All a Matter of Trust

So on Tuesday I went on an adventure. I’m sure, to many of you, a shopping trip would not be classed as an adventure, but this one was, for any number of reasons.

A shopping adventure!

I went with my friend Eleanor (@thesaltedtail) and our mutual friend Sam into Norwich to buy a toy white pony. This was at Sam’s request - something to do with Mr Tumble - so we sallied forth, in a state of unbridled (forgive the pun) excitement.

Our boy!

I have written about Sam before. He was a pupil in my class until I retired, and has since become my friend. He is thirteen, almost fourteen, has severe autism and a host of associated difficulties and it is fair to say that Eleanor and I love him. It is also fair to say that we don’t ‘play safe’ when we take him out - ice skating, ten pin bowling, new places to eat - and he invariably copes with all that we throw at him!

On the bus

It wasn’t until I was looking through the photos that I took yesterday that I thought about how amazing Sam is. From the point of view of ‘autism professional’, we broke all the rules yesterday, and it could, and probably should, have been an unmitigated disaster. We used no visual supports, he had no timetable, we took him into a shopping centre and overloaded all his senses and even decided, at the last minute, to take him on the Park and Ride bus. And yet he coped. 

Phew, not too busy...

He happily rode upstairs on the bus, saying ‘cheese’ for the selfie, and looking at the things we pointed to out of the window. He used an underpass, following our direction, as well as escalators. He navigated crowds of people without invading their personal space or holding onto our arms, and entered the hell that is the Build a Bear Factory far more happily than I did! Fortunately it was quiet and Sam was able to identify the white pony he wanted and take it to be stuffed. 

This is the one!

I have to say at this point that the girl in Build a Bear was brilliant. Not patronising or over-compensating, just matter of factly helping Sam stuff his pony and instructing him on not touching hot things and waiting while she finished stitching. Just as she would anyone else. Perfect. 

Of course his name is Cecil...

Sam duly typed out his pony’s birth certificate (White Pony Cecil) and proudly carried his purchase from the shop.

Lunchtime

Then lunch in the mayhem that is a shopping centre food court. So many choices. So many places to get chips and gravy. And yet Sam happily accepted a jacket potato with cheese and beans, eating it beautifully while White Pony Cecil looked on. Feeling more confident and embracing the ‘what else should we do’ vibe, Eleanor thought it would be nice for Sam to choose a birthday present for his sister. After texting his Mum for ideas, we set off to the toy shop. 

So many things!

More overwhelming lights, small gangways and brightly coloured ‘stuff’ piled high on shelves. Sam was fascinated by everything with a number or alphabet on it, but managed to choose a gift, pay and leave as if he did it every day. We’d promised him a brownie, so we visited Eleanor’s shop so he could choose one. Then, rotters that we are, we told him he could eat it on the bus. And yet he accepted this, even letting us take him into Tiger, just to look at all the cool things. He chose a pull toy for his dog and paid for that too, before catching the bus. It was only on the bus that he got a bit noisy, but I think that was the sugar rush of a brownie!

So proud!

Honestly he was brilliant, and we were both so proud. We’ve already decided we’d like to take him clothes shopping, although he’s rather keener on getting a saddle for White Pony Cecil! 

So why wasn’t it a disaster? How did Sam cope with all of that without a melt down, or at the very least a refusal to wait for his brownie? It is true that we have learned to give Sam lots of time to process verbal instructions and information, and Eleanor had checked that White Pony Cecil was in stock, but what it really boiled down to was trust. For the past five or six years we have worked at building relationships with Sam that are wholly based on trust. He has learned that we mean what we say and will follow through. In the early days this could be challenging, but by persisting and being consistent, Sam has come to trust us. If we say he will get to eat his brownie on the bus, he knows we will let him. If we say he will be fine, he believes us, even when we are pushing his feet into ridiculously rigid ice skating boots! 

Definitely needs a saddle!

I like to think I taught Sam a great deal while he was my pupil, but the ability to trust has perhaps been the greatest gift, and one that will hopefully support him as he gets older and moves towards more independence. Sam has a brilliant family that love him dearly. And he knows this and tests the chinks in their unconditional love armour at every turn. My children were certainly always better behaved when they were with someone else!

So, my message to all the teachers and support workers out there, about to start working with a child with autism in your setting - be consistent, mean what you say and don’t say things you can’t follow through. Use all the tools that research tells you will support their learning and their understanding - it’s these things that help them to feel safe. Develop ways to communicate, and always listen and acknowledge what they are saying- even if they’re telling you they want a balloon in the middle of a maths lesson. You don’t have to give them a balloon, just let them know that you’ve ‘heard’ them. Yes it’s relentless, yes it’s tedious, but the outcomes can be amazing. Every child with autism is different, they all face different obstacles to learning every day and some may continue to express their anxieties through challenging behaviour.  But don’t you think that the very least they deserve is someone in their corner that they can believe - someone they can trust when they say, ‘Come on, just try, you’ll be fine.’ Trust - if only we could bottle it.

The worst walk ever!

These boots are made for...

My husband belongs to a walking group that was started by his sister. Every Monday morning they explore paths around their part of Norfolk at, it is fair to say, a suitably gentle pace. It is also fair to say that the litheness of the group’s collective minds pretty much outstrips that of their bodies.

Given my ongoing knee problems, my usual Monday morning tennis games have been non-existent since the Spring, so Brain (as he is lovingly known by my children) suggested I go for a walk with his group. He promised me a gentle stroll, by the river, with coffee at the pub at the other end. After much persuasion, and in the spirit of saying ‘yes’ to more things, I agreed to give it a whirl.

There now follows an account of said walk. I have changed the names to protect the innocent…

We set off from Surlingham Church along the Wherryman’s Way. The sun was shining, the company was good and all was well with the World.

Incredible house!

We passed an incredible house with, ironically, a tennis court in the garden, and walked towards the river. Jean and Deirdre strode ahead, while others stopped to admire wild flowers, birds and the general vista. (I was still admiring the house with the tennis court...) We reached a small bridge, where the path forked. Jean and Deirdre crossed and continued their progress through, what looked to me like a reed bed. I waited for reassurance, not convinced that this was the way we had to go. But it was.

I ploughed on to find that Deirdre had stopped in front of me and seemed in some distress. She had stepped onto an unstable plank of wood and was quietly having a panic attack, trying to steady herself by holding onto the reeds at either side of her - reeds that were very thin and waving in the breeze! Jean and I tried to help, but she needed a man. Or Brain. He managed to take her shaking hands and help her across the plank, and she recovered enough to continue.

Not what we were promised!

We were all relieved to reach the river and looked forward to continuing our promised gentle stroll - through brambles, six foot high nettles and buzzy midges! By this time, Bea had become completely distracted by the ripening blackberries and, in the absence of a bag to put them in, was filling the removable hood of her buff coloured jacket!

Distracted by blackberries!

Our progress was ridiculously slow, and we were getting stung and poked and bitten. Not gentle, not gentle at all! Fortunately, my ever-prepared, never a boy scout, husband had his folding secateurs in his pocket, so he went ahead carving as bramble and nettle free path as he could. 

My hero!

Although this was an improvement, I was concentrating so hard on looking towards my feet to avoid twisting my knee that I missed a low hanging branch and cracked my head. To say that, at this point, I was quite unhappy is an understatement. We tried to laugh about it, joking about feeling like David Bellamy exploring the undergrowth, but it really wasn't that funny.

Here we are, in the undergrowth...©express.com

Bea’s hat was dripping blackberry juice and had been dyed an interesting shade of purple, Brain’s legs were ripped to shreds, everyone was stung to b*ggery and I had an egg on my head!

Eventually our band of intrepid explorers emerged and reached the pub. Sitting there was George, a perpetual latecomer to the group, fresh as a daisy. Asking him if he'd driven to the pub, he told us that he’d walked…how strange. Turns out there’s a quick way, through the trees - no nettles, no brambles, no midges. Aaaaaagh!

We did enjoy a coffee by the river - although some of our group complained about its quality, cost, size - and while everyone was inside ordering their drinks, I enjoyed a quiet moment and saw a kingfisher flying down the river. Not that anyone believed me…

Suitably refreshed, we walked back - the quick way - re-admiring the beautiful house on the way, and got back to our cars in about a quarter of the time, leaving a trail of blackberry juice as we passed.

Still amazing!

Then the shout went up, “Brain, Jean’s got a puncture!” Oh God, all I wanted to do was go home and find some antihistamine cream, but we had to faff about trying to find her spare wheel and then access it. This was a miserable failure, as it was underneath the car and the restraining bolt just refused to budge. Never mind, Jean was in a rescue service. She didn't have her card, or her debit card, and she’d never made a call on her clamshell mobile, but she was in a rescue service! 

Not one I'd ever heard of, but yay, a rescue service!

Eventually she got through and explained, with eight of us listening, that she was an elderly lady on her own in the middle of nowhere! We were satisfied that she would be okay and there were enough people to stay with her, so we took our leave, dropping Bea and her hood-full of blackberries off on the way. 

As we drove through the villages on the way back, we noticed what we managed to convince ourselves was a community speed camera…until a ticket dropped onto our doorstep on Saturday.

Meh - at least I wasn't driving...

It really was the worst walk ever. I’m writing this on a Monday morning - both of us decided we wouldn't go this week.

Important update: Bea washed her hood and it is back to its buff-coloured best!

I did something spontaneous...and didn't combust!

It’s been a while since my last post - who knew retirement could be so relentlessly busy! The main reason is because I lost my blogging space while we redecorated the kitchen. Anyhow…

I'm a worry gut...

Anyone who knows me appreciates that I am probably the world's least spontaneous person. The closest I come is an impulse purchase of a cuddly jumper if I am out in cold weather. That said, I usually get home and decide to return it because I'm not cold any more!

I have a need to plan, making sure I have dotted ‘i’s and crossed 't’s.  This affords me many opportunities to worry, stress and wish I wasn't doing the thing that I planned in the first place. This mindset applies equally to holidays, big purchases or, in that former life of mine, lesson ideas.

Last Monday evening I had a message from a friend asking if I wanted her two spare tickets for the ATP Tennis Finals the following Wednesday. Now during the summer I had fleetingly thought that I would love to go to the ATP Finals, but didn't do anything about it. Now, faced with this unexpected opportunity, I immediately replied... ‘Sorry, a bit too short notice for me.’ What my friend said next kept me awake half that night.

Food for thought!

I tossed and turned worrying that I would be missing out, and okay, I could go next year, but what if I died in the mean time (I know…that’s how I roll!) I was still awake at 4am, stressing about the fact that my need to plan ahead was preventing me from doing something that I would undoubtedly love - what planning did it need? Go, enjoy, return! 

Having given myself a severe talking to, when I woke up, I immediately messaged my friend asking if she still had the tickets. One brief encounter at Asda later, I had the tickets in my hot little hand, and the strangest thing happened. I wasn't stressed or worried, I was actually excited and looking forward to seeing a professional tennis match for the first time in my life.

Apparently so spontaneous, no time to shave!

So we went off on our great adventure, and had a brilliant day - first tennis match and it was Andy Murray no less. 

Let's go Andy, let's go!

The atmosphere was fab and I was so excited I spent an inordinate amount of money on a T shirt - just to prove I was there! 

Bragging rights t-shirt!

But the best thing was that feeling of disbelief that we were in the O2, watching something amazing when, two days earlier, we had no idea we would be there. And I proved to myself that I can be spontaneous and that, if you’re going to worry, you may as well worry about doing something rather than worry about not doing something and missing out. 

For most people, this wouldn't have been a big thing, but for me it has been huge. Watch out world - I might be coming for you!! 

Deleting a Piece of my Soul - Photomarathon Sheffield Adventures

Last weekend we went up to Sheffield to visit my daughter. We needed to take her birthday presents, but the reason for going this particular weekend was so we could take part in Photomarathon Sheffield

My daughter and I were so excited that we’d each got one of the 150 places available and, although we weren’t exactly sure of what it would involve, we were reasonably confident that running 26 miles wasn't going to be part of the requirements! Hubby was coming along for the ride (fortunately, as will be revealed later) and we headed to the city centre to register.

Love a badge!

We were given a badge - exciting - and a copy of the rules. Then, like the the keen photographers that we  are, we headed to the nearest coffee establishment for brunch…I mean, to plan our day! 

Incidentally, if you are ever in Sheffield, Tamper Coffee is THE coolest place you will ever find, and served probably the best coffee I have ever tasted. Food was delicious too. 

Them's the rules!

Anyway, we perused the rules over our coffee. We had to take pictures related to six topics - not a problem, so we thought - but when we had finished, the last six pictures on our memory card would be submitted. That meant that, realistically, we would have to shoot the topics in the order given, and then choose one for each category and delete the rest. We decided we would allow 40 minutes for each topic, and then have half an hour to decide which photos to keep. 

I think all that water is making a noise...

We set about topic 1: Making Shapes. Then my daughter’s borrowed camera went wrong…cue annoyance, stress, lots of ‘I’ll just try it again’, more annoyance, emergency phone calls and, eventually, the decision to use hubby’s camera (good job he came along!) Crisis averted, we continued to look for shapes in the environment, trying to be creative and not too literal.

Topic 1: Making Shapes

Suddenly, the 40 minutes was up - time for topic 2: Making a Noise. How do you photograph that? Somehow a photo of an intruder alarm didn't cut it! 

Topic 2: Making a Noise

We wandered around the city, clicking away, then - ‘Time’s up, topic 3: Making History’ - ‘Time’s up, topic 4: Making a Meal’

Topic 3: Making History

At this point we headed to an indoor market, where we got completely distracted by haberdasheries, sari stalls and miniature succulents! 

Topic 4: Making a Meal

Then the battery on the replacement camera ran out. Luckily my ‘be prepared’ although not an ex boy scout of a husband had his charger, so we stopped for coffee and used the opportunity to do some photo pruning. It was incredibly difficult, knowing that, to get to the final six pictures, I would have to delete, yes, delete photos that I quite liked but just didn’t fulfil the brief. The hardest ones were some of my daughter randomly playing the piano on Sheffield station. It felt like deleting a little bit of her. 

We managed to whittle the photos so far down to about three in each category and, battery charged, continued with topic 5: Making Connections. 

Topic 5: Making Connections

Both of us got our ‘money shot’ quite quickly and moved onto the final topic 6: Making Faces. Ugh - this was the hardest of all. How many times do you look at something and see a face in it - door knobs, drain covers. In fact my nephew has a whole instagram feed #Iseefaceseverywhere. Not in Sheffield he wouldn’t. Nothing, nada, zilch. We wandered around, aimlessly gazing at benches, road markings, reflections until, ‘Time’s up - time to choose your final six’ 

Topic 6: Making Faces - not sure it fits the brief, but my favourite of the six

We ignored my husband’s constant muttering about cake, and headed back to the Winter Gardens, where we sat on a bench and went through our photos. There was much ‘Which is best? This one or this one? I don’t like that one. Well I do, so I’m ignoring you’ and some seriously regretful deletions. We eventually succeeded in selecting the six photos to submit, and handed over our memory cards. Done. There is an exhibition of all of the photographs submitted at the Millennium Gallery in November. A good excuse, as if I needed one, to visit my girlie again. It will be intriguing to see how other people interpreted the topics, and see how our efforts compared. The photos included in this post are my final six. I'd be interested to know what you think!

Roll on next year!

Honestly, the most difficult part of this challenge, and it was a challenge, was not taking the photos, but choosing the favourite, and deleting the rest. In this age of digital photography, we are click happy, and rarely consider the merits of the images we accrue - they sit there up in the cloud, in their infinite naffness, taking up space but largely ignored. Only when we get an email warning us about our available capacity do we revisit and cull the accidental photos of our crotch or the selfie that, seriously, no one should ever view. It’s kind of ironic that, in this throw away and largely secular society we still secretly feel that throwing away a photo is like throwing away a little piece of someone’s soul.