A quiet morning, all dark still, new snow. I’m hunched over a bowl of cereal, scripture laid open on the table. The house was quiet, writes Wallace Stevens, because it had to be. I don’t like how much I like being up so early, being the only one who knows what this day’s all about so far. It’s not about much so far. But at least it’s quiet. Still would be a better word. It’s a Christmas word, a word less about volume than salutary emptiness. I’ve read all this before; it’s not the content I’m after anymore but the access of perfection to the page. Stevens again. I don’t even know what he means, but the only way I know to keep from being a damnable rascal is to lean over the book—leaning early, if I can revise Stevens, and wanting “much most” to be the saint to whom the book is true.
Someone’s at the bottom of the stairs in the dark. I hear whispering. I lean over the rail and look down and there’s Lydia, or the head of Lydia, and her bare shoulders, peeping out from an upright mummybag, which she sleeps in for no reason other than it’s not the hum-drum sheets. When she sees me she stops her whispering, as I knew she would.
“Daaad,” she says. “I’m imagining!”
“About what?”
“About writing my name in cursive!”
I haven’t been writing, but not because there has been nothing to write about. I’ve been eyeball deep in other stuff. Two days ago Amy got a call from Lydia’s elementary school psychologist. She wants to meet Lydie and get up an IEP before the end of the school year. Lydia has been doing just fine in school. Her teacher’s been fantastic. Lydia tells us about friends and recess, though her teacher says she’s still a solitary player, like some other kids.
Today’s Day Two of their spring break. I asked Lydia what she did all day today and she said, “Stare out the window.” And she couldn’t have been more happy about that. She reads Amelia Bedelia to her younger sister, even when her younger sister refuses to wear clothes, and at times, beyond belief, she gets along just fine with her older brother. She skips around the house humming U2′s “Magnificent” or the theme music to Wii Super Mario Bros. She’ll turn 7 in May.
There has been recent debate about the 5th edition of the Diagnostic and Statistic Manual of Mental Disorders, due out in May 2013. The American Psychological Association has made public an early draft and invited public comment, which seems weird to me. What are morons like me gonna add to the conversation? One of the more controversial proposed changes is to get rid of Aspergers Syndrome and merge it with autism on a single spectrum. More on that if I find out I should care.
