Happy Anniversary

This is Pepper. She's happy because she has all of her toes.

(I would use a photo of Olive's current state, but Scott doesn't want to see her until her fur grows back.)

Last week was eventful. Poor Olive Dog had to have another toe removed (cancer scare). Last time it concerned her right front foot. That was two years ago already. At that rate I figure she's got enough toes left to serve her well through the end of her days. This time, it was an offending toe on her left hind leg. It had to go. Since we've had experience, we didn't hesitate. The sooner, the better.

The nice thing about dogs is that they don't behave like humans would if we were to lose a digit or two. Dogs don't realize that something like lopping off a toe could have their human catering to their every whim with homemade meatballs, sympathetic glances and lots of love and attention (more than usual, I mean). They don't worry that they'll be treated differently because they're suddenly less than perfect. They're not babies when it comes to surgery. Olive hopped into the car straight from the recovery room at the vet's (a little unsteady, but still enthusiastic) and looked at me as if to say, "I'm feeling better! Let's get outta here!"

Shortly after we got home, I injured my hip, I think due to a combination of schlepping boxes and hoisting my recovering Schnauzer (that's not a metaphor for anything). Olive went back home with Jillian, who provided excellent post-op care. I cancelled my plans to go to the island, since walking is a major activity for us there. The weekend was spent instead catching up on TV while the Aleve and bed rest did its thing. That strategy worked. I'm perfectly fine again and so grateful.

Last week we also celebrated our wedding anniversary. Scott and I were married on the island on Fall 1st (my favorite season) five years ago. Fall 1st is our official anniversary, instead of tying it to the specific date. The morning news mentions the changing of the seasons, so it's a built-in reminder of our wedding day. It's worked every year so far.

Since I'd cancelled my trip to the island, we spoke on the phone that night. "Five years," I say. "Yeah," Scott says, "I remember our wedding like it was yesterday. I can think of a million reasons why I'm so happy that we got married."

What a sweet thing to say. I remember our wedding too, but that's for another story. My female side prepares to hear some tender, thoughtful sentiments, but my logical side knows I'm in for some interesting and honest Aspergian insight. A million reasons? Really?

"Name seven," I say.

Without hesitation he says, "Well, it adds an extra layer that makes it harder for you to escape." That was unexpected and I laugh out loud...he's so honest in his innocent delivery of a line like that.

The next benefit he mentions is, "I've noticed that people figure that if I'm married, I must be more normal than I seem." "Stop there," I say. By now I'm certain all "million reasons" are along similar lines. That's sweet enough, really sweet, thank you. Romantic too...very nice.

Quickly sidetracked, we went on to discuss the government site he found online that, among other things, posts and discusses Obama's memos (the most recent detailing a collaborative, translucent government, which is another topic Scott writes quite a bit about). He's now joined their membership and enjoys the site as a valuable sounding board for his ideas. He's excited and happy, and I'm happy for him.

Though we've never really exchanged anniversary gifts, Scott asked about the traditional gifts for a fifth anniversary. I looked it up and read that wood, representing strength and a solidified relationship, and silverware, representing connectedness, are the traditional and modern gifts associated with the fifth wedding anniversary. We're more than covered since we're using plenty of wood on the incredible home we're building on the island.

Notice Scott's Grinch T-shirt. Notice all the wood.

As for connectedness, silverware isn't as modern or appropriate as the Internet in representing our connectedness, since that's not only where we met, but what keeps us connected to most everyone else in our world too.

Like you, for example. Thanks for dropping by. Come back again soon...

Emotional Blindness

In a conversation today, I referred to people with Asperger's tendencies as "Aspergian" and thought I should Google it to see if it was politically correct to use such a term. It linked me to an excellent article by John Elder Robison, who is the author of Look Me In The Eye: My Life With Asperger's.

His topic, "Are Aspergians really rude and inconsiderate?" His discussion about how "emotional blindness" works for an Aspergian is excellent. He gives real life examples, including how he and his wife deal with the situation.

When I first noticed Scott's inability to read emotional cues (and often make inappropriate comments), I felt as though I should scurry behind him, listen in on his social interactions, and mitigate any inadvertent hurtful comments he may have made during the transaction.

My love for him wanted to protect him from his own misunderstanding of a situation's emotional perspective and impact. This proved to be a big job. Early on, I decided not to take on the duties of the "nice" police. I gave up and figured either people would "get him" or they wouldn't. C'est la vie.

It was hard at first, being the mate to a man who seemed so inconsiderate, blunt and succinct to others meeting him for the first time, but it's also freeing to just watch it all play out. You learn a lot about people. Plus, generally after a half hour or so in a new social situation, Scott disappears altogether, going for a walk or somewhere to read. I used to worry about that since his sense of direction is so poor, but I'm over that too. He's been on a few anxiety-producing adventures, but I haven't lost him yet. Life on an island makes that much easier, too.

John Elder Robison contributes to a blog at the Psychology Today site, which I hadn't discovered before and will be visiting often. The November 2008 article and blog are here.


My favorite excerpt:

"Sometimes people ask me, "What kind of person should a guy with Asperger's look for?"

I can't speak for you, but this is an answer that's worked for me:

People with Asperger's have very weak sensitivity to other people's thoughts and feelings. But we often offset that with exceptionally strong logical brains. Therefore, we are wise to seek a mate with exceptional emotional sensitivity and less logical brainpower. Then, our mental abilities compliment each other's. One of us has great emotional intelligence, and the other has great logical intelligence. Individually, we're each weak. Together, though, we are very strong.

Of course, your mileage may vary."

PS: I just found John Robison's personal blog/website, which is here and looks to be an excellent resource  too!

On Human Emotion

It may seem like a breach of privacy between a couple to post something like this, but I honestly think it sheds light on a point of view that may be common to Aspies. Early on Scott gave me his permission to write anything about him from my perspective. I've received emails from people who feel helped by the posts concerning my take on Scott's outlook. Both Scott and I agree that if a post alleviates someone's pain or provides a path to understanding, it's worth the slight discomfort it may cause the two of us.

This one gives some insight into Scott's opinion on the utility of human emotion. He emailed me the following after he read the posts I've written about him on this blog:

----- Original Message -----
From: "Scott Bryan" 

To: "Allyn Bryan" 

Sent: Monday, September 07, 2009 12:01 AM

Subject: a thought after reading all your blogs about me.

> my emotional pool is as broad as an ocean, but nowhere deep enough to drown even a cat.


>>> On Sep 7, 2009, at 6:37 AM, Allyn Bryan wrote:
>>>
>>>> Good visual...is that how you really feel or is it how it feels to you after reading my perspective?
>>>
>>>> Sent from my iPhone


----- Original Message -----
>> From: "Scott Bryan" 
>> To: "Allyn Bryan"
>> Sent: Monday, September 07, 2009 7:58 AM
>> Subject: Re: a thought after reading all your blogs about me.
>>
>>> The latter.  But maybe the former too.  I don't think about emotions much because they seem so artificial. An ancient technology for providing guidance before an internal model of reality can be developed to replace them with genuine understanding. Emotions are always plan B.


>> On Sep 7, 2009, at 8:10 AM, Allyn Bryan wrote:
>>
>> When you say it like that, I can understand your perspective clearly. I think that's the best summary ever. It explains so much about how you and the world interact. When the knee-jerk reaction from 95% of skinware (people) is to use emotion and or intuition as plan A, you diligently discount its utility and replace their flawed perspective with sound logic and reality that takes into account the broadest, long-term perspective. They resist...they resist...as you continue to add building blocks to create a foundation of understanding for even the most emotionally-based human. It's a big job you have in this life...


Even if you say you don't think about emotions much, you certainly feel deeply about things....is there something else to call that feeling?

> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Scott Bryan"
> To: "Allyn Bryan"
> Sent: Monday, September 07, 2009 8:14 AM
> Subject: Re: a thought after reading all your blogs about me.
>
>> Aw shucks...I do miss you.


----- Original Message -----
From: "Allyn Bryan" 

To: "Scott Bryan" 

Sent: Monday, September 07, 2009 8:15 AM

Subject: Re: a thought after reading all your blogs about me.

>

> That's sweet, and made me laugh...


Is it just me, or did that exchange evolve into what amounts to a "romantic" email? You wouldn't expect that when his opener evokes the image of a drowning cat. (I've got more questions about that analogy. It's as though if he did get hit by something like a "deep emotion," it would definitely need to be held underwater until it expired.)

I've been on the mainland for quite a stretch now, with infrequent and/or brief visits to the island...I think he noticed. No worries, soon I'll be a full-time islander.

Thoughtful Husband

It means something a bit different when used in reference to my husband. This is an excerpt of an email Scott forwarded to me. It's in reply to a nice note from his mother about his blog.

Thanks Mom,

But I think a lot of these ideas are actually part of a perspective on life I deduced from you.  I'm not sure our philosophies are different, I just have more experience trying to express it in writing most likely because I've spent so many years doing it in bulletin boards, email, and online discussion groups.  And the only reason I really had the luxury of time to do that is because of you.

I even remember you telling me as a kid that you thought I ought not to worry about things like money because I had a sort of intuitive acumen that would do a better job of finding the right things for me to do.  It gave me the freedom to ask myself what was important, what was most worthy of the energy I could direct at it.

Ironically, even the things you worry probably harmed me or left me more depressed, may have also left me more objectively separated from the stuff we're all trying to understand.

From my perspective, each of us is just a thought passing through the mind of the single life form that occupies planet earth as it struggles unwittingly to know and empower itself.

That last sentence...pure poetry. A simple sentence that eloquently sums up Scott's "spirituality."

My reply:

That is a truly beautiful note you've written...and the one your mother wrote to you is beautiful as well...as uncomfortable as you've been on this planet, you've managed to make the best of it, while leaving a lasting impression on those brave enough (because it's not for the faint of heart) to try to know, love and understand you...like me...xo

Scott's Blog was Featured

Very nice mention of Scott's blog on the Horiwood.com site.

A great article about his mother, "Miss Elliette", is also at their site.

22 Things A Woman Must Know

When we discovered that my husband Scott likely has Aspergers' Syndrome, I went to Amazon to see what resources were available to learn more. I bought several books dealing specifically with relationships and read them all, from the overly clinical scientific descriptions to the emotionally-based children's books. Eight books later, I was convinced that we could actually put a name to Scott's quirky behaviors and unique perspective on life and relationships. That in itself has been tremendously helpful.

Once Amazon knows what your interests are (based on your purchases), they suggest new items on the same or similar topics. I got an email recently suggesting this book and logged in to read the reviews. One woman wrote a review with a phrase in it that so described my experience with Scott that I was moved to respond, both to her and to the other people making comments on her review.

The phrase that grabbed me was inside of this sentence: "Most of these women will end up with major depression and one or more autoimmune diseases from never having their own light reflected back at them as time goes on living with someone who is almost completely unreciprocal but who is supposed to be your life partner."

The words "never having their own light reflected back at them" articulated so well a feeling that I haven't been able to put into words. It was validating for me and defined one of my experiences in our relationship. Though Scott expresses his love for me in unique ways, which are meaningful and appreciated, the nature of Aspergers' doesn't really allow for a contented connection as advertised and experienced in "normal" couple's lives when you love someone deeply. Aspies never attain that level of peaceful comfort within themselves, let alone learn how to share, enjoy or appreciate that kind of connection as part of a couple.

I've told Scott before that he gets to see himself through my eyes, but I have to see myself through his, and that he gets the better deal. I project my ideal image of who he can be and what he means to me onto him as though he's already attained it perfectly. His view of me requires only his logical brain and observation of stark reality. His perception doesn't come with frills or emotionally tinged filters that allow me to believe he sees me any differently than anyone else would. My flaws stick out. I don't get to feel funnier, thinner, younger or more attractive than I really am (or am not) just because he "loves" me. Even my own coping mechanisms that make me feel "special" are challenged when his blunt honesty defines me so succinctly.

With Scott, no one gets a better deal. I'm lumped into the general category of all other humanity, with no special concessions for sharing a life with him and knowing what life's like behind closed doors. I'm a flawed mortal with characteristics (tolerance and self-entertaining self-sufficiency are the most important ones) he finds appealing enough to want to be around more than most, but that's it. So, I miss out on the relationship "games" people play that reinforce their "specialness" to each other.

So, of course I bought the book, which winds up being written by a woman with Aspergers' (If I remember correctly, one in four Aspies are women). The book is very sympathetically written, and includes a section called "His Words" after each chapter, which is the Aspie's perspective on the topic discussed.

This book should certainly not be the only resource for an NT (which stands for Neuro Typical, the term used for the non-Asperger partner). It's a very validating checklist, however, as an introduction to Aspergers. If you're wondering if your mate has it, I'd get it.

Even Scott gave the book validity. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and could tell Scott had picked up the book on the bed that I was reading. I think it was the maniacal outburst that tipped me off. I can tell by his laughter he is now reading some passages. "What's funny?", I call out from the bathroom.

"I'm childlike?", he asks incredulously, "I'm effeminate?" "Oh my God, I say the same things these men say in this book!", he says.

Welcome to my world.

I don't feel quite as susceptible to the depression and autoimmune diseases mentioned in the review. My response to the review explains why.

It turns out 2009 is a banner year for illuminating Aspergers' Syndrome. Two movies were released recently.

This one, Mary and Max, by my favorite clay animation filmmaker, Adam Elliott.

There's a scene in the trailer where Max is opening his mail. His startle reflex is triggered by the telephone ringing, causing the letter in his hands to fly across the room, make a perfect landing in the toaster and subsequently get incinerated. That sequence is the perfect metaphor for (or literal demonstration of) how Scott experiences daily life. Meanwhile, I'm beside him opening and reading the mail without incident.

And this one, Adam. (Scott has actually spoken the dialog in this trailer, years before the movie was released.)

Date Night

During our nightly walk past the Casino building (which doubles as the most unique movie theater you could imagine), Scott noticed the movie poster for Will Ferrell in Land of the Lost. He said we should try going to the movies the next evening, which was Sunday. I stared at him for a moment, to rule out an attempt at humor, aneurysm or stroke.

In the ten years we've been together we haven't been to a single movie or live performance of any kind. He goes into a myriad of reasons why he will absolutely refuse to go, can't understand how anyone can suffer through the volume, the crowds, the uncomfortable seats, the boredom, or the hostage situation of getting trapped in a theatre anywhere for a specified amount of time. So, don't ask! Okay, I get it. No movies.

Still, I think it's sweet when he romanticizes concepts like couples going to the movies, and wants to give it a try. I always support the notion, even though I'm fairly certain something predictable will occur.

Sunday came and after dinner, off we went. We walked out to the Casino in time to make the 7pm showing. I documented the occasion before we went in, in case we left in a hurry:

You can sense the apprehension...

Scott bought a soda at the snack bar, and we chose our seats. It truly is gorgeous inside the theater. Plus, on weekends movie-goers are treated to an enjoyable live performance of a few tunes on the vintage pipe organ as you wait for the movie to start. It was a light crowd too. So far, so good!

I took the Bose noise-canceling headphones with me just in case he needed to put them on to mute the sound. "I may not need them," he said. About three minutes into the movie, on went the Princess Leia earmuffs. I heard someone a few rows behind us whisper, "It's Scott," when the headphones went on, which made me smile. His quirky behavior is not just accepted, but expected by our island neighbors.

He wouldn't have been able to make it without those headphones. Though the acoustics are amazing inside, it was just too loud for him. He started out okay, but fell asleep about twenty minutes in, then drifted in and out a few times (food processing going on, I think).

I looked over at my snoozing husband, slumped over and settled into his seat, his earmuffed head bobbing up and down as he slumbered. There did seem to be something romantic about it after all, and it was that he tried. He actually made it through the entire film (as long as intermittent sleeping counts), and for his first movie theater experience in ten years, I think he did pretty well.

He says he wants to try it again sometime...I'm sure we will...

Birthday Boy

Scott's Hermetically-Sealed Birthday Mini-Cake

Scott's birthday used to be a source of discomfort for both of us (and I suspect for anyone else who cares about him). I want to do something nice for him on that day, and he doesn't want to be acknowledged. While I liked what he had to say last year, he would prefer it if he never received a card, a gift, personal acknowledgement, a phone call or email if it concerns birthday wishes directed at him. He says it "always makes him feel sad."

Any form of singling him out for the festive celebration of his emergence (into a world that he's frequently found so painful to occupy) just doesn't make any sense to him. Plus, he considers your true birthday a combination of various moments. When the science happened, in the womb, in a timeline and elsewhere.

In case you were unaware, your birthday has nothing to do with when you traveled down the birth canal and out into the waiting world. It's not about the "act" mind you, or the moment that the egg met the sperm, though those events do count. For Scott, pinpointing your true birthday is a complicated scenario involving many separate events and dates back to when your mother was born, and that's not the end of it.

From there, it takes twists and turns, with various limitations dependent on which sex you are. To his disappointment, no one seems to really care about the accuracy of calculating your true birthday. Why even bother, if you don't take the time to make the chronology of someone's true birthday meaningfully accurate? (I'd like to see what that line of birthday greeting cards would look like!)

For a four-minute audio discussion we had concerning his theory, click here. I wanted to make sure I got it right.

After about three birthdays together, I finally understood that it caused more harm than good to offer him a birthday card and/or wrapped gift. I'd explain that I couldn't just "do nothing" because it made me feel sad. I'd explain that to commemorate his arrival on the planet gave me joy. I got away with saying that, but it didn't seem to diminish his dislike or discomfort for the ritual, so it didn't actually give me joy after all.

I finally accepted that it was selfish of me to want to force a "Happy Birthday" on him. The best birthday gifts for him, regardless of the day they occur, have been events. For example, he exhibited pure joy and his shiny, hope-filled raccoon-eyes lit up when the Large Hadron Collider went live, when the Wolfram Alpha site went live and when Ronald Reagan ceased to be alive, which actually happened on Scott's birthday in 2004. (My apologies to the Reagan family, but while Scott enjoyed the actor, he was not a big fan of the politician.)

Of course, I made plans to spend his birthday with him on the island, since I've been on the mainland so much recently. I made a boat reservation, baked a plain white mini-cake with plain white whipped-cream frosting and no decorations (this is Scott, remember). I carefully loaded it into a little white cooler, determined that it would be no more than a few hours old when he tasted it...

Waiting to Board

Ten minutes from the Island. What a beautiful day!

The little cake survived the trip intact and Scott was appreciative when he saw it. So far so good! For me however, the birthday fun happened after my daughter called to see how it went. I took a photo of Scott and sent it to her so she could see him enjoying his little cake.

An hour later she sent me the altered photos below. The iPhone has added some new "Apps" which she downloaded recently. I can certainly see their allure. These shots were created using the "Mulletizer", "Stache-tastic" and "80s Hair".

Ahem...After enjoying the mullet, please notice the fly on the cake.

I'm speechless (because I'm laughing too hard).

This redefines "Disco" (and Afro)

I'm not sure if this one makes him look younger, or like the lost Osmond...

When I showed these shots to Scott, he smiled and said, "It's silly, but I would have played with that App for a solid week when I was 13." Me too, and then some.

It seems we managed to have just a teeny bit of fun in celebration of his "special day" after all. It's really just the equivalent of him wearing a festive party hat...but without the overhead of actually putting one on...

Odd Family Portrait

Scott had a tremendously painful, spontaneous-onset headache last month. The headache subsided without incident, as far as we know. I wasn't on the island, and even though we spoke on the phone that evening, he didn't feel it was important enough to let me know about it until the next day.

An Aspergers' trait that Scott has, is thinking that I somehow hear his phone conversations (both sides), read his emails (both sent and received) and hear his thoughts, especially if I need to or should know about the information involved. It's not a paranoid thing, as Scott is so blantantly (sometimes brutally) honest that it wouldn't concern him in the least if I had complete access to those things. There's utility in his belief that we share instantaneous data transfer, in that it conveniently removes him from the responsibility of having to relay any information. He's certain I received it when he did. For someone who poo-poos the notion of telepathy, I'm not quite sure how he thinks that works.

It often doesn't occur to "Aspies" to share or relate certain information and/or experiences, though Scott frequently does (especially if he's moved by something he's read or a movie he's seen). There can be a problem with what information Scott doesn't think to pass along. Things like, "We have a family of four coming for dinner in ten minutes." He thinks I already know because it was a phone conversation he had yesterday. They show up, he sees the confusion in my face and asks, "Didn't you know?"

As someone who's refrigerator is tailored to a man who doesn't eat leftovers or frozen foods, and whose primary diet is lattes, tabbouleh, pasta, French toast and waffles, I need more notice than "none" to whip up a meal for guests.

So, back to his headache. A friend phoned him in the middle of it and he mentioned it. The friend thought it was unusual and insisted that he should go get a CT Scan at the local medical center, which he did. The results didn't show any blatant danger, and ultimately came back normal. (Really? Because that is just so surprising! Even without the headache, I would have expected something of real interest in there. A crowd of excited professionals staring at him with awe would be more believable.)

When he finally mentioned it to me, I was so worried for him, but also upset that he denied me the opportunity to be with him through it all. He didn't think of that. His theory was he didn't mention it because he knew I would take the next boat to the island and he didn't want to inconvenience me. "What if it was serious? What if you'd died?" I ask. "In that case," he says, "you could've taken your time getting here."

When I got back to the island, we were having dinner together at Antonio's. We had fun conversation throughout the meal and both laughed a lot. I commented that he has finally learned to "dine" after all these years. In Scott's case, that means that after you've finished your meal (or whatever portion of it you've deemed edible), you don't bolt for the door, or badger those dining with you to wolf down the rest of their meal so they can bolt for the door, too. "For most people, dining can also be considered a relaxing social interaction," I have explained to him many times, much to his disbelief.

Our dinner plates were long gone, yet we were still sitting there, happily enjoying our conversation. When I pointed out how nice it was, he stared at me with sincere concern and said, "Oh my God! MAYBE I DID HAVE A STROKE!," horrified at the realization that he might somehow be inching toward mainstream behavior.

Anyway, Scott handed me the CD of his recent session, with 36 individual "head slices" to scrutinize. I finally had a chance to look at it. My favorite shot is the one above (something about the eyeballs), though it was really interesting to flip though the stack in succession, ending in a tiny oval of a skullcap at the top. I was looking at the files on the laptop and couldn't save the images separately, so took a photo of this one with my iPhone. The result of doing that was a reflected ghost image of the top part of the frames of my reading glasses (centered in his sinus area). I thought it was somehow appropriate as a wacky family portrait for me to be peering out from inside Scott's "command central."

Easter Sunday Theology

Started our morning walk at 5:15 a.m. No one else is up but the fishermen on the Green Pier and the night herons. Olive gallops around off-leash in the cool air, and we head out toward Descanso Beach.

We're greeted by a few neighbors also walking out to Descanso Beach to attend the Easter "Sonrise" Services. More people than we ever see at this time of day are trickling out into the fresh morning air and heading for Descanso. Father Paul buzzes by in his golf cart, headed that way too, to prepare for the service.

We alter our route, since Scott's status as "militant atheist" (my terminology, I also like to say he's got "religious Tourette's") has him in imminent danger of spontaneous combustion when approaching a place of worship. I like to do what I can to protect our faith-based friends from undue exposure to Scott's opinions on important days. We veer off-course to avoid any potential calamity.

Because of Scott's strong opinions, people are sometimes curious about my own spiritual beliefs. I generally steer clear of discussions of faith, it's such a personal matter. I don't resist it, however, when people tell me I exhibit the characteristics of a humanist, which I've heard a few times over the years.

It's not quite right, but it's close enough to allow some closure for the inquiring mind. People like labels that are relatable and retellable. The truth is, I'm fine with whatever beliefs and experiences make you feel happy and connected to what you find spiritually fulfilling. For some people I know, spiritual fulfillment can be attained through simple exposure to puppy breath, favorite music, a rainbow, a sunset, or the laughter of a loved one...Oh, I guess that person would be me.

Scott doesn't "do" religious holidays. He doesn't "do eating holidays" either, so I'm back on the boat to the mainland this morning to enjoy a delicious brunch and probably some Scrabble with friends and family at Bev's by 1pm. I'll fix him his favorite waffle breakfast before I go. I "do eating holidays" perhaps a little too well.

Marveled at the sunrise from this vantage point while waiting for the coffee shop to open:

Enjoy the day...

P.S. I won the Scrabble match, even though I was comatose from eating turkey and enough gravy to fill a moat (I grew up in a home that considered gravy a beverage, which explains a lot). As designated scorekeeper, I actually napped on the score pad "pillow" between plays, which became a joke because it seemed to help my game (my sister usually wins).

P.S.S. Thank you Alison, for noticing that Scott, Olive and I were making a mad dash through the streets of Avalon to try to make the boat in time. Without your offer of a ride and me shoving the big black dog, my bags and me into the cab of your truck, we wouldn't have made it! In a small town, sometimes two minutes and the kindness of a neighbor can make all the difference! Olive and I boarded the boat and it left seconds later, we cut it that close! We've all "missed the boat" at one point or another...and I'm thankful you helped me avoid that experience this time.

We made it!

We Met Online

When people find out that Scott and I met online in 1998, I notice a variety of responses that fall into three general categories: 1) There are the people who've experimented with online dating themselves; 2) those that know other couples who've met online; and 3) those people whose astonished faces reveal that they fully understand they're in the presence of vintage loser geeks, also known as WTF?

Ten years later, I've decided it might be fun (and possibly therapeutic) to write about how it really worked in our case.

The process began by filling out a bunch of radio buttons and answering a bunch of essay questions. Then, based on the radio buttons, they matched you up and sent you a list of potential matches, in the order of the most percentage of radio buttons answered identically, to least. Then you were free to read the answers to the essay questions of the people on that list to further prequalify or disqualify them before ever getting in touch...doesn't it sound romantic? Not quite the same as a furtive glance across a crowded room.

Our profiles, with the essay questions answered (seven pages each, but interesting history), are available by clicking the screen shots above. Scott and I matched 48%. The site said that a match of 28% and above had a good chance of being a successful experience, whether just a fun date or possibly more. It was such an interesting and peculiar process (and may still work the same, I don't know), I'd like to someday take what I know now and update our answers to reflect the real world and ten years of history. People might find that humorously enlightening or just plain painful.

For example, in Scott's profile he describes having "mild bouts of depression." My interpretation of "mild bouts of depression" would include a spoon and a carton of ice cream, or more honestly (since I don't have a sweet tooth), a bag of chips and generous amounts of guacamole. For most people it would NOT include the image of a person being curled up on the floor in the fetal position naked, crying their eyes out in pain, terror, agony and wishing they were dead. That would have been a more honest answer in Scott's case, but wouldn't have sounded as charming and innocuous to a potential mate as "mild bouts of depression." ("Artists can have that...", I thought wistfully.)

It was August of 1998. I signed up for the free trial (less than 30 days, I think) on Matchmaker.com (currently Match.com), and figured when it expired, so what? Scott paid for a 6 month subscription. He was on a mission. I signed up because my sister wanted me to log in and read her profile and see who was "matching" her...You had to have an "account" to do that. I had no intention of meeting anyone, but I like to write, so...I wrote, answering all the essay questions honestly, including the description of the man I would be looking for, if I was looking...which I wasn't.

This was in the days of the modem and phone lines for Internet access. So you'd click on a small photo and wait, as line by line the screen would paint up the picture of your "perfect match." When it finally filled the screen, it was fair game for speculation. In those early days of Internet dating, especially in my age group it seemed that most men somehow thought that a photo of them wearing a tuxedo (their natural habitat) cropped in such a way that the tiniest portion of the hand/face/arm/hair (or arm hair) of their last girlfriend/wife visible somewhere (possibly to prove they had a history with women) was the best way to entice a new relationship. I decided early on that anyone in a tuxedo was probably not a good match.

The morning after I posted my "profile", I woke up to 121 emails in my inbox, which was a heady and thrilling prospect. Since my ex-husband had been such an exhausting ordeal at the end of our marriage, I'd completely forgotten why men were a good idea. I'd spent almost three very peaceful, however celibate (if you don't count accommodating dreams or the shower massage), years without a partner. Suddenly all these seemingly nice people were responding to my heartfelt comments in such a positive way. Slowly, I started to think men might actually be a good idea again!

I searched the profiles of men who lived 50 miles or more away from my house, because I didn't want to meet anyone, live conveniently too close to anyone, or even stumble on a picture of anyone that was from my immediate area. I found out later that Scott had a different approach. He was initially responding to women who lived within one to five miles of his house (which is a lousy idea as far as avoiding stalkers goes, a woman would never do that). I figure his fantasy was that a steady stream of conveniently located new girlfriends could just walk over and offer him sexual favors. Men are so simple to figure out really (present company excepted and/or accepted...who am I to judge?).

Anyway, the emails...Scott's was in that first batch. His profile matched mine with the highest percentage of all and appeared at the top of the list. Now that I know what a gifted programmer he is, it would not surprise me if he somehow hacked into the code and made sure he had an advantage. I can't believe I'm just thinking of that only this second after all these years! As I type these words, I'm almost certain that it's true! (...give me a moment to ponder the implications....) Anyway, he emailed a brief note and a poem called Blessed with Stress, but no photos were included in his profile as yet.

The poem, Blessed With Stress

I took this overwhelming influx of admiration seriously and answered almost every email I'd received. After all, men poured out their compliments and utter amazement that we were the perfect match, each unaware that there were 120 other emails with a similar message. It was fun to see the various approaches to capturing my (or anyone's) attention. Some had an obvious "cut & paste" approach - everyone got the same sales pitch. I didn't reply to any of those. For those who obviously read my profile and seemed to be moved by it, I responded with some appreciative comment. I explained my Just Looking/Curious button. I wasn't looking for a relationship.

Scott's poem (an odd choice, decidedly not romantic) made me cry. I forwarded it to my mother, I thought it was so insightful and touching. So, in my response to him, I offered him unconditional adoration if he'd written the poem (a safe gesture in my mind, knowing for sure that we would never meet). For him, since he HAD, in fact, written the poem, that was the equivalent of telling him to set the date for our nuptials! That's how it started...then the phenomenon of what I like to call "disembodied intimacy" took over and the rest is history...

After knowing him and rereading his answers years later, they somewhat accurately described the logical man he is and his core values. Lots of important information was missing, however. One problem starts with the artistic license he took when he described the emotionally connected man he'd like to be, rather than describe the intense discomfort he experiences connecting in a one on one relationship.

We discovered only a year or so ago that he likely has Aspergers' Syndrome, due to the keen observation of a friend who forwarded an article in the New Yorker about a man with Aspergers'. After reading that and getting a few more books online from Amazon.com, we really didn't need a formal diagnosis. One book in particular, written for children called "All Cats Have Asperger Syndrome" was so thorough and sensitive about describing what it's like through the use of photographs of fluffy kittens and beautiful sentiments, that by the time Scott got to the last page, he had crocodile tears making their way down his cheeks. I asked, "Do you think you have it?" "Yeah," he said.

One manifestation of Aspergers' in Scott's case is that he has a very low level of tolerance for outside stimulus...sights, smells, tastes, sounds, conversations that discuss pain or injury, surgery, loss of a pet or a loved one, etc. As for the limited palette of foods he'll eat, if I substitute an ingredient or measurement, he knows. I've always said that he can "taste a molecule." I've done blind taste test experiments on him (You're out of vanilla extract? Use French vanilla extract. Only have two eggs, but need three? Use two. Cut the watermelon with the same knife as the cantaloupe? No problem.) and he always catches it! I maintain a deadpan expression as I watch with interest. He takes the first bite, smacks his tongue up and down on his palette and says, "What'd you do different?" "Nothing," I say, trying to keep a straight face. I cave immediately and confess. I have no poker face.

In a relationship, things for Scott get intensely intimate too quickly. Physically, he commented about our first kisses as being "SO erotic," which I initially took as a curious compliment. Curious because there was a hint of confused discomfort in its delivery. I had a sense that he felt too exposed, or vulnerable...too connected. Everything I knew about what makes men (or me, for that matter) feel loved and happy didn't work on Scott.


Intimate conversation dealing with emotion was equally as uncomfortable. When discussing our relationship, he'd explain that he was really trying, but discussing emotions was the equivalent of "pouring battery acid on his brain." That was a pretty graphic description that I could easily comprehend, since it's an excellent visual image. I regrouped and quit treating him like a "normal" man. I started observing his world, with the passion and cautious respect of an archaeologist discovering a new dig, for clues as to what sort of lifeform I'd stumbled on.

Most women would have scampered off in pursuit of that bag of chips, and maybe some new shoes. After all, there were 120 other emails to consider, and more flowing in all the time. It was too late for me. I was already in love with that amazing brain housed in Scott's cranium. That thing fed a steady stream of words down through his fingers to his keyboard and produced amazing emails that arrived in my inbox. Those emails were better than any romance novel I'd ever heard of (though I've never actually read one...think of Jack Nicholson in that scene at the typewriter in the movie "As Good as it Gets"). The words in those emails took control of the bag of chemicals inside me that pumped an unending supply of the "you love this man" drug directly into my brain and then straight to my heart. I've since said that I'd still love him even if he was a brain in a mason jar. My favorite response to that was, "How would that work at holiday gatherings?"

Probably like this. Scott actually bought this for me.
Meet Brian the Brain

Eventually, I told him there was quite a bit of false advertising going on in that profile of his, and we still laugh about it today. Though initially he didn't have a photo posted, when the photo did show up, he'd chosen one where he was cupping the face of a dolphin in his hands, sending a very connected message. The truth is that animals love him, but it has nothing to do with emotional intimacy with a human. I haven't had DNA testing, but I'm pretty sure I fall into that category.

I've realized over time that logic can mask as emotional intimacy, and sometimes it actually does an excellent job of it. If you think things through carefully, you can easily figure out that the way to a mother's heart is to show care and concern for her children. Scott was amazing at applying logic and having empathy for what it must be like to be a single parent and all that it entails. Besides assuring me that we were meant for each other (delivered with the intensity of a world-class debate team), he showed great respect for me as a mother and great concern for Jillian as my child. He carefully crafted a scenario that would offer my daughter and me a safe and stable situation whether we worked out as a couple or not, and off we went to explore our potential as mates.

Back from Bermuda

Here's Bob supervising Elliette as she's adjusting everyone's lifejacket straps at Muster. We were all safer because of her attention to detail! She moved through the crowd with an air of authority that allowed her to approach total strangers and spend a few minutes on their straps, chatting reassuringly the whole time. I loved this guy's face, he was such a great sport.

One of many highlights of the trip for me (as in getting to know Scott's family so much better) was Elliette's description of the difference between my calm demeanor during stressful times, and Scott's. We were on a very pleasant ferry boat ride back to St. George's after visiting Hamilton. When describing me, she related several examples that she had observed. She was sweet and complimentary and very descriptive.

When she got around to describing Scott, her example was succinct, "A bug flies through the window----World War III!"

It was such a heartfelt, simple description delivered with such sincerity, and so accurate that it caught me off guard. I laughed until I cried, which produced the same result from both my mother and Elliette. Remarkable and memorable...

List of Preferred Dining Companions

Small town life is magnified on an island. Certainly concerning relationships. There are no "out of the way" spots with which to conduct your "personal affairs," if you're having them. There is an extremely limited inventory of available mates, and certainly no chance for delusion regarding their "potential", which is freely demonstrated for all to witness, and discussed at length, whether truth or rumored. I know this from making favorable comments about a seemingly single male to a single girlfriend and was filled to the brim with his unfortunate history, which was certainly not evident through casual social interaction with him.

We're all neighbors in close quarters after all, so if you've ever had an unreasonable (possibly drunken) argument with any volume to it, it's part of your history as a mate, and the anecdote travels with you. By the time you "hook up" with someone, it's already "buyer beware" due to your (or your neighbors') intimate knowledge, either of you, your new mate, or both.

New chemistry derails logical thinking (thank heavens), so you do get the illusion of a fresh start, but it's most likely with well-worn goods. It's not that this isn't the case with mainland relationships, it's just that there are fewer available witnesses.

The saying on the island is "You don't lose your woman, you lose your turn." When I was first enlightened to this philosophy, I physically recoiled. I did a double take with eyebrows raised, fully realizing that sayings like that evolve out of truth. They're invented with the intention of normalizing a situation.

So, when we arrived (already having been a couple for six years) we had a "mainland relationship" reality. One luxury of that, is that unless you have children, if and when you break up with your mate, you simply don't run into them again, or if so, it's infrequent.

The island has one small grocery store and an imposter store (a smaller version using the same name) posing as a second option. There's no mail delivery either, so as you breeze in to pick up mail from your PO Box, or drop in for a few essentials at the market, you are guaranteed a daily dose of your ex-mate and/or reports of their current shenanigans. Whether through a personal sighting or a "helpfully communicated" anecdote by concerned parties, you'll definitely know more than you'd like. It's also uncomfortable to witness those heartbroken singles who've lost their love (and you know about it because everyone knows about it) running into them again and again with the "replacement" partner gloating openly.

My husband and I have a relationship based on trust and respect. It's a very atypical marriage, in that we subscribe to the "two-house" method. This arrangement evolved for reasons I will go into someday (the first being his Aspergers', but also that the GM EV1 electric car burned our house down and he got another EV1 right away, but I digress). The point is that I am still very connected to my life on the mainland, so when I'm off the island and my husband is on the island (he seldom leaves), I encourage and expect him to enjoy a meal here and there with friends and acquaintances.

He's a terribly picky eater and a super-slim guy with no fat reserves. He truly needs to eat. He often forgets to eat, or confuses the sensation of hunger with other issues. Is he lonely? Bored? Needing a walk? What?

In this small community, if the wife is off the island and the husband is dining with female(s) who are decidely "not the wife," it stirs up the curiosity and whispers of those who concern themselves with such things. So, we have a network of "preferred" dinner companions...friends who know that he could probably use a meal and know that he'd be happy to treat them to one.

The potential for small town rumors disturbs my husband, so I suggested posting an ad in the local newspaper, letting one and all know that we are in agreement with the arrangement, and include the names and/or photos of the most likely dinner companions. If you're not on the list, but are interested in becoming a PDC (preferred dining companion), you can call or email your qualifications and interest. Of course, if you notice he's dining with someone not on the accepted list, there will be a number to call to report it, in the same way that trucks have that bumper sticker to encourage responsible driving. He'll wear a t-shirt that says, "Where's he dining? Call 1-800-ISawHim."

Scott's Birthday Quote

When offered congratulations on his making it another year:

"Time did all the heavy lifting. I'm just along for the ride."