Purple fur
Jim Sinclair
color-shooting earrings last month). This time I gravitated toward the
sewing department, where there are lots of nice orderly arrangements of
brightly-colored bolts of cloth, spools of thread, buttons, sequins, and
all kinds of other things to zone out on. As I was looking over a table
of fabric remnants, admiring all the different purple solids and prints
and wishing I knew how to make my own clothes so I could buy, work with,
and ultimately wear all those nifty purple fabrics, I saw a piece of
purple acrylic craft fur. It's about 15 inches wide and 64 inches long
when unfolded (which I just realized makes it a little taller than I
am), and was folded into a rectangle about 15 by 8 inches, and 8 layers
thick. At first I thought about buying it and making it into small
stuffed animals or something, but I couldn't think of any really
appealing things to make out of it. Then I looked around for a smaller
remnant of the same fur, but couldn't find any others in purple. (In
case you haven't guessed by now, I *love* purple.) Finally I decided to
buy the long folded piece of fur, because it's soft and fuzzy and purple
and it didn't cost very much.
I thought I would take it home and decide what to make with it later.
But as I carried it through the store, I became more and more cognizant
of how wonderful it was just to be holding a long folded strip of purple
fur. I wandered through the aisles hugging my piece of fur, stroking
it, squeezing it, rubbing my face on it, and thoroughly enjoying it.
When I got to the cash register and put the piece of fur down on the
counter, I missed it. Now that I'm home, I'm holding the piece of fur
while I type. I think I may decide to sleep with it. I've only had it
for a few hours, but I can tell I'm onto something. I'm not going to
cut it up or make anything different out of it. I'm just going to keep
it as a soft thick folded piece of purple fur. I can hold it while I'm
typing or doing other things at home. I can carry it when I'm out in
public, and maybe things will be less overwhelming. I am very happy to
have my piece of purple fur.
What's the message in this? That I'm weird? No surprise there. That
I'm not ashamed to be weird in public? Also not news. But tell me this
if you think I'd be better off not being weird, better living full-time
in your normal world: What pleasures can your world offer me to compare
with what I can get from my piece of purple fur?
JS
gwdri...@ualr.edu
I like purple too and if I recall I have never not seen you in
purple! Any other colors out there that you like?
Purple fur is not the problem. I can not tell you what other
pleasures my world might offer you since our pleasures may
differ in some areas (understatement--what kind of humor
is that?).
In any case, I do not see the issue as one of comparable
pleasures. Tis, instead, a matter of understanding and
being ok with differences. And, perhaps of more import,
educating one another so that if one person's pleasures
are a pain to another person, that we learn to respect
boundaries. Thus, please do not sing loud songs to your
purple fur in the middle of the night when I am trying
to sleep.
gerald
PS. To bad cats or dogs do not come in the color purple! I
know we both like these four legged creations.
Jim Sinclair
Sure, there are other colors that I like. But nothing else does the
things to my eyes and brain that purple does. In order to enjoy other
colors, I have to first be tuned in to my eyes enough to notice the
colors. But purple things are easier for me to see than non-purple
things. Most inputs get lost somewhere between my eyes and my brain.
But when purple inputs get to my eyes, my eyes grab my brain and say,
"Look, there's something purple!"
You kind of stole my line about boundaries, which was exactly the point
I was trying to make: that as long as I'm not grabbing purple objects
that belong to you or fondling purple clothing that you're wearing, you
should respect my choice to wear my own purple clothes, or fondle my own
piece of purple fur. (I don't sing to my piece of purple fur, by the
way. But at about the time you posted your message yesterday, I was
snuggling with it while listening to music. However, I wasn't playing
the music very loudly, and it was mid-morning, not the middle of the
night, so I don't think anyone's boundaries were being violated.)
I'm glad you decided to jump in on this topic, because it brings up
something I meant to write to you about months ago relating to autistic
culture. There's a phenomenon I first observed during my first encounter
with other high-functioning autistic people, and it really became obvious
last February when I spent a weekend with other autistic people: the use
of personal fixations to make interpersonal connections.
I first observed this at the 1989 TEACCH conference, when I was introduced
to some other autistic people who lived in a TEACCH-managed group home.
These people weren't really all that "high-functioning" compared to many
of the people I've met since then, at least in terms of their conversational
speech. But they talked fluently if not interactively, and it quickly
became obvious that they had a geography fixation. They had a *shared*
geography fixation: two autistic people living in the same group home had
the same fixation. I suspect that was more than just coincidence; it
indicated some kind of interaction and sharing of interests.
As soon as they found out I had driven in from Kansas, they wanted to
know what highways I had taken. They knew the roads between Kansas and
North Carolina better than I did, despite the fact that neither of them
could drive. They talked about different possible routes and what cities
each route would have taken me through. Of course I couldn't follow the
conversation because I'm absolutely terrible with geography and usually
don't even know where I am, let alone how I got there--but I could still
recognize this as an attempt to relate their interests to my travel
experience.
The next day one of them approached me and began talking (rambling
would be a better word) about how he had looked up the names of all the
counties in Kansas and North Carolina in his almanac. He went on and
on, rather disjointedly, telling me the name and publication information
of the almanac, so I tried to focus him by asking, "What did you find?
Were there any counties with the same names?" Unfortunately, his focusing
problems prevented him from recognizing this as a suggestion that he could
make his point without all those background details; he just experienced
it as an interruption that made him lose his place so he had to start all
over again. This time I waited quietly through the interminable buildup,
and he eventually did get to the point and tell me that he had found ten
county names that occurrred in both North Carolina and Kansas. He recited
the list of names. Then he turned to another autistic person he had just
met that day. She was from Michigan, and he told her he was going to look
up Michigan county names when he got home that evening.
This person had some pretty severe problems with conversation. His speech
was definitely non-interactive and extremely perseverative. But in spite
of only being able to speak non-interactively and perseveratively, he was
using his fixation to try to make a connection between himself and other
autistic people he met.
Now I know other autistic people who have considerably better conversational
skills than that, and I've observed some fascinating uses of fixations to
make connections. For example, Kathy is fascinated by anything having to
do with Russia or the Soviet Union. A few months ago I received a letter
from another autistic person who had met Kathy and me in Indianapolis last
summer. Part of the letter read, "Please give my regards to Kathy. I
have thought of her so many times as events occurred in Russia and the
Soviet Union." I had also thought of Kathy when I saw news stories about
those events (and as you know, my own interest in international politics--
or any other kind of politics--is practically nonexistent). Both of us
had used our awareness of Kathy's fixation to be able to recognize things
that would be of interest to her.
Kathy is also aware of the fixations of her other autistic friends. When
I visited her apartment, I wasn't surprised to see the walls covered with
maps and flags and clippings from Russian newspapers. I had seen Kathy
become completely transfixed by a display of flags at a conference, and I
had been nearly deafened by her shrieks over the phone when she called me
while watching the Olympics and seeing a parade with the flags of all the
countries represented there. But along with all the things relating to
her own fixations, I also saw some artwork on her walls which I recognized
as being the work of other autistic people. I recognized some of Jessy's
paintings of street lamps, and one of Barbara's traffic lights. Kathy
says she thinks she can recognize which traffic light it is. I don't
know Barb well enough to be able to tell her traffic lights apart or to
understand much about what they mean to her, but I did recognize that it
was one of her traffic lights. Kathy is friends with Barb, so she has
learned more about the traffic lights because they're important to Barb.
Another example: Even before I met Donna in person I had recognized that
she must have some visual fixations, because she would always enclose
some shiny or brightly-colored object in each of her letters. When I was
going to meet her, I thought of bringing something shiny as a gift, but I
didn't have enough of a feel for it to know what would be appropriate.
Then during the time I spent with her, I watched her go into fits of
ecstasy while arranging colorful objects and looking at them through a
kaleidoscope. She later described the feeling as "orgasmic"; the word
had also occurred to me while watching her. (Donna is also asexual--she
was referring to the intensity of the sensation, not to some bizarre
erotic fetish.) And while she was engaging in this activity of arranging
objects and looking at them through her scope, *she kept insisting that
Kathy and I look at them too*. Of course, being autistic I'm not supposed
to understand things like this, but to me that looked suspiciously like
a person wanting to share a pleasurable activity with her friends.
And for my part, having seen her reach the peak of rapture over an empty
Coke can, and having heard her say that metallic red was her favorite
visual stimulus, I knew what would be an appropriate gift for her. I got
a red sequins-covered belt from K Mart and sent it to her: pretty tacky
from a fashion perspective, but just right for someone with her sensory
responses.
The common factor here is that the activities and interests that high-
functioning autistic adults use to share their own pleasures and to
relate to each other's experiences are often the very activities that
people try to eliminate in low-functioning autistic children: "stimming"
on sensory fixations and perseverating on subject fixations. These
autistic behaviors are generally considered to be isolating and detrimental
to social interaction. Yet here we are using them to facilitate getting
to know each other.
JS
Speed Bump
I'm also intrigued by the color violet, but for me it's light, not
pigment. I love to just stare unblinkingly at violet lights. (Not purple
ones that have bimodal blue/red spectra, but monomodal violet ones, with
wavelengths almost too short to see.) It gives me a pleasurable feeling
that's in the same general category as standing under a steaming shower on a
cold winter day, or coming in from a sweaty job and stretching out in an
air-conditioned bedroom. It's a bit more obsessive than your average
"favorite color" reaction; I don't know why I do it.
The security you seem to draw from your purple fur reminds me of me
and my knife. I have a rather large Gerber nylon-hilted lockblade jackknife
that I carry around in my pocket. When I'm otherwise unoccupied, I enjoy
taking it out and flipping it open repeatedly. Not because I'm a vicious,
cruel, brutal person who likes to fight with knives, but because it feels
good, is nicely balanced, and produces an absolutely exquisite *>SNICK<*
sound that for some reason I find irresistible. It drives everyone around
me crazy, but I like it. The drummer in Beth Messiah's music ministry had
a rather rough childhood that involved multiple encounters with switchblades,
so my *>SNICK<* hits him at a subconscious level and always instantly gets his
full and complete attention, even if he knows I'm going to do it and tries
to ignore it.
Anyway, it's always very difficult to explain to people that I'm
honestly not trying to be a macho *sshole, but that I just enjoy the feel and
the sound of it so much that sometimes my hand sneaks into my pocket and comes
out with the knife when I'm not looking.
Shalom,
Dan
PS--I also enjoyed your post about "furred backwards." That's precisely the
kind of thing that I would wonder about (things that make me go "Hmmmmm..."),
although I must admit that it has never occurred to me to wonder about that.
One thing I *have* frequently wondered about is the true meaning, origin, and
derivation of the phrase, "You're welcome." Welcome to what, and why?
DW
gwdri...@ualr.edu
I have trouble with that one for I really do not like to fish, however
in order to connect with a new friend recently I stretched to listen and then
share all I could to understand his world. In time we did talk about
other things.
If I understand Jim's comments about fixations as a way to connect and
interact between people with autism (or autistic people) or people
whatever label you want to use, he is saying that these
seemingly bizzare interactions are actually important ways of connecting.
I believe we could all help each other by realizing that we often
may not understand the symbols a person uses--we may not understand
intent or purpose or meaning of what they convey. This
is true in "normal" interaction. For ex, two friends become
angered at each other and then later find out that what was said
was not what was meant and they really were feeling something very
different than what was interpreted.
Ok, we all know that such breakdowns occur. A basic principle that
can be carried into all of our interactions is this: "increase
your level of uncertainty about what is going on." In other
words, I keep learning to not be confident that I understand.
I am excited by the prospect of fixations being seen as a way
that some autistics may connect with each other. Why? I believe
it gives other people with "fewer" autistic tendencies a way
to relate. We may not have one or two fixations and focus
on those as our bridges most of the time, yet it is not
uncommon to link up with others based on one of our
"fixations" (fishing or you name it). For me, sharing
in the excitement of shiny objects is very much like sharing
in the excitement of a new word in a new language that
helps me connect with a friend from another culture.
I will be keeping my eyes open on this network to learn
more about the ways people are learning to make
connections---
gerald
Jim Sinclair
Perhaps it would be the considerate thing to not carry your knife when
you're going to be with the drummer, so you won't unthinkingly pull it
out and startle him?
I think the derivation of "You're welcome" is pretty obvious: welcome to
whatever it is the person has just expressed thanks for. But what are
"thanks"? Multiple feelings of gratitude? If the person is only a little
bit grateful, then would he/she express only one thank instead of many
thanks? When someone just says "Thank you," how can you tell how many
thanks are included in that "Thank"?
JS