"Picture-Thought"

Here are a few pictures that I took Wednesday morning at Bobchi's with the new camera.

He's Lovin' It

Merry Christmas

I just bought a Canon Powershot A1100 IS digital camera at Costco. This little puppy has 12.1 mps, a 4x optical zoom, a manual range-finder, a 2.5 inch LCD screen, and rechargeable batteries. Is goot, ya? No more grainy low-res still shots pirated off of the Flip! Woot!

Mom had asked that I get a digital camera to take pictures of the baby with, so I guess this is an early Christmas gift. Unfortunately, this means that you'll now be subject to regular doses of my ugly mug, so I'm not sure that "gift" is really the best word to use here. In either case, Merry X-mas!

Oh, and hat tip to Katie for the advice. Thanks, Katers!

Update: Here's the First Official Picture from the new camera, featuring me blogging in my pajamas. In High-Def.

Costclothes

Julie bought this princess nightie for baby at Costco. Despite the fact that she paid $7.99 for it, I am told that it was "a steal".

Captain Squirrely Strikes Again

Carol had borrowed a tractor from Donald to cut one of Bobchi's fields with. She cut most of the day on Sunday, before ominous clouds appeared on the horizon, and she was forced to abandon her chore and leave the tractor and attached bushhog parked beside the shop overnight.

Of course, nothing escapes the wary eye of my arch-nemesis, Captain Squirrely. What you or I might mistake for mere happenstance, Captain Squirrely sees as a ripe opportunity for destruction.

There was danger in the air Monday afternoon, as Carol, Shiloh, and I got out of the car at Bobchi's farm. As I cautiously surveyed my surroundings, some sixth sense drew my attention to the tractor, parked mere feet away from where I was standing.

There, seated menacingly behind the wheel, was Captain Squirrely. I could see the pure evil that glinted wickedly in his eyes as he flicked his tail and chuckled morbidly. In his gnarled paws, this innocent agricultural tool was about to become a macabre weapon of terror and oppression.

Summoning all of my strength and courage, I charged the tractor. For a moment, Captain Squirrely grinned wildly as he reached for the key, obviously envisioning my imminent downfall -- but froze as he realized that his small stature prevented him from reaching the clutch pedal, an essential part of the ignition process.

Before he could recover from this unanticipated blunder, I was upon him, driving him back toward the shop. Hurling a string of obscenities over his shoulder, he scurried up the shop door and sat, just out of reach, regarding me with a cold and piercing glare.

Spitting with anger, he was forced to concede that the battle was already lost. Turning tail, he flitted across the door frame, along the roof, and over the remaining few feet of grass that separated him from the security of the maze of small trees and twisted branches that grow along the west fence. Hurling one final oath in my direction, he flicked his tail and disappeared into the obscurity.

He lives still, even now plotting his next move in our ongoing chessgame for farm domination. While today's terrors were fortunately averted, tomorrow's remain a persistant and looming threat. But faint not, gentile reader. Even this evil rodent genius is no match for the awesome power of the Confederate Canuck.

Suddenly, Winter!

The temperature has dropped very abruptly the last few days, dipping to the low teens. The leaves are deserting the trees in droves, apparently deciding to take the name of the season as a literal command.

Overhead, the geese are mostly headed South. I've noticed several groups that were resolutely flying West. They're either lost, or they couldn't get direct flights and are heading to their connecting flights in Calgary.

All of them seem to be in a hurry, though, as well they should be. It's supposed to frost tonight, which means we're really only a few degrees away from winter. Suddenly, snow is just around the corner. And bulky parkas, and heavy boots, and shoveling the driveway, and driving on ice, and shivering... and lots of other delightful things commonly associated with this frigid northland.

Not Exactly Manna

We took Shiloh Saturday afternoon to see Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, which is a full-length animated movie loosely based on the children's book. I say "loosely", because other than the fact that food falls from the sky, the movie bares little resemblance to the book. It was, however, surprisingly funny, despite the fact that the film moves along at the pace of a caffeine-crazed two-year-old on a sugar high. Click below to watch the trailer.



While watching it, though, I was thinking... had this food-weather epidemic taken place in Korea, I guess it would still be "raining cats and dogs". Eh?

Birthday 2.0

The Fiddler Family Birthday Tradition is that you get sung at twice. The reason for this is that Shiloh gets to help blow out your candles (he needs the practice), and then you get a shot at them. But, of course, you can't blow out birthday candles without getting sung to first, thus the repetition. So, here are both renditions of "Happy Birthday" from my party Friday evening, complete with Carol's incredulous, "Is he really sending this to his family with our singing?!"

Step, Kick, Step, Kick

Last night, as we were watching The Chronicles of Narnia, Julie got a surprised look on her face. "Hurry, come here!" she said urgently. I hurried over just in time to feel baby moving inside of her. With my hand on her stomach, I felt a tiny flicker as baby kicked the snot out of mom's belly button. This wasn't a prissy little girl kick, this was "THAT thing is IN MY WAY and it's TICKING ME OFF" kick. Seems like my little girl is already packing one heck of a wallop.

Hush, Puppy

I whipped up these hushpuppies when I got home from work this evening. These have corn and onions in them. So good!

- Julie

[The origin of the name "Hushpuppy" dates back to the Civil War. Legend has it that Southern soldiers would sit beside a campfire, preparing meals. When Union soldiers came near, they would toss their barking dogs fried cakes with the command "Hush, puppies", thus the name. ~ C.C.]

The New Look

Semi-inspired by Anna's blog (and various other things), I decided to revamp The Confederate Canuck a bit. Let me know what you think!

[Edit:] I am having a bit of a difficulty with the "Posted by"/"Tags"/"Comments"/"Quick Edit" buttons, as they are stoutly refusing to go where I'd like to put them. I'd rather they were arranged in the following tidy fashion:



Despite my insistence, however, they have resolutely arranged themselves in a very half-hazard clump. Does anyone know how to fix this?

[Edit x2:] After changing the template, the tabs happened to land in a more organized pattern. Still not the way I want them, but better than they were. Oh, well; good enough, I suppose.

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

Shiloh's lack of coordination and control make it difficult for him to draw on his own. At times, it is painfully obvious to us that he very much wants to pick up a pencil and draw something, but he's just not sure how.

After an extensive search, we found some nice plastic animal stencils at a specialty toy shop in Selkirk. Now, Shiloh can scribble within those boundaries and has actually made something when he's finished. These are scans of his very first picture!

(You can click to enlarge them, and I added the bits in pencil.)

Parent Night

RDI Parent Night went off without a hitch last night. I spoke for about ten minutes, while projecting video of Shiloh onto a large screen behind me. I spoke mainly on the highlights of the last two years, and how Shiloh has developed in that time. I also talked about some of the challenges we still face, which seemed to help everyone to relax (a few jokes helped, too). After I was finished, I began a discussion about repetitive movements (such as rocking, twirling, or "fiddling", or in self abusive behavior such as biting or head-banging), which is a stress-release mechanism shared by many Autistic people.

On the whole, I thought it went rather well, and Carol said that I didn't seem nervous. I'll be talking to Shiloh's consultant today, though, and I'll be interested to see what she thought.

In the Paper

Well, it seems that I am now a published newspaper writer.

I emailed a letter to the editor last Sunday, and it was published in Saturday's paper. The purpose of the letter was to complain about disgusting "pet people" that don't clean up after their animals, and was prompted after a particularly nasty incident at Patricia Beach last weekend.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get started on my next big exclusive.

If the link stops working, here's the letter that I wrote:

I’m beginning to think that “pet people” (as my family and I call them) are, by and large, a terribly inconsiderate and pretentious bunch. More often than not, I’m noticing people taking absolutely no responsibility for controlling or cleaning up after their pets.

A neighbor a couple of doors down frequently lets his little mopdog out to defecate on other people’s lawns. Another neighbor allows her three cats to roam about as they please, littering in neighborhood flowerbeds and gardens – even after being confronted by an avid gardener across the street who is constantly having to remove feces from her vegetable garden. And on two separate weekend trips to nearby Patricia beach, I was aghast to see people – numerous people – walking their dogs right past the “No Pets Allowed” signs and letting them run wild on the beach, annoying other people and defecating all over the place.

Honestly, now. If you want to live in your pet’s filth on your property, that’s your business. But to force other people to pick their way around piles of your doggy’s doo simply because you refuse to take responsibility for what comes out of your animal, well, that’s just incomprehensibly rude.

"I Love Daddy"

Julie and I picked this out last night at Old Navy. Normally $14-something, on sale for $7.50.

Old Navy's baby clothes aren't as nice as Superstore's, and they tend to be more expensive, too. I think baby will be sporting more Joe than ON.

Neighborhood Alien

You're an astronaut, and your spaceship has just crash-landed on another planet. When met by the inhabitants, you find them to be completely alien. You have absolutely no idea how they live, or how they go about even the simplest of tasks. You don't know which details are important, or which hazards should be avoided. To make matters worse, you have absolutely no conception of the local language, no understanding of their gestures or expressions, no basis for empathy. It's equally likely that they won't be able to understand your attempts at communication, either. You feel scared, isolated, and frustrated -- because you realize that here, you are the alien. How will you survive?

+ + + +

Take away the science-fiction theme, and the scenario isn't really all that far-fetched. In fact, there are hundreds -- even thousands -- of people living around you who might feel this way. Confusion and anxiety come with the territory when you have an Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) and are unable to communicate, think, or function in the same way as other people.

The causes of autism are not yet understood. While genetic factors are thought to be partially to blame, the disorder may also be affected by environmental and chemical agents, or a combination of all three. Estimates for prevalence of the disorder vary wildly, but it seems to affect approximately three to six children out of every 1,000, and is four times more likely to occur in boys as girls.

Autism is not defined by a single symptom, but by a diagnostic triad of behavioral characteristics: impairments in social interaction; impairments in communication; and restricted interests and repetitive behavior (this also includes preoccupation, resistance to change, adherence to nonfunctional routines). Of course, the severity, combination, and expression of symptoms varies on a wide spectrum from person to person.

People with with autism frequently show little interest in others (e.g., they do not notice when someone enters a room, do not seek comfort when hurt, and prefer to play alone). Those children who do display social interest generally have difficulty in initiating interactions and developing friendships. Many autistic children also display poor eye contact.

About one third to one half of autistic individuals do not develop enough natural speech to meet their daily communication needs. Those that develop language skills have difficulty engaging in extended conversations, and may rely heavily on "scripting" (this is the utilization of static phrases with easily anticipated responses). Echolalia (echoing words or phrases) and pitch / intonation difficulties are also common in autistic individuals.

Many autistic individuals find novelty and change to be confusing and distressing. They also tend to develop unusual routines or rituals. Repetitive motor mannerisms (such as hand flapping, rocking, finger flicking) are also common.

Due to the mysterious nature of ASD, methods of treatment vary. While there have been claims of remission through dietary and medication treatments, substantive results are lacking.

Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) is an educational intervention that involves behavior modification. It is often used to treat autism, and has had some success in teaching certain skills (such as self-care, social, and job skills). However, the program has received criticism in recent years due to the fact that it reinforces rigid or "static" thinking patterns, rather than promoting natural dynamic thinking skills, and may not contribute to overall quality of life.

A relatively new treatment program, Relationship Development Intervention (RDI), is based on the theory that the development of dynamic intelligence is the key to improving quality of life in autistic individuals. The program's core philosophy is that individuals with autism can participate in authentic emotional relationships if they are exposed to them in a gradual, natural, and systematic way*. Recent studies have shown promising results, and have expanded our understanding of the disorder.

There is hope. Autistic people don't always have to be aliens in their own neighborhoods; through a better understanding of the disorder, they can be helped out of the rigid isolation of their own minds to lead relatively normal and fulfilling lives.

The Return of Captain Squirrely

I met my arch-nemesis again yesterday. This time he was in the barnyard near the garage. He moved quickly to the safety of a nearby tree, eying me warily as I approached from a low-hanging branch. Then he jumped with sudden recognition and, hurling insidious insults and profanities over his shoulder, he retreated angrily up into the higher branches. View the videos below to witness the tongue lashing he gave me. He continued to bark angrily from the top of the tree for almost a half-hour.

His most recent plan for farm domination -- employing the mercenary services of a rogue bear -- failed miserably. He seems undaunted in his determination, however, and I believe he has returned to his merciless plotting with renewed vigor.

Who knows what dark mechanism I unwittingly foiled by arriving unexpectedly at the very gates of his lair. Who knows what unspeakable atrocities have been devised behind those beady black eyes. My only hope is that I will somehow manage to protect the world from the sheer evil that I know this creature to be capable of.

Lu-Lu

Happy Birthday, Emily!

Hope your day is as sweet as you are.

We love you!

- Daniel, Julie, Shiloh, and Baby

Metacognition

Put simply, metacognition is the act of thinking about thinking; or, specifically, the act of thinking about your own thought process. This ability allows us to assess our own thinking patterns, methods, or paradigms, and to consciously modify them in order to become more efficient. It is especially effective in modifying subconscious processes.

A practical example of metacognition might be if I were to assess my own driving skills. I might perhaps realize that I have a tendency to drive too fast, or that I don't check my mirrors as often as I should. As I'm driving, then, I will be actively thinking about a thought process which might normally be handled by my subconscious mind. The immediate affect of metacognition is a loss of productivity -- that is, my processing time will naturally tend to drop as I concentrate on a previously subconscious mechanism. I'll make a point to be mindful of the speed limits, and to check my mirrors often.

The interesting bit is what happens after metacognition. Once I've consciously assessed and modified my driving habits, they will again become a subconscious process. Only now, productivity will increase sharply, to a level much higher than it was before metacognition. In affect, I'll become a better subconscious driver, automatically driving slower and checking my mirrors more often, without having to consciously think about it.

Of course, metacognition is useful in virtually every area of life. By actively considering, assessing, and modifying the way we think about things, we are able to better align our thoughts with predetermined principles, sharpening our decision-making skills -- and allowing us to turn a premeditated worldview into an automatic and subconscious thought process.

"And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God." - Romans 12:2

Fiddler Crab

We took Shiloh to the beach again on Sunday. Shiloh likes to fiddle, and is ingenious at finding things to twiddle between his fingers. Bits of paper, sticks, pretzels, tape, crayons -- you name it, he can fiddle with it. This seems to be a coping strategy that he uses to deal with the fact that he's unsure what to do next, or to alleviate anxiety. In this picture, he even manages to continue fiddling with his sticks even after being partially buried in the sand.

Coolivational

Use this web-based application to make your own motivational posters. Simply provide an image, punch in your text, and you're ready to motivate the world. Or warn the world of the impending attack of an evil rodent genius. You know, whatever you're into.

You Gonna Eat That Doughnut?

Shiloh (and Carol) made cake doughnuts today. It takes about five minutes to mix up, and a few more to fry them. Very tasty, and not too sweet.

IEP

We've completed our new IEP for Shiloh's 2009-2010 school year, which officially began on Tuesday. I send this every year to the Homeschooling Office, along with my Homeschooling Notification Form. If Shiloh completes any of these objectives during the year, then I will update the IEP and send the revised copy with the required Progress Report in January or June.

I was planning to post the majority of the IEP here, but it's quite long and boring. Suffice to say, we're back in the saddle and ready for the coming year.

It's a Pound Cake, isn't it?

My first attempt at a pound cake. Turned out rather nicely, eh? Not quite as dense as I'd prefer, but still very good.

GoinToDaBeach

We woke up yesterday morning with the bright idea to go to Grand Beach for the afternoon in celebration of the last day of summer.

So did a lot of other people.

Can you spot Carol and Shiloh in this picture?

(Click to Enlarge)

None of us particularly relished the thought of sharing the beach with thousands of other people, so we got back in the car and drove a few miles further south to Patricia Beach. There were people there, too, but it didn't have the same Lemming Migration kind of feel as Grand Beach did.

I think Shiloh liked this beach better, too.

Where the Wild Things Are

Last night, we left Bobchi's around 9:30. It was pitch dark, with only a solitary porch fixture to feebly light our way. Of course, we weren't afraid; we've seen skunks, foxes, deer, and raccoons in the past, but nothing larger than that. All of them run at the sight of people.

So far.

Last night, as I headed out to load up the car in the darkness, I heard a very deep growl from somewhere to the south, like the distant grumble of thunder -- "Grrrr."

Is it about to storm? I thought, looking up into a perfectly clear sky. My brow wrinkled with momentary confusion, but I shrugged it off as I strapped Shiloh into the car and popped the car trunk.

As Julie brought another armload of stuff from the house, I heard the sound again; this time from the direction of the garden, where the cherry and crab apple trees are. A very low and throaty -- "Grrrr."

I frowned, looking up from the trunk and turning to peer off into the darkness.

As I turned to look, I saw Julie turn, too. So I didn't just imagine that, I thought.

"What is it?" Carol asked as she walked up, noticing us staring into the blackness with curious expressions.

"Hmm," was all I said, going back to arranging water bottles in the trunk. She's easily exciteable, and I didn't want to cause unnecessary alarm over a mysterious and unidentified sound.

A minute or so later, Julie, Carol, and Shiloh were in the car. I headed back to the house, needing to open the garage door so that I could transfer an electrical cord that I'd be needing the next day. As I passed the willow tree by the steps, I heard it again. Very low, very deep, very big -- "Grrrr."

Needless to say, I grabbed the cord from the trunk and very quickly threw it into the garage before running back to the car. Once inside, I started it up and whipped it around so that the headlights played across the yard... which was now empty, save for the crab apple and cherry trees rustling softly in the wind.

I'm 89% sure there was a bear there by the trees last night. The growl was much too low to be a fox, raccoon, skunk, or even a cougar (all of which are native to this region of Manitoba). It seemed big. And unless my infamous arch-nemesis, Captain Squirrely, gained about 300 pounds since last I saw him, I have a serious problem thinking it was him on the business end of that growl.

In any case, there was something out there. And it wasn't particularly afraid of us, either, because it hung around and growled defiantly at us three times in the space of five minutes, when other animals would have simply fled into the night at the sight of us. It was something that isn't used to just turning tail and running off at the first sight of trouble, something that is comfortable being near the top of the local food chain.

So it was a largish something, and it was a fairly confident something. The only question is -- Exactly what kind of something was it?

Week 24

As of Friday, Julie is now at 24 weeks -- clearing the 6-month mark. With more than two-thirds of the pregnancy behind her, we only have 16 more weeks left before the baby arrives. To get an idea of what she looks like this week, check out the video above of "Peyton", who was born prematurely at 24 weeks.

Taters!

The cucumbers are finally in, so Bobchi was able to put up twelve jars of pickles yesterday. Homemade pickles will blow anything in the store off the shelf -- provided, of course, that you can keep your grubby little fingers out of the jar until they're ready. Julie can only manage to wait a week, when they're still vinegar-flavored cucumbers. Bobchi and I prefer to wait an extra week, until the garlic brine has completely killed the cuke flavor.

I made my first pineapple upside-down cake from a simple Betty Crocker recipe. It might not look very pretty, but it more than made up for it in goodness. Next up: Pound cake.

Donald brought us a few red potatoes from his garden. Despite the fact that they taste exactly the same as "regular" potatoes, they aren't your average red-skinned tubers; these ones are red all the way through. I mashed a couple yesterday to see how they look, and they came out a decidedly pinkish color.

Captain Squirrely, Arch-Nemesis

I have a nemesis. His name is Captain Squirrely. He is my rival and life-long enemy. Or so it seems.

A few days ago, I was at the farm, sitting in a lawn chair by the steps. I was listening to my Ipod and minding my own business. All of a sudden, I noticed a squirrel on the trunk of the willow tree not ten feet away from where I sat. He was watching me intently, daring me to make a move. I sat perfectly still, watching out of the corner of my eye as he inched slowly down the tree, skittered across the grass, and bounded up the steps onto the stoop.

My interest now peaked, I got up and went around to see what he was after. I never got to find out, because he let out a startled trill and leaped down into the flower bed the moment he caught sight of me, taking off around the corner of the house.

Of course, I gave chase, following him around the corner and heading him off before he could dart across the lawn to the trees by the garden. With an angry chatter, he turned and fled back to the bush by the steps. There has never before been a more ticked off squirrel, in the entire history of squirrels. He hid in the bush and spat ferociously at me through the foliage, daring me to take one step closer so he could rip me to shreds.

But, through all of the bluster, I could also hear some chirps that sounded a little bit afraid. So I left him alone, and retreated to my lawn chair. After a few minutes of silence, I saw him poke his head carefully out of the bush to look for me, before making a mad dash for the safety of the crate myrtle by the driveway.

The Captain Squirrely of days past has ceased to exist. He is a happy forrest friend no more; now, he is my sworn archenemy.

Today I was working on taking apart one of the metal graineries. From across the yard, I heard the familiar sound of angry chirping and spitting. It seems he saw me coming while I was still a long way off, and he had taken up a defensive position in a solitary tree. He wasn't just scared to come down, he was madder than a hornet that I would even dare to invade his personal territory. He disappeared after I started working, but I'm sure he only retreated to his lair to plot revenge against my transgressions.

I am certain that we have not heard the last of Captain Squirrely. He seeks my destruction, and for complete and total domination of his territory. Today, the farm hangs in the balance. Tomorrow... the world. And I alone stand between him and the fruition of his twisted dreams.

I have a nemesis. His name is Captain Squirrely.

Busybusy

I haven't been able to add much to the blog lately, because we've been busy the last couple of days. Tuesday was Shiloh's EEG, which went well but doesn't offer immediate results (we have to wait a couple of weeks or so for the report). Wednesday consisted of:

• Dropping Mr. Fiddler off at Bobchi's for the day.
  
• An Audiology appointment, where they checked Shiloh's hearing. This always ends up being somewhat complicated due to the fact that he's non-verbal.
  
• An appointment with his ETN doctor. It seems the both of the ear tubes are out, and he has fluid in one ear (meaning that it's possible he's developing an ear infection on that side). Since the problem appears to remain chronic, he may have to have a new set of tubes put in.
  
• After that, we had just enough to grab lunch and drop Shiloh off at Auntie Melissa's before dashing off to an afternoon appointment with the RDI therapist.
• At which point we rushed back to pick up Shiloh and head back to the farm to pick up Mr. Fiddler, before running home in time to catch a ride back to the city with Julie for an evening concert.
• As you might imagine, immediately upon returning home we all collapsed into an exhaustion-induced coma.

Today we took advantage of the abruptly beautiful weather to take Shiloh swimming at Melissa's apartment pool. We also took advantage of the fact that we were in Winnipeg to go pick up some things at Costco.

The plan for tomorrow seems to be that we'll head out to the farm again to finish deep-cleaning Bobchi's house (we only have the kitchen and bathroom left to do). This plan is, however, subject -- and likely -- to change without prior notice.

Fortunately, we have a three-day weekend coming up, which we hope to use to recuperate and mentally prepare ourselves for starting school next Tuesday.

And that's the news from Lake Wobegone.

Mom

Happy Birthday to a Mom who always knows right where everything is, and can hear you eating it from a mile away.

We love you!

- Daniel, Julie, Shiloh and Baby

Electroencephalography

Shiloh is getting an EEG recording today, which will hopefully determine whether or not he has a seizure disorder. For a slightly unsettling picture and more information than you could ever want on the procedure, click here. Or, if you'd rather, click here for a relaxing picture of a soft puppy.