Adam Robert Bartlettt Campbell

I got pregnant when I was almost 18. I got married to Alan, he joined the military, and our first born child was born on February 16th, 1990. His name is Adam Robert Bartlett Campbell. The name Robert was taken from Alan's brother Rob as well as his maternal Grandfather. Bartlett was my maternal Grandfather's middle name as well as his mother's maiden name.

When Adam was very young (1 or 2) his behavior and vocabulary was lacking by comparison to the "average" children his age. Honestly, I blamed myself. I thought at the time it was something I wasn't doing as a parent. A failing on my own teachings of my child.

When Adam was about 18 months old we had Jessy, and by the time she turned a year, her speech far exceeded Adam's. So much so, she would speak for them both "Adam wants a drink", "Adam doesn't want 'that' he wants 'that'", etc.

Alan's mother Pat had a friend who was a special education teacher, her name was Judy and to be truthful I didn't like Judy at the time. I found her to be intrusive and could be very overbearing. She sat Alan and I down one day and told us she felt that Adam was autistic. I remember feeling outraged with her "diagnosis". I felt she didn't like me and this was just her way of "sticking it to me". Of course I was completely wrong, but I was young and didn't even think about this at the time. I'm not sure truthfully, why...I guess probably because every parent wants to think of their child as "perfect". And if he were to be diagnosed as autistic...that "perfect" child image and dream would be shattered. Right? How naive I was back then.

Just before Adam began school, our family doctor thought perhaps he was hard of hearing. His speech was still lacking, and the doctor had concerns about his behavior. So we had his hearing tested which had complications all of it's own. The doctor assured us Adam was not hard of hearing or deaf however during the testing the doctor had other concerns and gave us a referral to yet another doctor.

The new doctor did; over several appointments; behavioral, IQ and other tests with Adam. When she came to her diagnosis she asked me to come to her office. I didn't care for her from the get go, and to be honest, I don't think she liked me much either. I sat in her office and she informed me that in her "professional opinion" Adam was "a retard". I remember I blinked a couple of times, digesting the words she had just used to describe my son and to relay her "diagnosis". I honestly wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly at first, and then when I realized that I had indeed heard her, I told her I thought it best that she leave before I did or said something I'd regret later and that I was sorry for her wasting my time. Her lack of professionalism had hit my maximum limit and I had had enough.

Adam began school, the school gave him an educational assistant and once again we set out on the path of finding someone who could help our son.

That help came in the form of two doctors. Dr. Diane Arthur and Dr. Arthur Fraise. They were a clinical psychologist team that specialized in working with children at Queen's University in Kingston. At first they thought perhaps Adam had something called "Fragile X Syndrome" but upon further testing they came to the conclusion that in fact Adam had Asperger's Syndrome.

Asperger's Syndrome is within the autism spectrum. Adam is considered "high functioning". In fact, even though his classes were marginally altered, he graduated from high school with honours.

Adam will be 22 in February, he has his quirks. He talks to himself pretty much constantly, his 'maturity' (what interests him) level is about that of a 14 - 16 year old. He has times where he becomes hyper focused on things. Some are fine, other things he can become obsessed with. There have been more than a few occasions where he will be literally up for days because he has become obsessed with something that has him truly terrified that most of us wouldn't even give a second thought to (2012 end of the world, Large Hydron Collider creating a black hole and imploding the world - stuff like that) but then the cycle spins around and everything is fine again for another 8 months or so.

It's funny when Adam was so young, I remember being so angry that Judy would "dare" tell me that my son wasn't "perfect". I've come to learn him being an "Aspie" isn't all of what he is. It's just a small part of who he is, there's far more to Adam than that. He is smart, incredibly intelligent, very funny, caring, well behaved, loving and sweet. Sounds pretty perfect to me...

One Last Glimpse,


~K

Memories and the Mind's Eye

If I close my eyes and think I can see my first bedroom. I only lived there until I was about 4 but I can see it in my mind’s eye.

Our house was a ranch style (all one level, no basement). Almost an identical lay out to my Grandparents home – except our house had 4 bedrooms (theirs had 3) and ours had a family room built on at the end where theirs had a carport. I loved that house, I still do. I’d love to see the inside now to see what has changed by comparison as to how it was when I lived there.

I remember my bedroom seemed (to me) to be the largest bedroom. I’m sure it wasn’t but I remember it being bigger than my parent’s room and about three times the size of my sister’s room. I always remember thinking her room was so tiny by comparison. Her wallpaper had this green tinge to it with little girls all over it that she picked out herself.

My parent’s room was painted a baby blue colour and they had this abstract flowered satin comforter that I loved. I think my Dad may still have it somewhere. I remember it being cool to the touch, and very soft. There was something about it that always made me feel very safe.

My room was purple. It had huge purple flowers on the wallpaper. A deep, dark, violet coloured flowers on a white background. My furniture was painted white with a little flowered appliqué on the headboard. I loved my room.

Maybe it’s because it was the only bedroom that I had that was when my family was still together. Or maybe it’s because it was my first bedroom. Whatever the case, I don’t think that I’ve ever had an affinity with another bedroom (growing up) as I did with that one. None of them have I loved quite the same. Sounds odd dun’nit?

I know so many people speak that either they remember nothing of their young (pre-school) lives or they have crystal clear memories. My maternal Grandfather used to insist he had memories of being pushed around in the pram; however he was always told how ‘ridiculous’ that was; but he always maintained that it was the truth.

My memories don’t quite go back that far, although I do remember back to when I was about, perhaps a little younger. One of my first memories is of a Christmas party for my Dad’s extended family. I remember my Great Grandmother (my Dad’s Gram) was playing the piano; I wanted to play with her. I remember touching the keys, and my Dad chastising me at first because my Grandma Minnie was playing.  Then she turned and chastised my Dad for stopping me. Did I mention I loved my Great Gram?

My Grandma Minnie (pronounced My’knee) was one of the most amazing people I have ever known. Her spirit was brilliant, she was feisty and someone that everyone loved. She was Scottish from Kerrimuir (Kirrimuir) Scotland (North of Edinburgh).

I remember when she was 90 (yes I said 90) my Grandmother (her daughter, or one of…my Great Grandparents had 10 children), my sister and I went to her house for the weekend. My sister and I wanted to learn The Highland Fling (Scottish Sword Dance). At 90 years old, she got up, told my sister to play something on the piano and showed us how to do the sword dance…at 90. I honestly hope I am lucky enough to be like her at 90.

I remember when my son Adam was a baby. We (My Gram, my Dad, my sister and I) went to see my Great Gram in the nursing home where she now lived (she was 99 at this point and had only moved out of her own home; where she had lived on her own for 25+ years; about 6 months prior).  She was down having lunch when we arrived; they wheeled her back to her room in her wheelchair where we were socializing. She said she needed to go to the washroom, she got up and walked there of her own accord. I remember my Dad was gobsmacked she could do that. Somehow I wasn’t surprised, the woman had spunk!

We went down into a private sun-room where we formally introduced her to my son, her Great-Great Grandson. In history the Campbell’s (my married name) had many issues with other Clans, my Father told her my son’s name was “Adam Robert Bartlett Campbell”, she looked at me when he said “Campbell” and kind of smiled her soft gentle smile and looked back to my son. My Dad asked her if “the Campbell’s were an okay Clan” her in eyes. She looked at him, looked at me, looked back at him and said, “They are now…”

We had a generations picture taken that day. In the picture were my Great Gram Minnie, Gram Marge, Dad, Adam and myself. A picture I never saw until my Grandma Marge’s funeral. It just…vanished. I was heart broken. How many people could boast about having a five-generation picture taken? And it just vanished.

At my Grandma Marge’s funeral there was a table with various photos laid out on it from over the years. Pictures of her as a young teen with her siblings, pictures of her with my Grandpa, and then my eyes fixed on that picture…and I full on lost it.  I felt my knees go weak, saw the table blur as tears filled my eyes. My hand shook madly as I picked up the picture. Keep in mind my son at the time of the funeral was now 18; however in the picture was only a mere 4 months old and I had never seen the photo, just the memory of it being taken.

My Dad saw me struggling and having a slight nervous break down and even though he was speaking to someone he excused himself and came to me. “Where did you find this??” I managed to ask. “Gram’s house…have you not seen it before?” he asked “Never…” I replied. He embraced me as I cried. It was one of those moments that is filled with sorrow, happiness and relief all at the same time.

I still don’t have a copy of the photo, however I know where it is. I just need to get a copy made before it vanishes again!

I have some great memories of growing up, and some not so great ones. I can remember well back into my youth and for that I’m thankful. Even though many of the people in those memories (good and bad) are gone, I’ve still got the memories and nothing can ever take that from me.

One Last Glimpse,

~K

Womb to tomb, Birth to earth

 Ever since I was about 11 or so, my favorite movie has been "West Side Story". My Dad had the album on vinyl that we would listen to from the time I was about 8 or so growing up and I fell in love with the emotion, anguish and passion on the record. It wasn't until I was about 11 or 12 that I actually saw the movie.

 We were going to be going out to my Dad's for the weekend, I think actually it was Thanksgiving if memory serves. I informed him when he came to pick us up that the movie was going to be on television the same day as our family dinner. He knew of my passion for my music from the film and wanted to share and extend  that into the film just as he had loved it.

 He instructed everyone I was watching the movie and therefore exempt (this one time) from helping set up for dinner. My cousins (who do NOT enjoy musicals...although they like music) were none too pleased that they got stuck setting up while I sat watching tv.

If you've never seen "West Side Story" its essentially Romeo and Juliet set in 1960(something) New York City. It is a turf war between the Sharks (Recently immigrated people from Puerto Rico - and not looked kindly on) and the Jets (born and raised American's). One of the Jets (or former Jet) Tony becomes re-immersed into the gang due to issues between the two cultures. Tony wants to settle things peacefully insisting the two can work things out by compromise and by being adults. at a dance Tony sees and falls in love with Maria (and she him). She is young, naive and innocent. She doesn't see Tony as anyone but someone she shares an instant connection with. Her brother informs her that Tony is an American and not a Puerto Rican - therefore he is forbidden. But it's too late, she's already in love with Tony and he is with her.

  The story is brilliantly acted and the music is truly a moving experience to me. I can watch the movie from start to finish or just 5 minutes from the end and always...always am distraught and in tears by the end. And yet...I love it.

  West Side Story is about truth, faith, devotion and love can conquer all...if.we.let.it. People are their own worst enemy in this world. Some people hate, fight, and cause war for reasons I don't even know if they know WHY they're fighting because the fighting and hatred has been going on for so many generations that people don't even remember why any more. It's truly preposterous or maybe it's the romantic in me hoping love can conquer all.

 Of course I'm not saying that there aren't people in this world who are just bad to the core and even deserve their fate or sticky end. However, I think there or there would be a lot more people getting along if some people weren't as subservient as they are. But, money can buy power in some places...

"Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men." - John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton

 It's funny how this started out being a piece about my favorite movie and yet I've ended up here. Although truthfully if we analyze it, sadly they're not too far gone from each other in the reality of the situation. With the exception of course West Side Story was brilliantly scored by Sondheim and Bernstein and the other...not so much.


One Last Glimpse,


~K

8 tracks, Shag carpet and Leisure suits

 Even in my darkest hour, music still warms my heart. There are very few things that can reach me - music is one of them. Through most of my life, as far aback as I can remember - there has always been music.

 I think one of the first songs I learned was "Sing" by the Carpenters. I remember (before my parents split, so I could be no older than 2 or 3, maybe at most 4) driving in the car listening to their 8-track player. Yes, my parents were that hip. We had an 8-track player in our car!! O-la-la! Cutting edge of technology that was!

Somehow that boggles my mind. We could put men on the moon, 8-track players in cars, shag carpets in every home with a deeper pile than the average corn field, and yet no one warned us of the pitfalls of leisure suits and polyester pants with the line perma-seamed into them down the front. What kind of communist regime and dictatorship did we live in???? I kid of course.

  If there's one area where my Father in particular has always spared no expense, it has been in the audio/visual department. Yes, true, there was the slight misstep with the television he had for the longest time that turned on and off via a screw where the on/off button had fallen off. But aside from that, it was a perfectly serviceable television. He was the first in the neighborhood to have a VCR or a DVD player AND our stereo could be heard from one end of the subdivision to the other (still can be).

  I love music. Right up until I moved in with Alan, I listened to music every night to fall asleep to. I still will (on occasion) when Alan is working nights, listen to my MP3 player. Music is one of the first things I do in the morning, and one of the last things at night. It is probably one of the only things I need to have every day or I don't feel complete. (There are other things I NEED to have daily - and no Rach...it's not sex, just sayin! - that don't involve music). Even just one song has worked. It's just one of those things, ya know? I don't need coffee, or tea, or a smoke...I just need music.

 I was lucky then in retrospect my Mom put me into piano. Even though at the time I wanted to take dance lessons (ballet). I'm thankful to her... and to my Dad for their persistence. I honestly believe it has helped shape me into the person I am today.

Sing, sing a song
Sing out loud
Sing out strong
Sing of good things not bad
Sing of happy not sad.


Sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last
Your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not
Good enough for anyone
Else to hear
Just sing, sing a song.


Sing, sing a song
Let the world sing along
Sing of love there could be
Sing for you and for me.


Sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last
Your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not
Good enough for anyone
Else to hear
Just sing, sing a song.



One Last Glimpse,


~K

If I could meet myself as a 13 year old...

Sometimes I think about if I could go back and meet myself as a 13 year old. What would I tell myself? This is the following list I've come up with:

1) You're going to get pregnant at 17, and married at 18. This is absolutely the right thing to do. Don't even give it a second thought. You'll be scared, but don't. Everything will be okay. Promise.

2) Don't give up...don't leave...don't walk away, things will get better. Don't be ashamed to ask for help.


3) On the night when Mom calls you to tell you she's going in for that "routine mammogram" - TELL HER WHAT YOU KNOW!  She'll believe you.


4) Ugh - DON'T date him. He's not worth your time down the line, there's more drama there than you can possibly imagine. And don't date or let yourself become attracted to either of them...they're gay. But they're AMAZING friends who you will love dearly.


5) Don't listen to the haters. In 25 years time Duran will STILL be around. You'll be going with Rach 2nd row centre in Toronto - it will be worth the wait.

6) Forgive her - your friendship is worth more than you can imagine.


7) Don't toss out the pussy sweater. It will STILL be the topic of conversation in 25 years time.

8) You WILL learn to play the bass.


9) Don't do it...Just. Don't.


10) You're not going to marry John Taylor. I know, it was a shock to me too. But the man you DO marry...is amazing.


11) Trust your instincts - you're more switched on than you think.


12) Don't forget to believe in yourself.


13) You're your own worst enemy sometimes.


14) The grass is NOT greener on the other side of that fence so stop thinking that it is. IT. IS. NOT.

15) Be more supportive and understanding of the three of them. You're all going through the same things.

16) Stop being so damn angry. What are you so mad at anyway?

17) Not having Treetorns, a Beneton shirt, or a pair of Kettle Creek pants is NOT the end of the world. Get over it.

18) Don't EVER wear that again.

19) Not even worth your time.

20) She will end up being one of the most pivotal, important people in your life later on. And SHE will end up being a backstabbing bitch. Run while you still can.


OH! And perhaps the most IMPORTANT one of ALL!!!

21)YOU ARE NOT AS FAT AS YOU THINK YOU ARE!!!!
(edited)

One Last Glimpse,


~K

Bournemouth and beyond

It was a funny day on Thursday, Duran was playing a "rehearsal" gig in Bournemouth. Twitter was a buzz with anticipation (once again). Even the guys were tweeting! John was tweeting countdowns of the amount of time remaining before they took to the stage. It was obvious he was a ball of nerves and energy, and even stated flat out at one point that he was eager but nervous about getting back on the stage.

By all accounts the concert was amazing from what I understand and they were in top notch form. Truth be told I'm dying to watch the little video clips that are out there but I'm resisting temptation. It's not easy...but somehow I'm finding the strength and willpower not to watch. It's a personal choice of my own and of course I have nothing but excitement for those who see these "rehearsal" gigs and get to tweet about it.


I was intrigued by the set list the other night truthfully it's not what I expected to see at all: The Man Who Stole a Leopard, All You Need Is Now, Blame the Machines, Networker Nation, Too Bad You’re So Beautiful, A View to a Kill, Safe, Before the Rain, Tiger Tiger, Secret Oktober, Shadows On Your Side, Mediterranea, Other People’s Lives, Notorious, Girl Panic, Hold Back the Rain and Sunrise. No Rio, Save, Chauffeur or GoF. There's a couple songs (IMO) that could go and be replaced by those 4 "must plays" (IMO). But; having said that; I don't think that this is the final set list. I think that they are still trying to figure out from the new songs what works and what doesn't. I think there are some that are missing, after all these ARE just rehearsals and there has to be some surprises right? Maybe I'm wrong - who knows. I mean it's a good set list as is, and as I've said before I think they could sing the freaking phone book and I'd be okay with that. I just want to finally go.

I still as I sit here and write about this cannot believe it's a mere 52 days for me. I know it's going to come up on us so fast. Before we know it, it will be here and then gone. But the agony and the exquisite anguish of the anticipation is awesome. As these "rehearsals" progress I know I'm going to release that pressure valve a little more each time. As it draws closer to that kick off date...our date...

The fact that we can now follow the guys and communicate with them on their thoughts on the performances and ask for our input is still mind blowing to me. Who does that? More over, who goes to the lengths they have gone to? Who does that? It's few and far between - if ever. Leave it to Duran.And yet how completely typical of Duran by the same token. They've always put themselves out there in various ways for the fans. This is just an extension of that. The question is which one of us is having the better time? They seem to be having just as much fun as we are so I think it would be hard to answer that question. After all, if you're not having fun doing something that you love, what the fuck is the point in doing it in the first place?

In talking to various friends the energy, anticipation and excitement is palpable at this point. We're all so excited for each other, it's a great feeling. I'm loving it. It's hard to not be in a constant state of excitement as we move towards the kick off date. I think though that this energy runs clear through the Duran family. From us, to them and back again. I think they're just as happy and excited as we are. Not only that the tour is getting underway but that Simon's voice has come out the other side of this whole ordeal okay. I'm proud of Simon and the guys to know when to say "right. Y'all are going to have to wait and so are we". And now we're out the other side of this together, and things are going to be okay.

I did happen to see a picture of Simon from the Bournemouth concert the other night that I'm going to share. I'm not sure who took it, or where it came from so I cannot give credit where credit is due. I have procured it however, and would like to share it. Maybe you've seen it already, maybe you haven't. However if a picture is worth a thousand words...then this one speaks an infinite amount more.

One Last Glimpse,

~K

Open Letter #1 - August 29th, 2011

To Whom it May Concern and Mom:

  I was terrified today. For a brief moment, I was petrified. I went back for my follow up mammogram (2nd in about 3 months) because they found a "density" in my last one, in my right breast that they wanted a better look at. I wasn't overly concerned about it - I have large breasts so IMO better to be safe, than dead.

 My Mom (and Mom...you know I love(d) you dearly) died from cancer 15 years ago and I don't want to go out like that. I just...don't. I mean really though...who does? I don't know anyone that would volunteer to die of cancer. That would be insanity.

 In any event, I went back this morning after a long eventful weekend (the last thing I wanted to do was get my tit squished!). I went in a little early and they took me straight away. The woman who did my mammo this time was not the same woman as last time, which was fine. She took the images and then asked me to wait as she was going to have the doctor look at them right then (which kind of panicked me a little) so she had me wait in the waiting area.

 A couple minutes later she returned and told me that the doc wanted me to have an ultra sound on my right breast. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? More than a little panicked now people!!!!!

  I (somehow) calmly informed the woman when she tole me "it might be a while" that I had to work at 3 (it was 10:40am). She assured me it wouldn't be that long. And left. Inwardly I panicked. "What the fuck had they found that they weren't saying???!!!"

I sat there with another woman who (also dressed in a matching hospital gown to my own) made a joke of some sort, that I've forgotten now while we waited. I bit my nails - something I've not done for a while and tried (in vain) to concentrated on the fashion magazine in my lap.

Please Mom....don't let them find anything....please I remember I mentally pleaded.

They called my name again and I followed another woman back to a different room this time where I had my ultrasound. She apologized at one point if she was hurting me, to which I replied "Pain is fleeting and I can deal with the pain, you just get the clear shots".


When she finished she told me to stay laid back and she'd be back. Again she left to go look at the shots with (I assume) the doctor. She returned a few minutes later to inform me that they "didn't find anything" and they'd see me in a year.


 Truthfully, I wanted to cry and hug the woman. I wanted to sob to her and tell her all about you Mom and the anxieties I had had and how relieved I was to find out that this "density" was nothing.

  I'm thankful. I'm thankful that everything is okay. I'm thankful that I went and had it done despite my fears. I'm thankful for those who love me, and those who watch over me and inspire me daily.

  I walked out to my car afterward, started it and sat for a moment. I smiled to myself and silently thanked those, whom I've just thanked. And if you're reading this...you were also on that list. You are special to me. For reasons all your own...you are special. And I love you. Thank you for your love, laughter, support, affection and affinity.

 One Last Glimpse.

~K