THE MEETING

Read by  Parker Stevenson
link to his work as photographer

Voice: Parker Stevenson
link to bio 

He was everything she had dreamed of. His physical appearance, his character, his quick mind, his style, his everything.  She was sure she didn't deserve him.
Whenever he suggested something she might do differently, it felt like ... no, he did that because he wanted what was best for her. And she'd better pay heed to it, because he was right and she was far from perfect.
Whenever he suggested something she might do differently, it felt like criticism. Like the beginning of the end of their relationship. And she complied to what he said, because she didn't want to lose him. She was addicted to him.

Yes, she was far from perfect. She was good, great, smart, sweet, with a good sense of humor and very caring. But this d..... insecurity of hers. It spoiled things. When they'd just met, she was independent and rebellious.  But now? Whatever he said, she agreed with him. There was no more tension between them, she stopped being his sounding board. As if he was back on his own again.
Now, take that time when she was visiting him in his apartment for the first time.  He showed her around and they reached his favorite room, his gym. Full of devices that helped him, not only to stay in shape, but to keep his mind clear. He went to his gym mostly because workouts helped him sort out his emotions and think more clearly. 
She was not involved in any sports, he knew that. So he impulsively suggested that she might use his gym, a little bit of exercise would be good for her. She stepped back, looking as if she had just opened a two months old lunchbox, with the tuna sandwich still in it.  By and by he found out that she didn't like workouts at all, it just didn't give her a good feeling. She had other methods to stay tuned.


Yet, after she had moved in with him -was it a wise decision?-  he found her in his gym. She did use it regularly, he knew that. She left traces:  towels, the exercise bike suddenly had changed settings, sore muscles ...
And now he caught her in the act. Exercising while griping, an interesting combination. "Why ?" he asked her. "Why do you do this?"
She got up from the rower and looked at him apologetically.  "I don't know. Really I don't. Maybe because you were right, I could use some exercise. And maybe, because, I don't know. It sounds so stupid. " She looked away from him. Started a brainstorm on the subject. "It's like I have to do everything you say or else... else I might risk our relationship? And I'm so nuts about you, I can't have you leave me. Or maybe it's just that compared to you I feel so unworthy and drab. I can't be myself anymore, ever since we started dating."
Someone telling you she's in love with you and it doesn't even feel good. He came over to her, trying to catch her eye. "Honey,..."
"No, don't honey me, please. I mean it. I'm afraid that when you suggest me to jump out of the window at the tenth floor, I'll do that too."  And with that, she ran out of the gym. His gym.

It's three days later now and he's coming home straight from his office. "Get ready" he tells her, "we're going to eat out tonight."
A look of wonder is her answer.

"Nothing fancy. Somewhere small and cosy. Just the two of us."

She returns the ingredients she was cutting for dinner, to the refrigerator. "What should I wear?"
What a question! "Nothing. I mean nothing special."
- "Just a clean shirt, OK?"
- "Yes but hurry. I have to go back to the office first. I have to attend a short meeting."
She casts him a questioning frown as she walks past him, leaving the kitchen. "Couldn't you pick me up after the meeting?"
- "Nope. I made reservations and there's not much time between." He steals a kiss and then lets her go to change.
- "Where are we going to?"
- "An Italian restaurant. That's your favorite, right?" Silence "So you can admire my Italian pronunciation." he continues, while thinking how he'd wish she'd poke fun of it instead.
- "I didn't know my man could speak Italian."
- "That's just one of my secrets. But please hurry, people are waiting."


A good thing she's not the kind of woman who loiters in front of a six-door wardrobe, sighing that she has nothing to wear. In no time they reach the firm's building. It's quiet now, they have the elevator all to themselves. While he pushes the button, she notices that they are not going to the storey where his office is. She says nothing however. Obviously the meeting won't be in his office.
The elevator doors slide open and they get out onto a deserted floor.

"Follow me" he says and they walk to a room at the end of the corridor.  The door is shut, but he has the key. "This is my new office. I moved to this floor today," he explains. Inside he turns on the light. She's starting to feel a little cheated. There's no one here, except them.
"You know what floor we are on, right?"
She looks at him. "Tenth?"
- "Correct." He walks over to a window, opens it with another key. He gestures for her to step out of it. "Well?" he adds to it.  Is he crazy, this is the tenth floor? Her look is more than just puzzled.
"Don't you remember when I caught you in the gym? You said you might jump out of the window on the tenth floor if I asked you to."  Yes, she remembers, the flash in her eyes betrays it. "So what is your answer now? "
- "Dopo di lei.  After you." She says it with a beautiful indignation.
- "Crazy goose, you answered well. Of course you don't just do anything I ask you to." He walks up to her and grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her a bit.  "And don't you dare, I need someone who is critical, to keep me alert." He feels in his pocket for the ring. It's there. "Let's go to the restaurant now."
- "What about your meeting? Was it a hoax?"
- "There was a meeting and you were there. You met your old self. Don't let go of her again."

© november 2011

JoAnne Lakefield

Quote

When leaving primary school all the children used to get a bible. I've still got mine. But there's a text in it that I still don't understand.

I'll translate (it starts below the ISBN) :

No part of this publication may be reproduced and / or made public by means of printing, photocopying, microfilm or in any way whatsoever without prior written consent of the publisher.

 I don't think any preacher, vicar or pastor is going to ask the publisher's consent for each sermon.Or do they mean The Publisher? He does not give his consent, He gave us the assignment to make it public

Another Hubrecht Anecdote

 The other anecdote -->

   I always think of myself as a terribly boring person. Not one to date if you like to laugh. But maybe I'm wrong?
    Writing my previous post about the Hubrecht Laboratory, I remembered a little prank I pulled. A two stepped prank.  It was a behavioristic experiment. Fitting a biologist who opposes behaviorism.

  The histology lab was a cosy, busy lab where hard work and laughter were mixed gracefully.
Histology is about preparing and dyeing tissues, to make them visible under the microscope. [Me a stickler for details??]
   One day I brought along two print outs of a shield, used in 1866 in the Amstel Hotel at Amsterdam.

This room is equipped with Edison's Electrical Light.

Please, do not try to switch it on with a match.

Just turn the black switch next to the door.

The use of Edison's Electrical Light

is not detrimental to your health,

does not cause diseases and

doesn't have an adverse effect your night's rest.

The Board of Direction.

    I put up these papers on both entrances to the histology lab. Two windowless doors. No one knew who did it. I secretly enjoyed all the comments and the consequent apologies of the lab manager  "I have no idea who put these on my doors."  But I guess he liked it, he didn't remove them. 

    It happened just as I expected it:  people used the signs for orientation. It was a long corridor and to enter the histology lab you practically had to count doors. With these signs, it was easier to locate the histology and  juxtaposed labs.
   After a few weeks I moved the sign on the left door to the door on the lab at the right of the histo lab. The signs were still on two consecutive doors...
   Yet now one of the signs was on the door to Pim's lab. A researcher whit his own private lab which no one hardly ever entered. While the histo lab was a real beehive.  Poor Pim, so many people entered his lab that day, They must have looked surprised. I heard so many apologies made to him....


   That's how easily people slip into habitual behavior.

More about SPD, Autistic Spectrum and Impro

 

I Knew What I Was Getting Into
on Misty Edwards' "Joy (Live)" album
From Beanscot's YouTube Channel

This is not applicable to all forms of SPD, but SPD makes me a real 'slow mow'. Not just because I don't like fast movements.  I focus too much on details, that slows me down as well. Looking at matters from a helicopter view takes me very deliberate, conscious acting.  'Slow' has become one of my main characteristics. One that I'm not proud of.

   Already at primary school I decided that competitions were not for me.  Because like everybody else I hate to lose all the time. The only fair challenge was competing with myself.  That's not so bad. What about the following quotes?

• "He who conquers others is strong; He who conquers himself is mighty"  by Lao Tzu
• "I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self" by Aristotle
• "He who conquers himself is the mightiest warrior." by Confucius

   Many people with SPD have learned to use personal goals  for a challenge, rather then compete with others. Nor do they try to excel in what is fashionable. 

   This attitude has its drawbacks. For instance it can cause loneliness.  Although... not necessarily. If you go out into the world often enough you will find kindred spirits. I have made many friends. They are however of the migratory kind. Many are scattered over Europe, some even live in Asia. 

   But hang on, there's a good side to it too. It sets you free. Free from the judgement of others, free from the pressure of deadlines and free from that fear of not being on top of the latest info, the latest gadget, the latest fashion. 

     I don't keep up with the latest news flashes, I don't tweet or live my life through Facebook. I even disregard notifications at my work if they are published as newsletters or some such nuisance. And that's why, when I was a student at the Hubrecht Laboratory, I didn't know that the regular monday-one-o'clock-lecture was cancelled. At 13:02 I grabbed my pen and paper and went to the library. The lights were turned off already, the speaker wanted to show a short film of her work. All seats at the back and at the corners of each row were taken, as if there was a conference of the Claustrophobia Society. I had no choice but to sit down in the middle of the front row. The lecture, in english, was clear, well told and very understandable. It was about a project involving fertilisation and development of frog's eggs in space. Not my favorite topic, but interesting.

At the end of the lecture, the speaker,dr. Ubbels of the Hubrecht Laboratory -my next lab neighbour so to speak- came up to me and thanked me for showing my interest by showing up. Well, I never throw away a compliment. I 'pocketed' it and returned to the histology lab. “Where have you been all the time?” the other analists of the lab chimed in chorus.

“At the lecture. Why weren't you?” The others where puzzled, explaining me that the lecture had been cancelled.

“But what about the lecture of Geert?” Now my colleagues started to laugh. Except for one, another student, My collegemate to be exact. He was a special case. 'Space crazy', knew a lot about planets, stars, space research and science fiction. “You went to that lecture?” He looked at me with awe. I nodded and shrugged. What was so special about it?

“She held that lecture for astronauts and NASA en Estec personell. People from the lab were not invited.” I couldn't smother a mischievous grin. The collegemate went on, “I can't believe you just went there. I wish I had had the guts. I'd love to be among all those astronauts.”

“Actually,” I said, rubbing it in,  “Geert thanked me for coming. She wanted people from the lab there.”

     The consequences of this mistake were two summer jobs and a request to participate in a science project involving a rocket launch. Keith Johnstone -father of Impro- is right: making mistakes is fun.

     Talking about Impro. The prejudistic thought is going about that people with autism or Asperger, -maybe even SPD?- could not enjoy Impro. Too unpredictable, too little routine. But people in the Autistic Spectrum want clarity, not routine. Routine is just a  lacklustre answer to a request for clarity.
    The German Impro players Christine and Deniz Dohler discovered the similarity between Impro and SonRise, a succesful playtherapy for children with special needs. Check out their site if you want to know more: AuJa! [german]

Dutch Impro teacher Marcoen Hopstaken has asked me to organise another Impro workshop for people who play -therapeutically- with special children. And I'm about to challenge Marcoen: I'll ask him if I can also look for adults with autism or Asperger for a workshop of Applied Impro (which is Impro used for team building, social skills, therapy, etc.).

It'll certainly be a new challenge for me. And I like to challenge myself. I said that before, didn't I?


Are you challenged?   Maybe you can check this out, a conference about Applied Impro:

Shining Your Brightest

AIN World Conference 

San Francisco 2012

20-23 September