely sure I can explain the difference but there is most assuredly one.
I walked out, satisfied, pleased, a bottle of the Riesling under my arm (which is amusing as I tend to buy reds when out and about). I learned quite a bit about how the Frederick Wine Trail was organized and how the various vineyards involved with it are actually working to complement their production, as opposed to directly competing. I have a much stronger feeling about wanting to sample the local wines produced in my own backyard.
It’s also making me want to do more about using the local farmer’s markets and producers of local eggs and milk products. I really wish it wasn’t so damned expensive. My education and practice will have to come slowly. But, nonetheless, I’m feeling confident that it will be sooner, rather than later.
Filed under: Food Life | Tags: chinese, food memories, high school memories, restaurants, thai
One of my special joys comes from finding a new restaurant or place to shop. I had a rather limited culinary upbringing; my mother wasn’t particularly fond of cooking and my father’s stomach is sensitive and can’t handle anything particularly exotic. It was mostly meat and potatoes and while that has a place, it does mean that I hadn’t a very educated palate.
I was lucky that my best friend, Galatea, had parents who took pity on me. She was an only child, I was the second of five. She lived in a quiet house with quiet music playing. I lived in a house that could be charitably called a zoo at the best of times. They, for whatever reason, took me under their wing. It was because of them that I experienced real stage shows: Les Miz, Once On This Island, various Kennedy Center performances. They introduced me to the concept of Chinese food (and the restaurant they did it at, China Garden is still one of my favorite places to eat in Frederick). Oh sure, Frederick was far from the growing cultural showpiece (I am typing that with a straight face, honest) that it is now. But there were a few places to try something outside the norm.
The other place I tried something unusual (before college, of course) was my friend the Token Indian’s house. (This is the internet so I am endeavoring not to use real names.) Now that I am a theoretical adult, I often wonder how hard it was for the Token Indian and his brother and sister in high school. They were one of two (literally only two, I believe) Indian families that went to our school and, sadly, one of very few minorities period in our farm country school. Was it hard dealing with all our ignorance (not malicious, just literal lack of exposure) on a daily basis or was it at least a good source of amusement? His mother was one of the loveliest women I knew (she wore saris every day, lovely jewel-toned fabric that was perfect against the coppery color of her skin) and I looked forward to chances to see her and secretly wished I could wear one of her outfits, just once, to see if they felt as luxurious as they looked.
Yeah, well. I was a teenager.
Regardless, I went over to his house only a few times. I should have gone more but the Token was a boy and thus things were odd that way. She served me some food one time when I went over and I should have been warned by the mischievous looks on their faces that I was about to get played. “Is this hot?” I asked nervously, taking the plate. “Oh no,” she assured me, “it’s very mild.” Oh sure, it was very mild for INDIAN food. I was a poor unsuspecting Irish girl who’d never had something truly spicy in her life. At least I wasn’t too embarrassed when they laughed at me and offered something to drink.
It took going to college and moving to different areas of the country before I was really exposed to different cuisines and tastes. That’s often the way of things and I still can’t eat very spicy foods–it hurts my stomach–and I won’t touch entrail foods (I won’t eat tripe or pigs feet–I have tried them and I don’t like them, thank you) and the like.
So I was overjoyed today when I found a place today that made my tummy extremely happy: My Thai. I had some fabulous pad thai and some really delicious sticky rice with mangoes. It was a small place, noisy enough to be lively without actually driving you crazy. And the fate part of the title? My waitress was the younger sister of a good friend of mine from high school that I hadn’t seen in years. Pleasant turn of events, all in all. And good food too. It’s funny how life does that.
Still, I’ll admit. I sat there eating going “I can’t believe there’s a good thai place in Frederick.” Funny how things change.
I like to eat. This is not an uncommon thing among people. We need to eat, after all, to survive. But for most of us, myself included, it’s more than that; it’s the social and family aspect of eating that truly appeals to us.
I’m a fairly good basic cook. I can do roasts, simple vegetables, easy baking, and the like. I’m slowly trying new recipes, new ingredients, new combinations. This is proving to be great fun, of course, though sometimes the experiments go horribly wrong.
I’ve had to learn where to look for more uncommon ingredients around Frederick. You have to understand, when I grew up in good ole Fredneck, it wasn’t the most sophisticated place. It was still a sleepy farm town with basic supermarkets, a few basic restaurants that were good enough for prom, and not much else. Or, at least, to a high schooler not much else.
Much has changed since then. A variety of restaurants have opened in a revitalized downtown Frederick. My personal favorite right now is Isabellas, a tapas bar that has proved to be a great place to eat, over and over again; the weekday lunch deal especially is great. Proof Artisan Bakery has also been a wonderful find; I’ve picked up many special desserts there for both my family and for when I’m visiting others. Indeed, with the completion the Carroll Creek Project, downtown is a rather pleasant place to be now. I’ve not had much of a chance to go to many other places in the actual downtown area lately but I’m hoping to get to more dinners to try out various other places soon.
But of course, eating out is a very expensive thing rarely done. More often, I’m shopping for things and trying them out at home. There are several very good chains in the area of course–Giant, Bloom, and Safeway all have either new or recently remodeled stores within fifteen minutes drive of the house. There are also some specialized stores that are close by–the Common Market, for example, is a local co-op with some good organic and specialized foods. There are farmers markets as well though they only operate from May to October, alas. We don’t have the year-round food that California does.
And of course, there is also the liquid angle that you have to think about, isn’t there? I’m slowly learning about wine and this is a good area for wine education. We have a great local shop–Ye Old Spirit Shop–for both wine and beer. Additionally, I live within five to ten minutes drive of three of the areas local vineyards: Linganore Winecellars, Loew Vinyards, and Elk Run Vineyards. Additionally, Black Ankle Vineyards will be opening soon. And in Frederick, there’s the Frederick Wine Cellars, another place that’s proving to be great fun to try.
To be honest, a lot of these links are for my own sake but for those few of you who do occasionally come to this site who wander around Frederick looking for food stuff, I’m hoping to make this place a good information stepping stone.
