Whitterer on Autism

I rush around the kitchen like a thing possessed, prior to the arrival of our guests. It is already hot, so I must prepare now or pay later. Due to the heat, it is Nonna's habit to wear a housedress, loose cotton comfort in outrageous 70's colours.

It's the only way. We fashion icons must stick together.

I reach above my head for a saucepan from the rack, which is mysteriously empty. I pause. My son is still silent, “mute” but hopefully voluntarily. I notice a footprint on the cooker where the pot of wooden spoons should be. Someone is trying to derail the cook, a conspiracy campaign no doubt.

Nonna appears in the kitchen, I beam “good morning, did you have a better night's sleep?”
“Eh?”
“Sleep. Did you sleep?”
“Am I o.k.?”
“I don't know. Are you?”
“Am I, you know……..?” She smiles hugely with a little shimmy.
I beam back none the wiser.
“I am dressed!”
“Ooo so you are.”
“So?”
“So?…….well done!”
“No…….am I……..….you know……….o.k.?”

I push back my bifocals and take a better look at her, all dressed in immaculately laundered white, with a speck of childish innocence.

Oh of course! A special occasion! Guests!

“Yes, you look lovely.”

To see and hear someone who is the real deal when it comes to  psychobabble, pop along and say “hello” to “Barbara.”