Archive for Visual/Spatial Skills

Therapeutic Listening: It’s Not Just About Sound

Last week, my OT gave me some written information explaining how neuro-typical people process sound and why Therapeutic Listening might be helpful to people with sensory processing issues. One of the articles, A Brief Introduction to Therapeutic Listening, Vital Links 2006, was especially helpful. I’ll do my best to summarize the information from that article and to share my responses. 

Listening: It’s Not Easy
Reading about how neuro-typical people take in and interpret sound gave me a profound sense of the difficulties that Aspies have with auditory stimuli.

Both consciously and unconsciously, human beings constantly monitor the auditory environment. It’s a basic survival skill. For a neuro-typical person, the process of locating and selecting which sounds merit investigation is largely unconscious. Therefore, other pathways in the brain are free to perform other functions. On a conscious level, a neuro-typical person takes the auditory information the brain has unconsciously selected, listens to it, makes choices about which sounds have priority, and interprets these sounds accordingly.

This basic neuro-typical process feels quite foreign to me. I’m not sure how much unconscious locating and selecting I do with sound. Very little, it seems. No wonder I get so tired! Some of the other pathways in my brain can’t attend to other things because my unconscious doesn’t give them a break. Almost all my processing is conscious. It feels like the only unconscious responses I give to sound are to defend against it or to become very unnerved by it.

For me, all sounds come in at a very similar volume (and thus seem to have a similar level of importance), and when I attempt to locate sound, I often look in the wrong place. For instance, this morning, two guys were on our roof fixing our chimney, and they were having a conversation. I was outside, on the other side of the house, and I could hear some of the words. For about a half hour, I was sure that the sound was coming from the apartment on my right, when it was actually coming from my house on my left!

As for consciously attending to some sounds, but not to others—under most circumstances, I can’t. I just give my attention to all of them. Sometimes, when I listen to many people talking at once, I hear a jumble of words in which I can glean different phrases, but I can’t put the meanings together. At other times, the sound of many people talking just comes into my brain as undifferentiated noise.

I can prioritize and select sounds only in very structured environments. The purpose and the organization of the group have to be clear. For example, at my karate dojo, I gave most of my attention to my sensei, since she was my teacher and kept the group focused. In well-facilitated business meetings, with clear agendas, I was able set priorities about where to put my attention. At the store where I work, I was once able to attend to one conversation rather than another, but only because the space was very big and otherwise quiet.

Even in the most structured situation, however, I find that listening and keeping up with the flow of the conversation is very hard work.

How Our Ears Work: The Cochlear and Vestibular Systems
Remember in high school, when we learned about the inner ear? I remember the cochlea, which looks like a snail shell and controls hearing. But there is more to the story. The inner ear also consists of three semicircular canals, plus the utricle and the saccule, all of which constitute the vestibular system—the system that controls movement, balance, and spatial orientation. Not surprisingly, the cochlear and vestibular systems are intimately connected. Our bodies use the same (amazingly tiny) osseous labyrinth for both systems. In fact, the cochlear and vestibular systems use the same cranial nerve for sending information to the brain, and they exchange information all along their neurological pathways.

During my sensory assessment, it became clear that in addition to my difficulties filtering auditory input, I have deficits in each facet of my vestibular system: movement, balance, and spatial orientation. I have moderate dyspraxia when performing tasks that involve balance and moving my body through space. For instance, I had a lot of difficulty learning different forms in karate. I would have to draw them out visually and then memorize the pattern. My sensei would keep urging me to just feel each form in my body, but it was very difficult. Sometimes, she would even have us do katas with our eyes closed, just to help us feel the forms inside us. Unfortunately, these exercises generally resulted in my becoming frustrated and rooted to the floor. It was either that or become completely dizzy and fall down.

As for spatial orientation…What spatial orientation? If you need directions to anywhere in the world, just send me an email. If I tell you to go left, you should go right. If I tell you to head due east (wherever that is), you should head due west. It works like a charm (except for those random, statistically insignificant moments in which I am correct).

In the final analysis, the cochlear system, which allows us to hear, is also involved with spatial orientation. Hearing allows us to become oriented to the world around us, while the vestibular system gives us information about where we are on the ground. Since both hearing and spatial orientation are basic survival skills, it should come as no surprise that those of us with auditory and vestibular deficits feel pretty anxious and disoriented. A lot.

Isn’t it a relief to know that these feelings have their origins in our neurology, rather than in some deep, dark, psychological abyss? It is for me.

How Does Therapeutic Listening Work?
Since I have problems with my auditory and vestibular systems, I was very happy to learn that Therapeutic Listening works by engaging both.

At the moment, I am listening to the “modulated” CDs. I loved the Mozart for Modulation CD, and I’m currently working with a modulated Vivaldi CD. The people who create these CDs pass the music through a filter. Sometimes the higher frequencies are allowed to come through; sometimes the lower frequencies are allowed to come through. This type of modulation exercises both the auditory and vestibular portions of the inner ear. It also works the middle ear muscles that help control our ability to attend to our auditory environment and to organize sensory data. In general, these benefits should result in better overall sensory processing and self-modulation.

At present, I’m listening to my CD for 20-30 minutes, twice a day. I’ll do so for a minimum of 10-12 weeks. Some people continue the therapy for six months or more, and others make the therapy an ongoing part of their sensory diet. I hope that the therapy is effective for me, and that I’ll be able to include it in my sensory diet. I thrive on consistency, and besides, I really love the music.

Ultimately, the purposes of Therapeutic Listening are to help me use more than one sense at a time, to reduce auditory overload, and to improve the deficits in my vestibular system. To get used to multitasking, I engage in movement while listening to the CD. Generally, while I listen, I wash dishes, fold laundry, do my artwork, or work in the garden. When I’m not listening to the CD, I do activities that engage both my auditory system (such as singing) and my vestibular system (such as rocking, walking, or bicycling).

Walking, biking, and gardening also provide joint compression and reduce stress. I’ve even noticed myself toe-walking lately. Because Therapeutic Listening is hard work for my body, it’s important to have these kind of grounding activities.

Is There a Down Side to Therapeutic Listening?
At the moment, for me, there seems to be one. I’ve been getting a lot of migraines. Fortunately, I’ve figured out why. I’m resisting using more than one sense at a time. When I’m listening to the CD and making my lunch, the combination annoys me.

Okay, it doesn’t just annoy me. It makes me irritable. Being an Aspie, I’m just not wired to multitask. Using one sense at a time allows me to focus on a project and to enjoy the process. I get so much accomplished that way. I love it. And I’m beginning to love that part of myself that keeps working, and working, and won’t let go until something beautiful comes out of it.

But I also want to be in the world. Being at home gives me much needed solitude and respite, but I lose perspective when I’m alone for too many days on end. Besides, I find people very interesting, and I like them, and I like helping them. And then, of course, I would also like to re-engage basic survival skills, like buying my food at the grocery store, without it wiping me out for the rest of the day.

To be able to do these things, I have to learn to use more than one sense at a time. So, instead of long, measured strides, I’m taking baby steps. Baby steps! At my age. With my education. And my work experience. And my talents. And all those other things I’ve used to mask my utter confusion in life.

Baby steps. Okay. I’ll try it.

© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg

I Finished It!

My sweater, that is. My very first sweater!

I learned so much from working on this sweater. I figured out how to shape a collar, how to block the pieces, how to knit the shoulders together, and how to seam. I had planned to get help from the nice lady at the yarn store, but then I decided it would be more fun (and a better learning experience) to do everything myself. Typical Aspie, I know, but what can I do?

It’s actually chilly enough tonight for me to wear it. Our mornings have been below freezing lately, so I might get a little more wear out of it before spring begins in earnest. I’d much rather have the spring start already, but since it’s taking its time, the sweater is a nice consolation prize.

© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg

Passover and My Latest Creations

With Passover starting on Wednesday night, I’m beginning to feel stressed. I still have a fair amount of preparation to do, but mainly, I’m feeling apprehensive about having guests. It’s the first time we’ve hosted anything at our house since my diagnosis. Nearly everyone coming to our seder knows that I’m an Aspie, so I feel comfortable with the idea of taking breaks when I need them. But I’m also feeling sad, remembering past years, when I worked so hard to fit in and to try to make everything “perfect.” It’s good to be relieved of that burden, but there’s a sadness that comes with letting it go as well.

Since I’m going to need some time to rest and prepare, I probably won’t be able to post for several days. In the meantime, I thought I’d put up some photos of my latest art work.

I’ve continued to fuss with the crown I made a few weeks ago. I’m going to consider it finished now. I’ve added some more beads, a copper bell, and a lapis pendant that makes the bell ring:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I also decided to add several wind chimes to the spoon mobile, all of which have their own string of beads. Now the mobile makes a beautiful sound and has even more sparkling color than before:

 

 

 

 














Finally, I made a celestial mobile with smaller wind chimes. I love any kind of celestial object, so I found as many as I could and put them together:

 

 

 

 

 













Happy Passover, Happy Easter, Happy Spring to all!

© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg

The Fine Art of Perseveration

The word perseveration has been coming into my mind with great frequency these days. It’s a cool word, you know? The verb form, perseverate, sounds like some weird techno-version of persevere, except that the -ate tacked onto the end makes it sound like something you do with a Cuisinart.

Anyway, I became curious as to what the authorities think perseveration means, so I went to the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary and looked it up. Check out the definition and etymology:

Main Entry: per·sev·er·a·tion
Pronunciation: \pər-ˌse-və-ˈrā-shən\
Function: noun
Etymology: Latin perseveration-, perseveratio, from perseverare
Date: 1910
Definition: continuation of something (as repetition of a word) usually to an exceptional degree or beyond a desired point
— per·sev·er·ate \-ˈse-və-ˌrāt\ intransitive verb
— per·sev·er·a·tive \-ˌrā-tiv\ adjective

I have read that people on the spectrum perseverate about things large and small, and I’m no exception. I’ve had therapists, boyfriends, schoolmates, and family all tell me that I think about things for far too long and that I need to give things a rest. Of course, it’s never seemed like too long to me. Having all those thoughts constantly spinning in my brain, like a hamster on a wheel, has always felt perfectly normal to me. But then again, in the words of a Paul Simon song, “When something’s wrong, I’m always the first to admit it, and always the last to know.”

Not that anything is wrong with perseverating, unless you’re driving the other people in your house nuts with it. That’s where continuing a process “beyond a desired point” gets people tense. Lately, I’ve been watching myself perseverate, and for me, it’s been great fun. My husband doesn’t much mind either, except when I say, “I’ll be right there to watch the movie,” and an hour later, I’m still working on whatever-it-is that really, truly, I-mean-it was only supposed to take a few more minutes to finish.

My main warning sign that I’m about to go on a roll comes very early in the game. It usually starts with a “nudge-nudge, wink-wink” of denial, as in, “I’ve got this great idea for a new mobile, and I’m just going to wind the beads around one spoon before coming downstairs and finishing breakfast.” Yeah, right. Several hours later, I’m still working on the mobile and haven’t had anything to eat or drink at all.

Now, I know better than to start when I have a commitment outside my house in the early afternoon. I’ve set up my schedule to start my volunteer work at 1 pm, which means that I need to eat, drink water, work out, drink more water, shower, dress, and generally take care of myself before going out into the world. If it’s a week that my daughter is with me, I can stave off the perseveration even without an outside commitment, because her schedule gives me a schedule, and thus a break from my own extremely focused process.

But if my daughter is at her father’s house, my husband is visiting his dad, and I’m not working outside my house, I’ve got the green light to go. I get so absolutely lost in whatever I’m doing that I couldn’t tell you whether five minutes have passed or five hours.

Lately, when I have time to myself, I’ve been perseverating with my art. I love trying things out, and seeing how they look, and taking things apart when they don’t work, and trying something new, and seeing how to do a task that’s been stumping me. I love the feeling of the beads in my hands. I love wrapping the wires to get them to coil just right. I even love the nicks and the callouses I’m getting on my fingers. I love the whole blessed thing.

When I’m alone and can let the art take me where it wants me to go, I find that perseverating doesn’t happen “beyond a desired point,” because there is no desired point. At those times, it’s the “continuation of something…to an exceptional degree.” It’s better than persevering. It’s persevering by letting go and letting the process take me where it will. It’s persevering with inspiration.

However, nothing exists in isolation from its opposite. So while perseverating on my art feels wonderful, having to stop for any reason is very, very difficult. Sometimes, it feels painful. Perseverating is physical, like a powerful force that doesn’t want to stop. Something has to interpose itself between me and the object of my perseveration. Sometimes, an external commitment, like a doctor’s appointment, will do it. At other times, it’s my internal moral compass telling me that I can’t keep my family waiting endlessly for dinner or for a movie.

There are forces equal to perseveration, and being an adult, I can choose to stop and shift my attention. I love spending time with my husband and daughter. I know that nothing lasts forever, that my daughter will soon be grown, that my husband and I are getting older, and that I’d better pay attention now, because one day, everything will be changed. Growing older provides perspective, and I am glad of that.

It’s the transition from one activity to another that is difficult for me. I even have difficulty saying good-bye to the day and going to sleep, no matter how tired I am. It’s my Aspie wiring. I can talk my way around it and adjust my life around it, but I can’t ever change it.

And why would I want to? As difficult as it is, it makes me who I am. And I’m enjoying who I am, more and more, with every passing day.

© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg

Creating More Art from Found Objects

Since I last posted about making art from found objects, I’ve completed the crown I was working on, and I made another mobile.

For the crown, I added some color and texture to the four wires on top. I used a couple of bracelets and a beaded necklace, winding them around each portion of the wires. Here’s how the crown looks hanging in the window:

 

 

 

 

 









Yesterday, I made a new mobile from some pieces I’d picked up at the thrift store. We have a “World-Famous 25-Cent Shelf,” on which you can find all manner of miscellaneous items for a quarter apiece. Here’s how the mobile looks:

The circular metal at the top and the spiral in the center came from the 25-cent shelf. I put some blue beads onto the spiral, wrapped some wires around a thin tube to make them squiggly, and then hung three wind chimes from them. Through the center of the spiral, I suspended a Zuni ring I had bought in New Mexico in 1987. In the circle at the top, I hung a piece of white quartz I’d found at the store.

Today at work, I picked up some more items from the 25-cent shelf, mostly odd and interesting pieces of metal that I can use for the frames of my art work. Then, to my heart’s delight, I found out about a box of metal items in the sorting room.


All the metal was going out for salvage, and I could take anything I wanted, for free. I ended up with several white wire hangers (that I can take apart and mold for wiring), a whisk, some small spoons, and a bottle opener. They will all get turned into art, eventually.

I’m really looking forward to tag sale season. Around here, after tag sales, people leave all the stuff that didn’t get sold in boxes by the sidewalk. There will be more free stuff to salvage and use. My basic rule for the items that make up my art work is that they be used (rather than new), and that they be free, or cost a dollar or less. It’s extraordinary what you can find.

© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg

Creating Art from Found Objects

Some years ago, I visited a woman who made art from found objects. In her medicine cabinet, she had rows of different colored bottles with marbles on top. Sitting on her shelves and hanging on her walls were beautiful, colorful, sparkly creations. Everywhere I looked, I saw art made from objects that had been lost, thrown away, or forgotten by other people.

Friday morning, I was thinking about this woman on my way to the library, daydreaming about how fun it would be to make art objects like she did. As I was walking along, I looked down, and there on the ground was a small, beautiful beaded earring! So I picked it up and realized that I had begun. On my way home, I bought some wire and a pair of wire cutters at the hardware store and started getting excited about all the things I could make.

Later, I gathered some old beaded decorations that my daughter and I had made long ago. They were all tangled up and packed in a box in our garage. While I was there, I noticed a small organizer box with clear plastic drawers. We’d found it at the transfer station a couple of years ago, but had never used it. After I brought the box and the beads into the house, I started collecting old spoons we no longer use and some earrings, rings, and bracelets I no longer wear. After several trips, I got everything into my loft, where I spent a good hour or two unstringing the beads and organizing everything into the little drawers. Such bliss!

On Saturday morning, I woke up before dawn, thinking about what to make out of everything and how to go about it. I couldn’t shake all my ideas and go back to sleep, so I went up to my loft and began. I love hanging objects, especially mobiles and wind chimes, so I started making a mobile. Several hours later, here was my first creation:

 

The colors sparkle in the sunlight from my skylight, and when you spin it, the spoons all splay outward to very nice effect:



















After taking a walk, I decided to make a second mobile. This one was made from two ankle bracelets my daughter had given me, a charm bracelet, several old pairs of earrings, the earring I found yesterday (of course), and a really cool marble pendant. I was going for the effect of a crown. The piece might be finished at this stage, but I’m not sure. I’m thinking that I might add something to the wires on top:
















Working with my hands seems to bring all my senses into harmony. I felt great yesterday, just as I did last Sunday, when Bob and I made the hamentashen and rugelach. I felt grounded in my body, with a fullness of energy and happiness that I haven’t felt since I was a kid.

Maybe I should skip the OT visits and just do art? (Kidding. My first appointment is tomorrow.

© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg

Sewing, Knitting, and Baking–Such Fun!

I’ve been having so much fun lately working with my hands. It gives me such a sense of balance and well-being.

Until last week, it had been a long time since I’d done any sewing. My last major sewing project had been a baby blanket I’d designed and sewn by hand when my 16-year-old was an infant. But more recently, I’d had a dress hanging in my closet for a few years, and while I loved the material—a beautiful Guatemalan cotton print—the dress itself had never really suited me. It was a winter dress, with long sleeves, and not all that comfortable. I think I wore it once.

So last week, I realized that it was really okay to take the dress apart and make something else with the fabric. I’m completely in love with Guatemalan fabrics and patterns, so I decided to make something I’d get to look at on a regular basis. But what to make?

Well, first I took one of the panels from the long part of the dress and sewed it into a simple bag. I used the ties that were on the waist of the dress for the over-the-shoulder strap. Here’s how it came out:




Then, I decided to make a skirt from the remaining panels. I think it came out quite well:


















I’ve still got some material left. I’m thinking that I’ll save it for making some sort of mobile. Perhaps a set of stars? Not sure, yet.

I’ve also been keeping up with my knitting. Several weeks ago, I bought a knitted 100% silk scarf at the thrift store for $6.00. It was really long, and I figured I’d unravel it and make something out of it. When I got it home, I noticed that it had a mildewy smell, as though it had been in a damp basement for several years. So, I put it through a gentle cycle and then laid it on a towel on top of the radiator to dry. The next morning, I unraveled the scarf and got a giant ball of yarn. The mildewy smell was entirely gone, and about half the ball of yarn became a very soft, fuzzy hat:














I’ve also made some good progress on my sweater project. I’ve got the front and back completed, as you can see:













I’m also nearly finished with one of the sleeves. As soon as I get both sleeves done, I’m going to block the various pieces and then make some time to see Rachel at the yarn store for help with sewing it all together. I’m not really in a rush to get the sweater done before spring. At this point, making the sweater is as much about learning the skills needed as it is about making something to wear.

Today, I’ve put the fiber art aside because we have one of my favorite Jewish holidays coming up: Purim, which begins on Monday night. (If you don’t know about Purim, you can find some good, basic information here. The page even includes a gluten-free recipe!)

In our family, we bake special Purim treats—hamentashen and rugelach—to give to our friends and neighbors. So today, my husband and I spent the afternoon baking. It was a beautiful sunny day outside, and the treats in the oven smelled so delicious! We made a variety of hamentashen, using apricot jelly, raspberry preserves, apple cider jelly, and chocolate chips as filling. Here’s how they look:
 

 

















We also made two different kinds of rugelach. First, we made the walnut-raisin-cinnamon kind:

 

 

 

 








Then, we made the chocolate chip kind:















They smell and taste as good as they look!

© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg

I’d Love To, But I Can’t

Go contra-dancing, that is.

I have some friends who love contra-dancing and go nearly every Saturday night. So I went with them one night, just to try it out. 

At the time, I didn’t know about being an Aspie, and so I didn’t know what a disaster the evening would be. Neither, of course, did my friends, who just wanted me to have a good time. In the light of my diagnosis and sensory assessment, it’s quite funny to think about all the things that went wrong that night.

When I first arrived, I walked into a large room in which people of all ages were standing around, waiting for something to begin.

At one end of the large, crowded room, there was a live band warming up, playing amplified fiddle and keyboard music. The music, while beautiful, was quite loud, as were the voices of all the people trying to be heard above it. 

And then, the dance began. I found, to my horror, that I actually had to touch people I didn’t know. Worse yet, they had to touch me. Lightly, of course. Did I mention that light touch brings out my karate skills? Be reassured, I didn’t use them, but only because my partner unexpectedly spun me around

Fortunately, one of my friends was still nearby. “Help!” I shouted. ”The room is spinning!”

Because she is a kind-hearted and practical person, my friend paused a moment to give me some sound advice: “You won’t get dizzy if you look directly into the eyes of your partner. Go ahead. Try it.” 

What? Look into the eyes of a stranger? I might be giving off nonverbals that would get me into trouble in the parking lot. Remember Thelma and Louise? These are the things I worry about.

I didn’t have much time to worry, however, because a few moments later, everyone had to change partners. Change! I was just getting used to one total stranger, and now we’re onto the next one, and I had to look into his eyes, too.

And did I mention that I didn’t know any of the dance steps? My friends had told me that everyone was very nice to beginners, and that I should keep trying and watch what people do. I’d catch on eventually, they said. The problem, of course, is that I cannot learn a blessed thing by watching people do it.

So I stood there, totally confused, until another kind-hearted person came up to me and said, “It’s okay. Just listen to the directions.”

Listen to the directions? You mean, the verbal directions? Without a pen and paper for taking notes? With the amplified music playing, and all the people talking and laughing, how can I possibly hear the directions? Even if I could, I’d need a video camera, a set of printed instructions, a diagram, and lots of quiet time at home to get it all figured out.  But, it was too late for any of that now, wasn’t it?

Finally, one of my friends shouted, “If you’re feeling overwhelmed, why don’t you just sit down and listen to the music?” That seemed an excellent idea. So I sat down, and I watched a small village dancing round and round in an enclosed space with amplified fiddle and keyboard music.  Everyone was looking as though they were having so much fun. I wished I could be like them. I wondered how it was possible that I could be getting dizzy watching them, when they weren’t getting dizzy dancing around and around.

After an hour, I was gone. I mean, I was still in the room, but I was gone. And then it occurred to me: I have car keys and my car is outside. I think I can even remember what it looks like.

So, I said my goodbyes, to the disappointment of my friends, and I staggered outside into the cold night air. It was blessedly quiet. I got into my car, breathed a sigh of relief, and took the slow route home. I’d never enjoyed the quiet so much.

For many people, contra-dancing is fun. If your senses don’t get overloaded by visual, auditory, and tactile stimuli, it’s fun. If you can learn dance steps just by watching them, and if you can follow verbal directions, it’s great fun. If you can make eye contact and don’t mind spinning around, it’s even more fun. And if you don’t find crowds profoundly disorienting, and if you can filter out background noise, it’s wonderfully fun.

Unfortunately, I can’t do any of those things. So when people ask me whether I’d like to go contra-dancing, I just say, “I’d love to, but I can’t.”   

© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg

More Fiber Art

A few weeks ago, I signed up to take a sweater class at the local yarn store. At the last minute, I realized that I would have a hard time concentrating in a class while learning a new skill. I emailed the store owner (another woman named Rachel) and explained a little bit about my sensory integration difficulties. I asked whether I could arrange some private lessons with her instead of taking the class. She was happy to do it and said she wouldn’t charge me more than I’d already paid in advance.

So I chose a sweater pattern from a book I have at home and went to the store to buy some yarn. I ended up with eight skeins of a beautiful rust-colored Malabrigo yarn from Uruguay. Not only did I get the yarn, but Rachel also sat me down, unwound three of the skeins for me, and helped me get started on the sweater itself.

I would like to say that the sweater is done, but I’ve gone off in several different directions since I got the yarn. I’ve started the sweater, but I’ve also made two more scarves, a hat, and my very first pair of mittens. 

Using more of the yarn that my husband spun from the fleece of our late sheep Sophie, I made myself a simple scarf to go with my first color stranding hat:














I then took the wool from an old hat that I’d made a couple of years back and turned it into a torquoise scarf to go with my two teal and purple hats:














I hadn’t made a hat for awhile, so I decided to reaquaint myself with circular needles. I ended up making a chenille hat from some scraps of yarn I got at a local thrift store. Here’s the hat, along with a scarf that I made a couple of years ago:














After I’d finished the scarves and the hat, my daughter asked me to make her a pair of mittens. I was going to ask Rachel to teach me, but I decided to try a pattern I have at home and see whether I could figure it out. Lo and behold, I did!

 














These are the first knitted items I’ve ever made entirely on double-pointed needles. I used some specialty yarn I’d picked up at the store where I volunteer. It was very fuzzy, which made it difficult to work with. If I dropped a stitch, for example, it was very hard to see where it had gone, so I had to improvise. On the positive side, the yarn was so fuzzy that most of my mistakes blended right in.

So much for my latest creations! Since I lost my original quilt photos when I ported to the new template, I thought I’d post pictures of the two quilts I’ve made. With all the snow on the ground, it’s been very nice to have them in the house.














I’ll post a photo of the sweater when it’s done. Hopefully, I’ll have the sweater finished before spring!

© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg

Inability to Visualize: More on Why I Love Picture Books

Last week, I found a used children’s book called How It Works: Funny Bones and Other Body Parts, written by Anita Ganeri, and illustrated by Steve Fricker and John Holder. The book is written for third or fourth graders. I was attracted to it because there are basic systems in the human body that I have never been able to understand. I wasn’t interested in complex, high-level information. I was interested in things like the difference between a muscle and a tendon. So I bought the book.

It’s wonderful. Each section consists of detailed drawings that cover two pages. The book presents each body system by using analogies to familiar objects. For example, in the section that illustrates how different parts of the brain function, a compass symbolizes the ability to orient oneself in space, and a megaphone denotes the ability to understand speech.

I began reading the book the night I bought it, and I sailed through the sections on hair and skin, bone and muscles, the five senses, the brain, and the respiratory system. I was enjoying myself immensely until I got a few minutes into the part on the circulatory system. Very soon, I began to feel very, very dense.

I will try to describe why. On the picture of a heart are the following easy-to-read chunks of text:

Arteries are the blood vessels that take oxygen from the heart to the rest of the body.

Veins are the blood vessels that bring carbon dioxide to the heart from the rest of the body.

So far, so good. Arteries take blood away from the heart, and veins bring blood to the heart. Very nice. I can grasp that. But then, there is another chunk of text, and this is what it says:

Arteries take carbon dioxide from the heart to the lungs. Veins bring oxygen to the heart from the lungs.

At this point, my poor brain began to twist itself into knots and lots of grey matter started dissolving. In a nutshell, here is the problem:

1) On the picture, the text says that arteries take oxygen away from the heart. But then, the other text says that arteries take carbon dioxide away from the heart. To the lungs. (How did the lungs get there, anyway?)

2) On the picture, the text says that veins bring carbon dioxide to the heart. But then, the other text says that veins bring oxygen to the heart. From the lungs. Help!

Don’t forget, I am looking at a very well-rendered picture in a children’s book, and I just couldn’t get it. I couldn’t see the relationship between the words and the pictures at all. I finally put the book down and felt really, really stupid for the rest of the night.

A day or two later, I picked up the book again, determined to understand. So I looked at the pictures. And I looked at the words. And then it dawned on me to draw the pictures out myself.

So I did. I drew the heart with its two chambers, and then the lungs to either side. I drew the aorta, and I labeled what it was for. I drew the superior vena cava and inferior vena cava, and I labeled what they were for. I drew veins from each lung to the heart, and arteries from the heart to each lung. Finally, I drew arrows to chart the blood flow from the body to the heart, from the heart to the lungs, from the lungs back to the heart, and from the heart to the rest of the body. I cannot draw to save my life, but at least I drew a picture that made sense to me.

Finally, and I know you will be shocked to hear this, I made a list. There is always a list somewhere, waiting to be born, and I will always find it. My list (which is now tucked safely inside the book for easy reference) looks like this:

1) Veins carry carbon dioxide from the body to the right chamber of the heart.

2) Arteries carry carbon dioxide from the right chamber of the heart to the lungs, where the blood picks up oxygen.

3) Veins carry the oxgen from the lungs to the left chamber of the heart.

4) Arteries carry the oxygen from the heart to the rest of the body.

I can understand this system as a linear sequence of events. I can conceptualize the difference between what arteries do and what veins do. But I cannot visualize it in my mind at all. I have the words, and I have the pictures in the book. The pictures help me grasp the meanings of the words. But I cannot hold the pictures in my mind.

Now, if I were in an operating room with a surgeon who was doing open heart surgery, and he or she explained all the different parts while showing me each one, and I could see the blood flowing and the valves of the heart opening and closing, I would hold that picture in my head for the rest of my life. I’m certain of it. I can visually remember things I see and touch. But I cannot visualize things I read, and I cannot hold a picture I see in a book in my head for very long.

So how did I get all those As in grammar school?

We had picture books to read, but tests and homework consisted solely of words. All I had to do was rote memorization, something that many Aspies are very good at. In those days, I had a nearly photographic memory. I could look at a word once and know how to spell it. All my life, I have seen spoken words and my own thoughts as word pictures in my mind. I literally see all the words spelled out across my mental screen.

So I could regurgitate information on a test without understanding it at all. I had lots of facts and lots of details, but no big picture—another Aspie trait. I could not have told you how the body parts fit together. I saw them as discrete objects. Had I gone to a school in which we were expected to synthesize information, I would have had a much more difficult time of it.

In any case, in these days of educational software with lots of blinking lights and moving images that endlessly distract and ultimately overload my senses, I’m glad to know that picture books have not gone the way of the wind. Where would I be without them?

© 2009 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg