Monday, November 15, 2010
My Debussy Girl
Ella is not autistic, and has only been labeled with a “severe speech delay” and an “information processing disorder.” Yet, she has quirks. Supermarket quirks. Screaming-for-no-reason-in-the-supermarket quirks.
She hates loud noises, which I find ironic, because of her immense capability for creating vociferous noise. She also hates what she deems “scary music.” Apparently, Mahler’s 3rd symphony falls into this category. She shrieked and carried on so that I had to turn it off. With her lip out (she is an extremely proficient pouter) she requested “Busey.”
And my mind immediately went to… Gary Busey, of course.
“You wanna watch Speed?” I asked.
She marched to the piano and handed me my Debussy music. So I played a shoddy version of Clair De Lune while she happily played with her My Little Pony at my feet.
So to the people who give us reproachful looks at the supermarket, in the church foyer, and at the play museum-
We are doing our best here with what God has given us.
And if they ever cared to know, Ella, I would tell them that you are
You are a jaunty cakewalk
And a Saturday afternoon reverie.
The siren who dwells
Within the sunken cathedral
And the muffled song beneath la mer.
My petit… blanc.
You are dissonance
You are dancing snow
And every nocturne that
Sways me to dreams.
The light of my moon,
My Debussy girl.