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I enjoyed reading Grandin's opinions and anecdotal comments about her life as an autistic person and how she learns best. I only wish that the entire book was written with this in mind; i84650473 |b1100040362433 |dmv89 |g- |m |h2 |x0 |t0 |i0 |j18 |k140712 |n12-19-2017 18:24 |o- |aB GRA |u1100040362433mv89099B GRA18351klp20.001q11.69 After losing numerous family members suddenly and too soon, Didion then lost her husband and daughter within the span of a year. This book is her cathartic contemplation of that loss. The Year of Magical Thinking is about Joan’s grief, her loss of her partner and love. She is fixated on that last day. How did he die? When did he die? Could she have done something differently to change the outcome?
Didion mentions how she doesn’t want time to go by. She wants to remember John exactly as he was. This I understand. You don’t want the memories to fade. You don’t want anything to slip. You have to be hypervigilant because that person won’t be there to remind you of the time that you shared together. Someone has to keep the memories alive. That’s an excerpt from my upcoming Joan Didion parody, working title: “The Year of Entitled Thinking”. You may have correctly inferred from the tone that I didn’t much enjoy The Year of Magical Thinking. According to a friend who was able to generate a surprising amount of outrage in response to my disdain, this is because I am “not an adult”, but in speaking with her and reflecting on it for a few days, I think I’ve come to a somewhat more nuanced understanding of my viewpoint. Am impresia că se referă la două lucruri. Cel dintîi este convingerea că seria întîmplărilor care se închide cu moartea subită a unui om e reversibilă. Dacă există moarte, există și posibilitatea de a o anula. Moartea nu poate fi ceva definitiv. Firește, cei care nu au fost afectați (deocamdată) de sfîrșitul unei persoane apropiate nu cred asta. Ideea e irațională.Di quest’opera esiste un adattamento teatrale a opera della stessa Didion, portato in scena da Vanessa Redgrave. I can empathize with her in a lot of respects. She explains how individuals who are autistic can be sensitive to sounds. I'm not autistic, but the way my hearing aids process sounds makes me equally sensitive. The expressive way she details the sounds made me realize it's exactly the same way I feel, and I don't blame an autistic kid one bit for reacting with tantrums. It hurts when sounds physically assault you, and it's annoying when you have no way of tuning out a particular sound to focus on another.
Instead Didion is really investigating and putting to paper the way that memory and perception work under the duress of grief. The snapshots of memory of a loved one don't necessarily contain any details about the table clothes of a favorite restaurant, but the place itself, it's name where it was located is a memory land mine of the deceased, waiting to go off and spiral out to other memories at it's mere mention. i71531750 |b1030003121242 |dcmg |g- |m |h2 |x1 |t0 |i2 |j18 |k120604 |n10-21-2022 20:23 |o- |aRC553 .A88 G74 2006 An act of consummate literary bravery, a writer known for her clarity allowing us to watch her mind as it becomes clouded with grief.'based on the sub-title My Life With Autism, I was expecting a memoir. Instead, the majority of this book reads like a professional scientific text; I don't remember anymore if these are my words, a line I wrote down from a book, or something that I took home from therapy, but the wisdom remains: loss is not always death.
As hobbies go, this one is accessible to EVERYONE. No special equipment is needed and while you may find more abundance in the countryside, urban areas are also perfect for foraging. In fact some of my favourite foraged foods grow best in wasteland! Once you start foraging, the whole world is your larder.Later, after I married and had a child, I learned to find equal meaning in the repeated rituals of domestic life. Setting the table. Lighting the candles. Building the fire. Cooking. All those soufflés, all that crème caramel, all those daubes and albóndigas and gumbos. . . These fragments I have shored against my ruins. . . Our rescue hens who had come to us in a very sorry state, were now very fat, very spoilt and very naughty. They regularly escaped from their own garden and gobbled up anything that was brave enough to try and grow. By mid-Summer only the fruit trees had survived. Nevertheless I continued to cook and eat free, organic produce. How? I went foraging. Gérard,” I said, overemphasizing the accent mark as he prefers, “Sequoia has fallen ill! I need to borrow your chateau for a few weeks while she’s in the hospital.” She writes about her own personal grieving process, her struggles to resolve his death in her mind. She writes of how very unique it is to each situation, loss of a parent versus the loss of a spouse. These sentences ring very true: I chose to read this book because my nephew has intense autism traits (level 3) & I wanted to understand him more. Having read the book, I now have a much better understanding of how my nephew might experience things & has enabled me to realise what I can do to make him more comfortable & happy.
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