The Independent Stitch

Aphasia, and apraxia of speech

Three weekends ago, I was at the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. Two weekends ago, I was at Shepherd's Harvest in Minnesota. I flew back from Shepherd's Harvest not certain whether I would go immediately from the arrival gate to a departure for Seattle; my mother had a stroke just before I left on the Minnesota trip, and we were monitoring the situation closely on a daily basis throughout the family. (Note: There are no direct Minneapolis-to-Seattle flights on United. When checking options, I learned that to get to Seattle as soon as the festival was over I would have had to return to Denver on my regularly scheduled flight and then catch a plane for Washington.)

As it turned out, I went home for four days to do laundry and bills, and to re-pack my suitcase. (During that time, the Hewlett Fire erupted in the mountains nearby, and we all were tracking that as well, taking action and preparing refuge for human friends and animals in the fire's vicinity. It's been way too exciting around here.)

On my mother's 88th birthday, I flew to Seattle to lend a hand as well as I could, and to learn about things like aphasia, as well as apraxia of speech, which Mom's stroke has caused. The ability to communicate, through speech, writing, and other means, plays a normally invisible and absolutely crucial role in every other aspect of living. We didn't mention her birthday to her. Despite my arrival, which got a smile out of her, that day wasn't so great. We gave her the cards a couple of days later, when things were, at least for the moment, looking a bit better.

Aphasia is neurological damage affecting language functions, including speech. Apraxia of speech is a type of speech disorder in which the brain knows what it wants to say yet the muscles can't translate those ideas into forms that other people can understand. It's not muscle weakness. It's like the muscles have lost known skills. The brain knows the ability should be there, and the means of articulation don't cooperate.

It's incredibly frustrating for everyone. Watching Mom attempt to speak is like watching someone in a swimming pool try to capture brightly colored balloons that skid away across the water's surface just as they come within reach.

She can hear and understand what we say, and can nod "yes" or "no" in response to questions. My sister is much better than I am at thinking of questions to ask that will yield useful information. Then again, my sister's full-time work in the public school system involves teaching autistic (and other) kids about movement and dance.

I have an unusual amount of experience with communication issues posed by neurological and psychological challenges. I've dealt with situational muteness. I'm good at thinking of alternative modes of communication. Most of the ideas I could come up with this time didn't work.

Mom can't write. We're not sure about reading, although she enjoyed having me read to her (Erma Bombeck's newspaper columns worked well: good lengths, good topics, and mostly humorous; when she's feeling okay, Mom's sense of humor and of the absurd appears to be intact). My sister read to her the previous week, and my niece, who had flown in to help and left the day I arrived, brought Mom some music.

We're working on how to get more music to Mom. She doesn't seem any more interested in television than I am, yet operating electronic devices that might play music is a bit beyond what she can do. The speech-and-language therapist says Mom is 100 percent accurate in responding to one-stage requests. ("Touch your nose.") Her accuracy drops somewhat when the requests move to two-stage sequences ("Touch your nose and then touch your ear."). I don't recall the percentages exactly, but I think at that level she varies between 70 and 90 percent accuracy. That's not bad for a short time post-stroke, but so far we can't think of a music-playing device that would be familiar to her, and operating a new-to-her option would require her to learn a sequence of actions. Since her energy is limited, we think she would be better off spending it in reinvigorating her how-to-talk skills. But it would be great if she had some music, and could control it. Rehab can be a really boring existence when your non-therapy alternatives are so limited.

In trying to decipher Mom's utterances when she was working on communicating verbally, I was hampered by the amount of noise in most of the spaces where we were located—it's a rehab facility, and in the daytime there's a whole lot going on. Mom's articulation isn't clear and she can't vocalize very loudly. On one day, it was sunny and we went outside into a courtyard and that was delightful. The next day it began raining, a situation that continued for the rest of my visit; the precipitation was good, but the limited access to quiet space was not.

On the occasions where all of us (especially Mom) managed to muster enough patience to slow down and make our way through a whole sentence, Mom was able to convey quite complex ideas. The high point in my week came when I guessed the word "niche" and got a strong affirmative nod from her. "Niche" is a really hard word to speak or interpret!

Right now, it's hard to tell what sorts of recovery the rehab therapies may accomplish. The aphasia and the apraxia of speech are not the only things Mom's dealing with, but they are the core issues. Mom's doing physical therapy, occupational therapy, and speech-and-language therapy. At the evaluation and treatment planning session we all participated in on Monday, the overall opinion was that she may be able to regain nearly all of the independent skills she has currently lost. (I learned that ADLs are activities of daily living, the benchmarks for independence.) But her success will depend on a few things that we can influence, as well as many things over which we have no control at all. It's one day at a time.

And we will do everything we can to support her.

This is why.

It's impossible to tell what will be needed in the family constellation over the next few weeks or months. My sister and brother-in-law are handling the great bulk of details and visits and paperwork, due to their proximity. The rest of us are doing everything we can, either from a distance or by showing up in person.

One day at a time. One step at a time. One word at a time.

Shepherd's Harvest Festival 2012, in Minnesota

Weekend before last, both authors of The Fleece & Fiber Sourcebook—Carol Ekarius and I—flew to Minnesota for the Shepherd's Harvest Festival, which was celebrating its 15th year. It's a lovely event, held at the Washington County Fairgrounds in Lake Elmo, east of the Twin Cities but easy to reach from the metropolitan area. This gathering has many of the attributes of the Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival although on a smaller and more intimate scale.

They've got music. This is Paul Imholte, who's an amazing multi-instrumentalist.

I first encountered Paul and his music when Shelley Hermanson and I were judging the skein contest. Before he began to play, Paul came over to ask if it would be okay for him to set up nearby. I really appreciated being asked, because judging requires both concentration and, in this case, conversation between the judges, but we took a quick look at him and his instruments, took a mental leap, and said "No problem!" So we got to listen while we worked. It was a good choice.

That beautifully built cart in the background stores and transports Paul's instruments and CDs. It's a very efficient and versatile set-up. We got to enjoy his music at several other locations. Sometimes there were 20 or 30 people standing around tapping their feet or dancing in place. In the case of the photo above (which I took while we were doing one of our two book signings), a young fellow was learning what to do when the music won't let you stand still.

According to the program, there were other musicians. But because of where and how I was working, I didn't happen to hear any of the others. 

There was shopping—several barns full. I'm highlighting Bleating Heart Haven for two reasons: one was that they were selling their own fiber in a very constructive way. . . .

The other is that their yarns were clearly labeled as to fiber components (specific fiber types, at the breed or grade level). As large and shiny as the labels were, they didn't interfere with shoppers' ability to look at and evaluate the skeins, which were lovely.

Bleating Heart Haven does a great job of farm-to-finished processing, design, and marketing of its fiber. It was so easy to browse and know what I was looking at! Bleating Heart Haven has a variety of types of animals producing their fibers. Even booths with single-source fibers could benefit from clear labeling of their breed-specific and home-grown yarns. Usually I have to hunt for the presence and identity of the yarns I'm most interested in.

The animals were over in another set of barns. The shepherds and farmers were on site to educate the public, sell wool or stock, and otherwise be ambassadors for their breeds. Here's a young Horned Dorset lamb with a shepherd who had interested onlookers—with good reason—every time I passed by.

The barns were stroller- and wheelchair-accessible, as were the animals.

The weather for the weekend was perfect, and there were plenty of visitors to the festival, but it never felt crowded.

Some of the sheep went on walkabouts to look at the people. Sometimes they got to go outside and enjoy the grass.

(Yes, there was a booth with lefse. I didn't have time to try it and compare it to our family's versions. It's true, I'm pretty spoiled by our family's versions, and when I read other recipes, I tend to think, "They're making it too complicated, too rich, too . . . not perfect." Norwegians can be very opinionated about their lefse.)

Other sheep helped demonstrate what rooing is (collecting wool as it naturally sheds: shears are used only on bits that haven't quite loosened up enough, and the rest is just hand-gathered). The folks below represented the Fine Fleece Shetland Sheep Association. That young sheep was experiencing her first rooing. She was very calm about it all. I think she was ready for her summer wardrobe.

What's funny in that picture is the way the sheep fits (or doesn't fit) a standard grooming (or fitting) stand, any more than her "shearing" process fits the usual trimming technique used for sheep being shown in competition. That vertical structure at the left in the photo is usually used to support the sheep's head while it's being groomed, so it won't jump off the stand or get its ears nicked by the shears. This little one just needed a halter tied to the post to make sure she stayed safe. But all of the sheep I saw at this show were calm because the whole event was so low-key.

Carol wanted to take home Babydoll Southdowns.

Note the size (the bandanna will give you scale).

For comparison, here's a regular Southdown whose picture I took at the Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival the previous weekend, over waist-high on the person leading it. This bigger Southdown was trimmed for show on one of the stands like the Shetland above is standing on, but its head likely fit in the brace.

Another barn was packed with llamas (both regular and the long-fleece suris). . . .

. . . and alpacas (both huacaya and suri).

One large stall contained baskets of more than a dozen types of fiber for people to look at closely and even touch. The photo shows just one section.

It wasn't fancy, but it was very smart to do and interesting. People enjoyed the ability to compare side-by-side a number of different types of fibers.

And then there was me and Carol.

We presented three programs, all as slide-talks. We both have ties to Minnesota and were glad to be part of the event. Our Saturday evening talk (where this photo was taken: thanks, Sarah Jane!) was about how we wrote the book. Then on Sunday we gave one talk for people who want to use different types of fibers and another for people who want to grow and sell fibers to folks like us.

Here's the weird thing. While Carol and I both live in Colorado (and have also lived in Minnesota), our homes are about four hours apart. We haven't seen each other in person since the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival last year. We met up at the airport to fly to Shepherd's Harvest, boarded the plane, found our seats, and Carol mentioned she'd brought her knitting. I asked to see it, and she pulled it out.

"Wait a minute," I said. "BFL?" (Bluefaced Leicester)

It was. She's making her mother a shawl from worsted-weight yarn.

"Where from?"

She pulled out the tag: Lisa Souza Knitwear and Dyeworks.

"WAIT just a minute." I pulled out my knitting. "BFL. Lisa Souza. SOCK weight."

We're both working wool from the same sheep breed. Obtained from the same source, and the same small-scale dyer. We're even working with the same hand-dyed color: Forbidden City.

This was NOT planned.

What are the chances?

And that's how the visit to Shepherd's Harvest went: serendipitously well.

Seattle downtown on a Sunday, not where I planned to be

This is a total digression. I have more wool posts, but on a Skype call with my daughter last night I mentioned the drive I took yesterday from SeaTac through Seattle, and she wants to see photos.

I flew in (my mother's ill), arriving an hour late because our plane was delayed to permit people coming from the east through a thunderstorm to make their connections. Picked up the rental car and called my brother-in-law to let the family know I was on my way to their house. He mentioned that the highway 99 viaduct is closed this weekend for construction, and the only option for the southern part of my trip would be I-5, and that it would be crowded. He mentioned that getting off the freeway when possible and taking 4th Avenue through downtown would be a potentially good alternative.

I know Seattle somewhat, because I lived here 40 years ago and took the buses back and forth between Lake City (way north), downtown, and my classes at the University of Washington. Things have changed a little between then and now, and I have never done much driving in this city. I did have a map (not very detailed) from the car-rental agency. (I forgot to bring a better map, and I'm not sure it would have helped.)

The freeway became a large-scale parking lot beginning about 2 miles south of downtown, so I edged over and exited at something called Martinez. It appeared to be willing to connect to 4th Avenue, but that didn't work out: I could SEE two lanes of access to 4th Avenue, but the elevated highway segment I was on wouldn't let me get to them. I headed north and attempted to find 4th Avenue by driving around some stadiums (post-1970s construction) and ended up on 1st Avenue South, where some event was going on involving teams of people running through the streets wearing costumes or at least matching t-shirts. I think beer may have been involved. There were a LOT of teams: hundreds of people. One team had Viking-style horned helmets and armor that I think was made of Rainier beer cans.

I ended up progressing slowly through Pioneer Square (my first, four-week weaving class, in 1971, was in a second-floor space in Pioneer Square; I transported my rented Pioneer table loom there on the number 7 bus from Lake City). I decided to delay my attempts at finding 4th Avenue for a few blocks because I wasn't sure I could access it from the clutter of streets around Pioneer Square.

I figured out that the people I was seeing darting in and out of traffic were likely participating in a large-scale scavenger hunt. Reason? MANY people running in front of my car when traffic slowed to a stop (every 5 feet or so) to get their pictures taken with the license plate of the car in front of me.

The car from California had cut me off when I was attempting to merge onto some more-major street from the narrow alley near one of the stadiums (stadia?) that I'd inadvertently gotten onto while looking for a way to get to 4th. At this point, I became glad that the California driver hadn't let me in, and that the more generous driver following it had, because being behind that car made my travel across lower downtown Seattle a lot more interesting than it would have been otherwise.

Note the "construction ahead" sign. This was also a theme of the day. And more frequent than the photos indicate. I only snapped pictures when I was not moving.

The construction was not minor.

Nor was the event.

When people were not running in front of my car, this is what they were doing:

I headed up the hill, still seeking 4th Avenue (lots of one-way streets to figure out, with more construction, undocumented because my car was actually moving).

I did find 4th Avenue. My connection to wherever I went next involved going down a street that my map, also studied when I was fully stopped, suggested was the connector (Battery). Once I turned onto it, the two lanes (out of three) that went where I needed to go were clearly marked BUS ONLY, but (1) I couldn't see how else to get there and (2) lots of other cars were using the BUS ONLY lanes. So I followed them.

Whew. I decided to park the car and walk as much as possible for the rest of the day. But my journey was a whole lot more interesting than I-5 was!

While walking back from visiting my mother, here's a bridge I waited to cross:

I am undoubtedly not the first person to think this looks like a TARDIS:

(There are actually four of them on the Fremont bridge.)

Maryland Sheep & Wool Festival 2012

I'm so far behind on blogging that I'll never catch up, so here's an overview of this year's wonderful Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. I taught a two-day workshop on rare wools, participated in as much of the book signing as I could get to, and facilitated two walkabout classes in the barns, which was a new event and a lot of crazy fun.

Here's everybody except the photographer (and me; I'm organizing things off to the left) concentrating on a new fiber. (Thanks, Nancy, for taking pictures while I was all-out focused on teaching!)

One of the biggest reasons that I love teaching is the great people I get to meet. And that's a roomful of them.

And here are the fibers at the start of the workshop:

We worked our way through them over two days. Our selection for this workshop included:

• Black Welsh Mountain
• Clun Forest
• Dorset Horn
• Gulf Coast Native
• Jacob (American)
• Leicester Longwool
• Navajo-Churro
• North Ronaldsay
• Oxford
• Romeldale/CVM
• Santa Cruz
• Shetland
• Wensleydale

. . . and, courtesy of BitsyKnits, a sampling of Sharlea, which is a rare wool although not from a rare breed (it's specially grown and prepared Saxon Merino).

Thanks once again to The Spinning Loft and Spirit Trail Fiberworks for making these workshops possible. There's no way I could acquire, wash, and prepare all the fibers myself. I do some of that work: The Spinning Loft does most of it, with essential contributions from Spirit Trail.

On several of the evenings, after we had finished teaching, Maggie Casey and I were lucky enough to walk around the lake near the hotel. (I was looking for a photo of Maggie, but we'll have to settle for a selection of her DVDs and her book.)

The barn walkabouts on Saturday and Sunday mornings were amazing. Registration was limited to a small group so we could move with relative compactness through the barns and talk about wools in connection with the sheep that grow them. We only had time to do barn 8: and it was a full three hours! There was a lot of variety in breeds and many topics to consider. The walkabout description said we'd cover between 10 and 12 breeds. Because they were there, we saw and talked about more than 25!

On Sunday, I juggled myself back and forth between the walkabout, the book signing, and the Parade of Breeds, which is my favorite event at the festival. Here's a Border Cheviot (in front) and a Border Leicester (behind):

My favorite Shetland ram was there again, once again charming everyone within viewing distance. This year he had been shorn before the festival—many more of the sheep were in their summer wear this year than usual. The dogwoods and azaleas had also passed their bloom-time (climate change affecting shearing, as well as blossoms?).

Sue Blacker and Douglas Bence of Blacker Designs and Blacker Yarn in the UK attended the festival and gave a presentation on the value-added work they do to increase shepherds' and farmers' income from the fiber their animals grow. One of the things they have done recently is work with some wonderful, visionary people to produce what is likely the first commercially spun Boreray yarn, and here's a ball of it!

Boreray is a rare breed of sheep from the same small set of islands, called St Kilda, that are home to the Soay. This Boreray yarn is one of two that the Blacker mill is producing. The other will be a blend of finer Boreray fleeces, hand selected, with Soay wool, as a St Kilda laceweight. I can't tell you how exciting this is. It's one of the fantastic ideas that grew out of the odd experience that was UK Knit Camp in 2010.

What with teaching, book signing, and a few wonderful meetings, I finally got to walk around the festival for a short while at the end of Sunday. I spent most of that time taking pictures of sheep. And this Karakul sheep from Redgate Farm looked exactly like I felt at that point:

So it was time to call the festival a huge success and wonderful time, and to go home.

At least for a few days.