One Man's Web

I read about a family adopted by a magpie, as magpies do. The magpie has learned to say the name of the family dog, and when the family cat begins to stalk that magpie, it calls the dog. Problem solved! Our farm cat hated the magpies who owned us, not least, I thought, because the magpies seemed to enjoy trolling it. And I've heard magpies doing incredible mimicry of other animals, so I have no problems believing this story of the magpie and the dog.

My interest is in what the magpie is actually thinking and doing. When we see the magpie trolling the cat, deliberately flying down to the ground and feigning ignorance of the cat's slow stalking, letting it getting closer, and then calling the dog, we are anthropomorphising. We are projecting upon the magpie what we might do. We don't really know what the magpie, or the cat, are thinking. It seems obvious, but that's our assumption.

As I seek to understand what was happening as I lived life as an undiagnosed autistic person... Read on >>>>

This is an off the cuff data-dump for some work where I'm thinking through the way we think about disability. Basically I am asking how we live when we feel like we're just a burden, and we can't do the things other people do, we can't contribute, and lots of people are having to do a fair bit to look after us. I must emphasise that I'm very privileged to be talking about this because I'm not quite in this situation yet. But I will be, and I've also been thinking about the subject because I'm getting older much more quickly than I expected or intended and already, it seems to me I'm costing people an awful lot of energy. So it is a real issue for me.

So, to set things in context. I want to take a phrase I saw the other day which was "The importance of being a burden," which I think is a really interesting take on things. I'm going to explore a particular parable from the Gospel of Matthew, which gives us some insight into that, and then look at how we actually be a burden creatively... Read on >>>>

The zip up sewing tool case is full of pockets and slots, which carry all the small tools of trade a fabric artist away from home might wish to have with them. I have a similar carrier for the tech tools which allow me to get into computers, fix cables, and extract tight parts. Mine is cheap, mass produced black plastic, with one-size-fits-all elastic loops that don't fit most things. But what my partner has created is a work of art, zipped transparent mesh or vinyl pockets made to size, and other custom sized fabric pockets for tucking in various tools, not all of which I can identify.... Read on >>>>

Mr Eight arrived last night to ask if he could find some Nerf gun bullets that he thought had come over the side fence. As always, he inspected the nursery, which he adores. I had just had the sprinklers on so a few snails had come out to enjoy the fresh green baby tears. He asked if he could go back and get his sister, Miss Three-and-a-Bit, and their cousin who is staying with them, to show them the snails, and raced back home. The cousin, who has met us in the street a couple of times, was a bit cautious about coming in, but was soon swept up in the enthusiasm, and they swarmed through to the kitchen, where the Little White Dog was caught unawares. She politely endured the patting, but gave me a look which I suspect translates as something like, "Now there's three of them! Are they growing them on trees?"

The children streamed on out to the nursery, with Cousin asking, "What is a snail, anyway?" Mr Eight showed off his discovery, and I suggested tapping the top of a snail shell, which delighted him as the snail shrank back into its home. He suggested Miss Three-and-a-Bit try the same, and was told, "I'm not touching that!" At this point, the stray Tortoiseshell arrived, thinking that if the kids were impressed with, it this would aid its campaign to take over the house. But the kids were more interested in exploring the backyard with its big trees. It must be a bit threatening walking between big trees in the deep dusk when you are a very small person, and Miss Three-and-a-Bit made my day by politely requesting that I hold her hand as we searched for the bullets.

We collected a peach each on the way back to the house, and headed for the front door, where Miss Three-and-a-Bit made a joyful right turn into our bedroom, and then into the walk-in wardrobe. "I love this place!" She proudly showed her cousin the toy box with the Duplo. Her brother, not to be outdone, informed both the girls where the real Lego was, "Up there on the top shelf." (The Little White Dog had clearly anticipated this incursion because her normal place on the bed was vacant.) At this point, Four Year Old Cousin decided that her cousins had exceeded the limits of polite behaviour and told me, so politely that I almost expected her to curtsy, "This is a very nice wardrobe."

Well, the tripartite whirlwind of energy took itself home to its own backyard, where we could hear shrieks of laughter start up at the trampoline. The Little White Dog appeared for tea, and I took a few scraps from her tin out for the Tortoiseshell. As I returned to the back door I heard Mr Eight: "Ready? Three... two... one!" He was standing erect on the top of the colorbond fence and plunged down onto the trampoline to shrieks of laughter. I am going to miss these kids when we move.

Andrea (2021 Archived here)