Tara Incognita http://www.taraincognita.net Random musings exploring uncharted (and charted) territories Wed, 18 Nov 2015 18:57:57 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=4.4.10 Understanding the Syrian Refugee Crisis: A Collection of Links http://www.taraincognita.net/understanding-the-syrian-refugee-crisis-a-collection-of-links/ Tue, 17 Nov 2015 20:52:23 +0000 http://www.taraincognita.net/?p=124 As debates rage on social media, at dinner parties, and in official government offices about what to do (or not do) regarding Syrian refugees in the wake of attacks in Paris and Beirut, a lot of misinformation, bias, fear, and ignorance clouds the discussion. While a lot of the back-and-forth is largely pointless, I believe there’s some potential for people to correct misconceptions. I really have to believe that, as a journalist and a teacher, or I might as well quit my life’s work. So in that spirit, I’ve compiled a collection of links that are helpful to understanding the situation and clearing up misinformation — and hopefully cutting through the fear that blinds many people. Especially if you’ve been sent here from someone else, please try to read all these articles and to do so with an open mind. If you have other suggestions of articles to add, leave them in the comments and I’ll update the post.

First, to understand why I’m writing this post, the Washington Post reports on the US state governors stating they will not accept refugees (although the legality of those statements is in question — it doesn’t seem they can refuse refugees): Governors rush to slam door on Syrian refugees.

This screenshot of a WSJ story about the famous image of the drowned Syrian toddler has been edited to remove the advertisements and the other stories featured below the masthead.

This screenshot of a WSJ story about the famous image of the drowned Syrian toddler has been edited to remove the advertisements and the other stories featured below the masthead.

Next, given how much misinformation is out there about Syrian refugees, FactCheck has done an excellent and thorough job of clarifying any misconceptions: Stretching Facts on Syrian Refugees.

For those who have forgotten about current reality for Syrian refugees, here’s a refresher from the Guardian: Shocking images of drowned Syrian boy show tragic plight of refugees. It’s worth taking note, as the Washington Post reports, that the image is already being used as propaganda among terrorists: Islamic State uses image of drowned Syrian toddler as warning to would-be refugees.

If that image is insufficient, or you’ve already become desensitized to it, check out these arresting images of Syrian children at BuzzFeed: Powerful Images Showing Where Young Syrian Refugees Sleep.

A lot of people are concerned about how much — if at all — Syrian refugees and other refugees are vetted before being allowed to arrive or remain in the US, CNN has a great explainer on the process. The Week has a brief blurb on it, drawing from the Politifact post that assessed Jeb Bush’s statement, “It takes almost a year for a refugee to be processed in the United States.”

Also, have you heard the argument that the Boston Marathon bombers, Tamerlan and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, were refugees? That’s incorrect: The Boston Bombers Were Not Refugees — Neither Was the Paris Attacker. If you want to better understand what the terrorism risks in the US actually are, this piece from BuzzFeed does a great job of compiling the data: 5 Charts That Show What Terrorism In America Looks Like.

If you have concerns about US national security, especially regarding Syrians’ presence in the US, this link will help familiarize you with the risks. From the Niskanen Center: Six Reasons to Welcome Syrian Refugees After Paris.

Along the same vein, overreacting to the terror attacks could actually hasten success for ISIS/Daesh, as Ezra Klein discusses in Vox: ISIS can only succeed if we overreact — so we shouldn’t.

Relatedly, some people have claimed that the attacks in Paris were Syrian refugees or were posing as them. In reality, all the attackers have been found to be European Union nationals, mostly French or Belgian. There was a Syrian passport found near one of the suicide bombers, which leads to the question of why a suicide bomber who believes in the Islamic “State” would carry a Syrian passport unless he wanted it to be found. Regardless, the same passport was found on a different man in Turkey, impliying that both are probably fake.

If Westerners turn their fear of terrorism into hatred or simply rejection of refugees, that pretty much delivers what the terrorists want, as discussed in this from the Washington Post: The Islamic State wants you to hate refugees.

Many individuals have drawn comparisons between turning away Syrian refugees and turning away European Jewish refugees in the mid- and late 1930s, during the lead-up to World War II. David Bier, the Director of Immigration Policy at Niskanen Center, discussed exactly that comparison — last month, before the Paris attacks: What the Holocaust Can Teach Us About the Syrian Refugee Crisis.

If you’re concerned about terrorists already in the US — and you should be since their existence is more likely — then you might want to be concerned about how easy it is for them to get firearms too. At the Washington Post: From 2004 to 2014, over 2,000 terror suspects legally purchased guns in the United States. You can also get some stats on the risk of terrorism here.

Meanwhile, a college friend of mine in Paris writes about the very real danger that the fear and PTSD in Paris can provoke: Panic in Paris: Variety Journalists, Nearly Trampled, Describe Their Ordeal.

And what does all this fear get us? Perfectly ordinary people on planes here in the US getting kicked off… for reading the news: Police: ‘Suspicious activity’ on Chicago-bound plane was just someone watching news on phone.

Finally, the Twitter account Historical Opinion has provided several former polls of attitudes toward Jewish refugees leading up to and during World War II. The science of polling was not nearly as precise then as it is now, so it’s uncertain how representative these are, but their general sentiment matches up with historical accounts of the attitudes of the times and with editorials and editorial cartoons. I’ve posted screenshots to two tweets below.

Screenshot 2015-11-17 14.47.42

Screenshot 2015-11-17 14.48.28


Earlier This Evening http://www.taraincognita.net/earlier-this-evening/ http://www.taraincognita.net/earlier-this-evening/#comments Sun, 08 Mar 2015 05:35:43 +0000 http://www.taraincognita.net/?p=105 This is one of the harder days, even when it’s actually a good day. It’s a good day because it’s a weekend, it’s warming up outside, our family went out for a brunch at my favorite breakfast place, and my older son got to play with several of his friends, including one who has moved out of state but was visiting. It’s a bad day because of the cloudiness – in my head.

These images were taken just outside Las Vegas in February 2008. I thought of them because, in many ways, they visually represent the way my brain feels during these times.

These images were taken just outside Las Vegas in February 2008. I thought of them because, in many ways, they visually represent the way my brain feels during these times. (You can click to embiggen them.)

My husband asks me what’s wrong and I just start crying because my brain is so clouded and scattered that I actually don’t even know how to explain what’s wrong. What’s wrong is that I have all these little tasks I need to do, little organizing things that actually shouldn’t be that difficult but which require holding information in my head at one time, an ongoing kind of multi-tasking. And that makes the scatteredness even more scattered. And then I try to start one task, but in order to do it, I need to have already done another task. And so I back up to do that one, and that one is connected to another. And I try to explain what I need, but I can’t come up with the words. I need a card reader. So I can upload the photos from our trip. So I can empty the cards. But I have to back them up before I empty them in case my computer crashes. But backing them up means choosing one of the dozen hard drives to put it on. Which requires knowing which one has what because they’re all mixed up because of my old computer going dow and getting the new one and trying to make sure everything is backed up in at least two places because I’m paranoid about losing data, and with good reason. But I can’t think of the word “card reader.” So I can’t even explain that I’m looking for a card reader to my sympathetic husband trying to help while my brain is already five thoughts ahead on that hard drive thing, and I’m still trying to think of the word “card reader.” And then my husband picks it out of the pocket from the organizer hanging on the back of the door that I’ve been staring at for five minutes. Except it doesn’t have a cord. And I try to explain the cord was supposed to be on that thing. That thing behind him. THAT. That… that… the thing that holds those things. Books. The thing that holds books. The bookshelf. The cord. The cord was supposed to be on the bookshelf with the card reader that he just found. He goes and gets a similar cord that will work in his office. And the frustration I experience from not being able to come up with the words “card reader” and “bookshelf” then cause greater cloudiness. And I tell my husband it’s what I imagine having Alzheimer’s might be like, where you slip in and out of being able to think straight and clearly. You can’t remember basic words, and then your frustration overwhelms you, which of course only makes it worse. And then I’m trying to think. What do I do next? Do I start to upload the photos with the card reader with the cord I now have? Do I check on the other computer’s back-up to a hard drive that I started? Have I eaten recently? Am I hungry? Which hard drive will I back up the photos on? When will I ever get to assess what’s on which hard drives so that I can make sense of where everything is and feel secure that it’s all backed up? Do I need anything to drink? And then there is a stack of mail next to me to look through. And I have to tally up expenses from taxes. And I have to organize some books. And the baby needs to go to bed soon. And my 4-year-old keeps asking questions. And the last question is, “Mommy, why are you upset?” because I’m now crying because my brain is like a shattered mirror. I look into it to see what I need in my brain, but a couple shards have fallen away, and it’s incomplete, and some of it is distorted, and some tiny, tiny slivers so small I don’t notice them are gone, or I don’t notice until I need the word “bookshelf” and it’s not there.

Ironically, I nearly lost all of these images. I thought they had been uploaded, but they weren't. The card was erased, and I had to recover as many as I could with a recovery software I bought. I was able to recover the majority of them, in part due to having shot in RAW + JPG — for the first time in my life.

Ironically, I nearly lost all of these images. I thought they had been uploaded, but they weren’t. The card was erased, and I had to recover as many as I could with a recovery software I bought. I was able to recover the majority of them, in part due to having shot in RAW + JPG — for the first time in my life.

This is what it means to have my mental illness. It’s one part of what it means. There are other parts, and I suppose I may try to write about them when they happen or I think of them. This particular part is about the scatteredness, like piece of my thoughts are strewn across the floor in a cloudy room, and I can see bits and pieces and can’t fully make them out. It’s the downside of the mania. When the mania allows me to stay up writing for five hours, it’s great. But then there’s this part, where it splits my concentration into 15 pieces — just big enough to taunt me with thinking I can see the full picture, but just enough that I can’t keep them all in my head at once. It’s like my brain’s RAM is overextended. The hard drive works just fine, but the RAM is full and so I can’t actually access anything in the hard drive at all. And sometimes I can’t access the simple memory in RAM like “bookshelf.” Except, unlike a computer, I have the emotions to contend with as well, and they interfere with the memory issues because the emotions and overwhelmedness and frustration and anger at my brain and all the rest of that steals some of my cognitive energy as well.

My husband asks if I’ve taken my medication. I snap back that I have, but he says it’s a reasonable question, and it is. But it doesn’t always fix everything. And no, sleep or meditation or “taking a break” or whatever else doesn’t always fix it either. Sometimes you just have to wait it out. And I wonder as I write this, knowing that I’m going to put it on a blog and then put it on social media, whether explaining this sort of thing will hurt me professionally when I consider that editors may see it. But then I remember that I’ve already proven myself and my reliability to them, and it’s important for other people to know that it feels like this. And that a person can be motivated and hard-working and intelligent and successful and still have these things to reckon with. And the mental illness doesn’t make me more creative or more prolific. It hinders me. But I have figured out how to plan for the fact that these incidents happen even when I don’t know when they’ll happen. And that’s built into my workweek just like anything else is so that I can meet deadlines and do my work. (Except not to come up with ideas. Because that’s a faucet that never friggin’ turns off and part of my problem is too many ideas, all the time, floating around my head constantly, taunting me with all the things I could do and say and write if there were three or five or ten of me and if I could stand to be around those other me’s without all of us going truly crazy.) And I figure out what I can still do when it happens. I can’t remember the word “bookshelf” or the word “card reader,” and I can’t talk to my son, and I can’t tally up my expenses or know if I’m hungry or make the should-be-simple decision of what hard drive to put a backup of my photos on until I can organize them later. But I can write. And so I write.

Seven years later, this is still one of my favorite photo excursions. Funny enough, I nearly missed it. I had been on the wrong plane on the way there and ended up in LA instead.

Seven years later, this is still one of my favorite photo excursions. Funny enough, I nearly missed it. I had been on the wrong plane on the way there and ended up in LA instead.

And people wonder why I work so much. I’m a workaholic, no doubt, but working is sometimes all I can do. It’s one way to stay sane. If you’re an athlete and you haven’t worked out, and you feel that itch, that NEED to move and do what you do, and you HAVE to do it or you’ll go crazy, kind of like having a fix, then you know what I mean. That is what mania is sometimes like. Other times it’s something completely different, and it’s impossible to work. But often it’s a crowding in the head of 15 different tasks to be done, and 20 other thoughts, and you’re trying to ignore the ideas coming into your head, and the other things you can do or want to do or need to do, and you’re trying to remember things like it’s 20 minutes past your son’s bedtime and he needs a bath and are you hungry and do you need to eat? And if you’re tired reading this, or you’re backing up and trying to figure out the last thing I just said or you’re counting run-ons or clauses or conjunctions, then welcome to my head. This is 1,500 words, and I wrote it in 30 or something minutes. This is how the brain cells do things around here. Sometimes. Or a lot of times. Or it depends.

http://www.taraincognita.net/earlier-this-evening/feed/ 2
Goodbye, Dr. Kohler. I hope you’re having a great day, wherever you are. http://www.taraincognita.net/goodbye-dr-kohler-i-hope-youre-having-a-great-day-wherever-you-are/ http://www.taraincognita.net/goodbye-dr-kohler-i-hope-youre-having-a-great-day-wherever-you-are/#comments Tue, 17 Feb 2015 23:01:31 +0000 http://www.taraincognita.net/?p=100 One of the beats I’ve written on for years within health and within pediatrics in particular is sleep. I’m not as well known for reporting on evidence about children’s sleep as I am for vaccines or other issues, but it has always been one of the more fascinating areas I’ve focused on, and it’s always been a favorite just behind vaccines. Over the past five years or so, I’ve probably read at least four or five dozen studies related to children, teens, and sleep, and I’ve written stories specifically about probably half of those. And for the vast majority of those stories, I’ve relied upon my favorite source for all things sleep as at least one of the voices in each story – William C. Kohler, a sleep medicine physician in Spring Hill, Florida who specialized in pediatric sleep.

Generally, it’s not a great idea to rely on one source too extensively for reporting. It’s important to seek a diversity of sources, both to represent the diversity of individuals out there with expertise in the area, and to represent the diversity of professional perspectives on a particular research question. There were certainly stories I wrote where I didn’t call on Dr. Kohler, but it was hard not to ask him for his perspective on so many of them. He had been practicing sleep medicine for decades, had authored studies, and was writing a book on sleep over last year, and many of the stories I was writing were short summaries of the research rather than extensively researched and reported in-depth pieces.

Dr. William C. Kohler was a well-respected researcher in sleep medicine and neurology.

Dr. William C. Kohler was a well-respected researcher in sleep medicine and neurology.

But those aren’t the real reasons I called Dr. Kohler so much. I have three phone numbers for him in my phone even though I always reached out to him first by email. That’s because he always, always, always, without fail, called me within 24 hours after an email. I saved each number he called me from – they were his home, cell, and office numbers – mainly so I would know when he was calling. Sometimes I was in the middle of something and couldn’t answer, and if I knew it was him, I knew I was fine – he always left very detailed messages with his comments on a study, and then I could follow up as needed. Some of my voicemails from him are several minutes long, and I’d replay them as I typed out what he said and then determined if I had more questions. I’ve interviewed hundreds of people for my stories, dozens and dozens of researchers, and I’ve sometimes relied on some more frequently than others, particularly for areas I would report on repeatedly. Not one person I’ve ever interviewed was as reliable as Dr. Kohler.

But that’s not the only reason I liked Dr. Kohler. I actually just liked him. He was a grandfatherly and kind, and we sometimes got off topic and talked about tangential things. He knew of my struggles with my son’s sleep, and he knew my own struggles to get to sleep at a reasonable hour. We would joke about when he would call in the morning because he knew I wouldn’t pick up – I was still in bed. He told me about his grandchildren. Sometimes he was returning from a family event or on his way to meet them at church. It was evident through our conversations over the years – despite their professional purpose – that he was devoted to his family and heavily involved in his church. When a hurricane was on its way, we discussed the weather, and I told him to be safe. When snow was headed my way, he told me the same. It was idle chit chat between questions about this or that research findign, but it built a rapport over the years. He told me stories about other researchers in the field, such as his famous colleague Ferber, and gave me historical context about research questions. We were working on our books at the same time and discussed that work briefly. He was incredibly well-read in his field and spoke eloquently. And he was kind. I would ask him the same questions over and over sometimes – “Can you explain the simplest way to describe hypopnea to an eighth grade-level layperson audience again?” I might ask – and he always obliged. Sometimes he would point out inaccuracies in published pieces that I quickly corrected, but again, he always did it very kindly.

You’ve surely noticed by now I’m using the past tense. I was given a sleep study assignment about kids and napping last Friday. I was excited when I got the study because it was relevant to my own life as a parent, but it also gave me an opportunity to reconnect with Dr. Kohler. I had not spoken with him since last September because I’ve been so deeply immersed in my book work and haven’t written about sleep studies in the interim. I immediately sent off an email and gave him some times when I knew I’d be available because I wanted to be sure I actually got to pick up the phone and speak to him instead of just getting a voicemail. I wanted to tell him I’d finished the book, to find out if he had finished his, and to tell him my second son is a much better sleeper than the first.

He didn’t call on Friday, but perhaps he had a family event going on. I never expected him to drop what he was doing for my story. I just knew he had always called back quickly. He didn’t call Saturday. He didn’t call Sunday. I thought that was odd, but it was a three-day weekend. He didn’t call Monday. I made a note in my phone to try his office later that day, and the time got away from me. I knew by now I would need to reach out to other researchers for an additional perspective, and I was reaching out to some PR colleagues to find at least a second source for my story. I got some of what I needed late Monday night, last night. The story was due this morning, and I was starting on it at 2 a.m. last night.

But something wasn’t right. I had emailed Dr. Kohler Friday. For three straight days, I hadn’t heard a word. That just… wasn’t right. And I had a hunch. And I googled “William Kohler Florida obituary.” And it was the first result: “KOHLER, William Curtis M.D., age 72, died at home in Brooksville on October 15, 2014. Formerly, he lived in Tallahassee, Florida and Fishtail, Montana.” Only a couple lines later, I was sure it was the right person: “Dr. Kohler will be especially remembered for his work in sleep medicine. He was involved with sleep medicine for over 40 years and was also Board Certified in Sleep Medicine as well as Pediatrics and Neurology.” I learned he did finish his book: “Dr. Kohler’s life-long interest in the field of sleep medicine also prompted him to research numerous ways in which sleep disorders can be treated successfully. Shortly before his death, he completed a manuscript currently being readied for publication next spring by the Taylor & Francis Group.” And I learned that my impression of the man, even in bits and spurts over the years, limited to professional interactions, was pretty on-target: “Bill was a man of unwavering faith. ‘Dr. Kohler’ was widely regarded as the ‘sweetest man I ever met.’ He loved the Lord with all of his heart and loved his neighbors as himself. It was rare that he wasn’t smiling or in a good mood regardless of the occasion. Through his faith and love of God he lived with an inner peace, comfort and confidence throughout his life despite turmoil and hardships.”

Indeed, that was the Dr. Kohler I had the pleasure of working with for five years. And then I surprised myself – I began crying. What was this?! I had never met Dr. Kohler in person. I knew his voice mainly as it spoke of sleep apnea and the importance of “good quality and quantity of sleep,” a phrase he must have uttered 30 times to me. I thought of the time I had a conference in Florida and asked him how far he was from it, but it had been too far to meet for a coffee. I flipped through my phone. Nine voicemails were still on there from him. I listened to one from last September, a month before he died. I smiled as I recalled our conversations and heard the same mix of kindness and authority and knowledge in his message. And then his final line, the same one, every single time, in every single voicemail: “Hope you’re having a great day.”

I was having a great day, Dr. Kohler, until I found out you weren’t hear to wish me another one. I know he had a long, wonderful life (he was in his 70s) with a lovely family whom he cared very deeply for. And I’m nothing more than one of many journalists who consulted his expertise on sleep research. But he was indeed a special man. And he will be missed, even from this journalist from afar. And writing about sleep will be just a tiny bit less sweet from now on because he will no longer be waking from his.

http://www.taraincognita.net/goodbye-dr-kohler-i-hope-youre-having-a-great-day-wherever-you-are/feed/ 2
The non-links involving mental illness, autism and violence http://www.taraincognita.net/the-non-links-involving-mental-illness-autism-and-violence/ Tue, 27 May 2014 08:46:31 +0000 http://www.taraincognita.net/?p=95 Learn. Repeat. Share.

1) Asperger’s is not a mental illness. It is a developmental disability.

2) Asperger’s is not associated with violence. At all. In any way. In fact, someone with Asperger’s is far *less* likely to commit a violent crime than someone without it.

3) A person who commits mass murder is not automatically/by default mentally ill (much as some might wish it so).

4) The mentally ill are many times more likely to be a victim of a violent crime than a perpetrator.

5) Drawing spurious armchair-diagnosing conclusions about a person’s mental health and his or her violent acts, without evidence, harms the mentally ill.

Added, per Liz Ditz‘s edits: Persons with developmental disabilities are more likely to be the VICTIM of a crime than a perpetrator. And drawing spurious armchair-diagnosing conclusions about a person’s developmental status and his or her violent acts harms those with developmental disabilities.

“All features that characterize Asperger’s syndrome can be found in varying degrees in normal population.” – Lorna Wing, 1981, a quote provided by Steve Silberman


In addition to worrying about our children’s health and making the right decisions with regards to ear infections and vaccines and sleep and the such, we parents obviously have a pretty hefty responsibility in teaching our children how to think about the world and other people in it. That includes helping them understand, interact with and think about people who are different from them, including differences in physical health, mental health and developmental disabilities, such as having autism.

When tragedies occur, we must also help children process the event and provide them with the appropriate lenses through which to see the incident, if not understand it since such things are rarely truly “understood.” It is absolutely essential that in doing these two things, we do not allow our children to absorb inaccurate and damaging ideas, propagated by an irresponsible media machine and blogosphere as well as countless Internet comments, about links between those disabilities and such violent acts when no evidence exists for such a link.

Following the Newtown shootings, and now following this most recent shooting in Santa Barbara, the news has been contaminated with spurious connections between the shootings and the mental and/or developmental status of the shooter. The former can certainly be relevant when kept in context and when confirmed (rather than springing from dozens of online amateur armchair-diagnosing). The latter is irrelevant.

There were reports that Adam Lanza, the Newtown shooter, had Asperger’s, which no longer “officially” exists in the new DSM-5 but is considered on the spectrum of autism disorders. That diagnosis has since been legitimately questioned, but even if true, it is not relevant to his committing a crime. Now the Santa Barbara shooter has been supposedly labeled with Asperger’s by his family’s attorney, who then retracted the statement and then clarified in an LA Times story: “Astaire said Elliot had not been diagnosed with Asperger’s but the family suspected he was on the spectrum, and had been in therapy for years. He said he knew of no other mental illnesses, but Elliot truly had no friends, as he said in his videos and writings.”

1010592_495724187166238_435361941_nNote that the writer here erroneously wrote “no other mental illnesses,” as though Asperger’s were a mental illness. It’s not. Further, any news articles which speculate on Elliot Rodger’s mental health history would be violating the new guidelines issued by the Associated Press following the Newtown shooting. Such speculation, as that link explains, is further stigmatizing and damaging to those with mental illness, who happen to commit only about 4% of all violent crimes. That speculation is also damaging and stigmatizing to those with developmental disabilities, such as autism, when the developmental disorder is inappropriately linked to violent crimes.

As I wrote above and on my Facebook timeline, Asperger’s and/or autism spectrum disorders are NOT mental illnesses. They are also NOT linked to violence. Mental illness itself is NOT linked to violent crime in and of itself. That does not mean we should ignore the mental health status of mass shooters, nor does it mean we do not need better mental health services in this country (we do), but we should also pay attention to the only common denominator that IS evident in these incidents – that they are carried out with the same instruments. For example, the presence of a gun in the home greatly increases the risk of a violent death in that home. Hence my involvement with Parents Against Gun Violence.

Folks with much more knowledge and information that I have on this topic have already written about it at length, so I’ve provided below some essential reading when it comes to the intersection (or lack thereof) of mental illness, autism and violence. Emily Willingham, in particular, has written some of the best pieces on this, including this, just days before the Santa Barbara shooting:

“Evidence-based studies examining established commonalities among people who commit crimes like this can be enlightening, but wild speculation and retrospective diagnosing do nothing useful and can cause considerable harm to law-abiding people who carry any of these labels, whether autism, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, or others that have been suggested. Autistic people are people, and like other people, some tiny percentage of them can engage in violent behaviors, although overall, they “almost never” target anyone outside their families, plan the violence, or use weapons. There is no single or even group of diagnoses that explains or predicts the horrific behavior of mass murderers. And some unsupported assumptions about autism–such as the continued canard that autistic people lack empathy (they do not)–help no one and certainly don’t guide us to way to prevent such tragedies.”

A similar piece about the same irresponsible study is by an autistic disability rights activist.

The same activist also discusses the inappropriateness of linking the Santa Barbara shooting with Asperger’s or autism.

Dr. Willingham discusses the inaccurate beliefs that autistics do not have empathy and that they are dangerous.

An excellent piece from a father about many of the misunderstandings about Asperger’s.



The disabled, including autistics, are more likely to be the victim of sexual assault than the non-disabled.

This study shows that those with autism spectrum disorders and/or obsessive compulsive disorder are less likely to commit a violent crime than typically developing individuals.

A statement from the Interagency Autism Coordinating Committee at the US Department of Health and Human Services: “There is no scientific evidence linking ASD with homicides or other violent crimes. In fact, studies of court records suggest that people with autism are less likely to engage in criminal behavior of any kind compared with the general population, and people with Asperger syndrome, specifically, are not convicted of crimes at higher rates than the general population (Ghaziuddin et al., 1991, Mouridsen et al., 2008, Mouridsen, 2012).”

This excellent fact sheet provides the evidence for the following statements:

  • The vast majority of people with mental illness are not violent.
  • The public is misinformed about the link between mental illness and violence.
  • Inaccurate beliefs about mental illness and violence lead to widespread stigma and discrimination
  • The link between mental illness and violence is promoted by the entertainment and news media.

Other facts available at the Twitter hashtag #autismfacts.

A version of this post also appears at Red Wine & Apple Sauce and on the Parents Against Gun Violence blog.

A look at the past year, concluding on a difficult note http://www.taraincognita.net/a-look-at-the-past-year-concluding-on-a-difficult-note/ http://www.taraincognita.net/a-look-at-the-past-year-concluding-on-a-difficult-note/#comments Thu, 02 Jan 2014 02:09:41 +0000 http://www.taraincognita.net/?p=74 I’m sitting in Starbucks with a lengthy to-do list on New Year’s Day. I was going to make resolutions, but I don’t have time for that at the moment. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be back home in Illinois preparing for the year and some big changes. My husband is already there while I remain in Texas at my parents with my son and my two dogs, one of whom is the reason I’m still here and the reason I’m writing this. See, I can’t work. I came here intending to, but instead I’m trying unsuccessfully to distract myself until I just started crying and crying and realized I have to write this first, even though this is unlikely to help either. I’m kinda a wreck, just pretending not to be so I can get through each day.

Casper is on the left, Ghost on the right.

Casper is on the left, Ghost on the right.

See, 2013 started out as a pretty good year. In fact, it’s been a hell of a year. We settled into our new home in Illinois. We bought our first house. I started teaching as a university adjunct professor, as I’d wanted to do for many years. I made a lot of new friends and a lot of new business contacts. I got published in some of the publications I’ve been wanting to write for for quite a while, and my journalism career is starting to take off. My mom/science/health blog has seen great success, including a viral post that broke the site for a while but also put me on a lot of people’s radar. I signed a book deal for a parenting book I’m both excited and nervous to be writing. Meanwhile, our family took our first vacation abroad in a number of years, my son’s first out of the country. I used to travel abroad every year, so skipping it for four years was tough until our nice week in Costa Rica. Shortly after that, I found out I was pregnant, which was planned and a source of stress until it happened. All pretty good stuff, and some significant life milestones.

Then, not too far into the second half of the year, it was as though the universe started making up for all the good stuff. Fortunately, the pregnancy has continued to progress healthily, so I am grateful for that. I have to say that first because I do recognize my fortune in the midst of the list I’m about to run through. Our new home required very expensive but absolutely necessary foundation work that nearly cleared out our emergency savings. I went through some crap at a job that isn’t appropriate (or worthwhile) to go into here but which was traumatic and deeply disheartening. I also experienced some serious prenatal depression and ongoing morning sickness that coincided with those events. The events also led me to set an ambitious and exhausting travel agenda in the fall with four conferences in six weeks. These were tough enough, but on the way home from the fourth, I received news that a close uncle had unexpectedly died following a car accident. Another weekend of travel was tacked on for a difficult event.

Not long after returning from that, just as I was hoping to return to some semblance of “normal,” my son became ill with a fever for several days. Not long after, I became ill. I’ve lost track of the number of times each of us became ill then – fevers, vomiting, pink eye for me and other fun times – but it was sort of a back-and-forth trade off. Then in early December after dropping off my son at daycare, barely a week after I thought I had recovered from what was supposed to be pink eye, I was driving down the highway when my eyes involuntarily closed and stung with pain. I immediately pulled off to the shoulder, but those were the first symptoms of what was diagnosed a day or so later at keratoconjunctivitis. It required several days of sitting in the dark without an ability to work, see light, drive or use any screen-based technology. I couldn’t even read. I couldn’t drive for more than two weeks, and during the second week much of what I saw was distorted by blurriness as my eyes slowly recovered. (I still must rely on outdated glasses instead of my contacts.)

That experience led right up until we headed to Texas for the holidays. The holidays have been nice for the most part, especially the gluttonous gastronomic holiday my husband and I have taken after being deprived of good food while living in Peoria the past year. And that brings us up to now. The past few months have been a blur of travel, illness, tragedy, depression and frustration, and I was so looking forward to the new year, as though the arbitrary change of days from one year to the year might actually hold some significance. Regardless, the universe had another trick up its sleeve.

I’ll just copy and paste this part from my Facebook feed since it’s difficult to write about anyway, and this post is a pathetic attempt at catharsis so I might be able to get some work done. Along with the photo here, I posted the following:

My son holds Casper while Ghost is beside him at the vet.

My son holds Casper with Ghost beside him at the vet.

“At this point (yesterday afternoon), we didn’t know how things would turn out. The vet literally said (twice) it would take a miracle for Ghost to pull through. Our 6.5 lb dog had eaten a full ounce bar of rat poison he’d found, and it was bromethalin, which attacks the central nervous system and kills with brain swelling; there’s no antidote or treatment. It was too late for stomach pumping: he’d eaten it at night without our realizing it and by morning, when we rushed him to the vet, he had unrelenting tremors and couldn’t walk. All we could do was transfer him to the 24 hr hospital for round-the-clock observation and regular doses of a med to help drain the liquid in his brain. Yesterday was really rough for all of us, including Casper, his littermate and companion since birth, who D’s holding. Today we found out Ghost lived through the night and was able to eat a small amount of food. He can’t walk at all or move much, but the worst appears to be over. The brain swelling is on its way down, and the vet is optimistic about his recovery. After he’s released from doggie ICU, we’ll have to syringe-feed him and inject liquids subcutaneously. So I’ll be in Texas a little longer than we planned.”

The outpouring of support was wonderful and greatly appreciated. The following day, yesterday, the same day my husband returned to Illinois for work, I brought Ghost home to my parents and posted this update:

I think the towel got worked into his mouth by accident during his vocalizing, so I readjusted his position.

I think the towel got worked into his mouth by accident during his vocalizing, so I readjusted his position.

“Update on Ghost: He’s home with us now and needs a LOT of care. I fed him with a syringe earlier and will be giving him fluids subcutaneously. He vocalizes, like an unending high-pitched yelp, frequently, and still can’t move much on his own except moving his head very slightly. (Not sure why he worked the towel into his mouth but vet said it was fine.) It’s basically like taking care of a newborn. We’ll feed him and flip him over every 4-6 hours. The vet said it will take several weeks before he’s even close to ‘normal.’ We’re not sure how long it will take before he can walk. Seems to be doing okay.”

I’ve tried to keep my tone matter-of-fact and neutral because of course I’ve been falling apart at this. It’s remarkable to me how pets squirm their way into our hearts. Animal stories often top the “Most Read” lists of different sites, and a post about a pet brings out others’ empathy like little else. I had gotten Casper and Ghost as puppies, a few months old, from a no-kill shelter the day before my first date with my husband. I trained them on my own, my first pets that were all “mine,” if you will. They were, in some small and silly way, my way of becoming more of an adult, attempting to take on a responsibility that might lead me down the path of being a better mom one day. When my boyfriend-then-husband traveled with me and I ever experienced anxiety, he reminded me to think of my puppies, and it calmed me.

When I had gone to the shelter, I was there for another dog, but someone else was already there for that dog. So they brought out Casper and Ghost. I had never seen long-haired chihuahuas before, and they were adorable. Casper licked me and crawled rambunctiously all over while Ghost trembled in my arms. The staff asked which one I thought I might want to take home. I nearly laughed at them. Which one? It was clear there could be no other choice than to take both home. I couldn’t possibly separate them. Family members said I was crazy – not one but two dogs?! – but they became my babies.

Ghost once got into the trash where an ink cartridge had been... with amusing (and annoying) results.

Ghost once got into the trash where an ink cartridge had been… with amusing (and annoying) results.

I kept their names from the shelter, but they had been misnamed. Ghost is actually the outgoing, social, gregarious one who would go up, wagging his tail, to anyone for a snuggle. He was also the one always getting into whatever he could and would eat anything. Casper, though it didn’t appear that way at the shelter, is actually the shy and uncertain one, though he’s come out of his shell over the years, due in part to a lot of work on my husband’s part. But both are love-slut lap dogs who crave attention and are incredibly affectionate. They crawl under the covers with me or curl on my legs or around my arms every chance they get, even while I’m working. They’re wonderful with our son, despite how he tries their patience. Everyone who meets them comments on how adorable and friendly they are.

I actually WAS doing a bit better after I found out the day before yesterday that Ghost had made it through the night. Up until then, I was grieving for myself, grieving for my son and grieving for Ghost’s brother Casper. I was listless, tired and red-eyed. I worried about how I would explain things to our 3-year-old and how we would manage Casper’s inevitable depression, which appeared to have already begun. It’s not important or helpful to discuss how Ghost got a hold of the rat poison in the first place, but difficulty related to those circumstances have lingered in the background as well. But at least he survived, and I had hoped we were mostly out of the woods.

Ghost is *incredibly* friendly, social and affectionate, so it's even harder to see him like this.

Ghost is *incredibly* friendly, social and affectionate, so it’s even harder to see him like this.

Now, I worry about something just as difficult – what it will mean if Ghost doesn’t recover. I don’t mean fully recover — I expect to see some permanent changes and he may have some brain damage — but there is always the possibility that he may not walk again. The vet hopes and expects he will, but we just don’t know at this point. Although I described his condition matter-of-factly on Facebook, his yelpy-whiny cries are heartbreaking. I don’t know how many of them are intentional or involuntary, though most do appear to be communicating something (needing to pee or having peed, being hungry, wanting to be held). I don’t know what he feels, physically or mentally, or whether I can do much to help him other than petting him, talking to him, holding him, and the care we were instructed by the vet: syringe feeding with a little water every four hours, turning him regularly to avoid bed sores, keeping him clean from urine and excrement, and administering subcutaneous fluids once a day.

I have to force his jaw open to syringe feed him, but he seems to have opened it a little more on his own a few times. He seems today to be reaching his tongue further when eating the food or drinking the water. He shakes several times a day, the way dogs shake to get rid of excess water. He has moved his legs while crying or shaking but otherwise seems unable to move himself or even lift his head. When I say his name, his eyes flit toward me for a moment, and he responds to startling stimuli with an expected jump, such as when something crashes to the floor. But I don’t know how much of this is subtle progress or how much is my noticing things that have already been there but haven’t improved.

And then I try to step back from all of this, to look it from a distance. I am in reasonably decent physical and mental health, (despite my eyes problem and other inconveniencing but not life-threatening illnesses), considering what so many others suffer. Most of those I love are alive and healthy. I do not live in some place like Syria or Congo, where life could be indescribably, unimaginably painful and tragic right now. We have anxiety-causing school loan debt but are generally financially stable and certainly financially better off than more than 60 or 70 percent of the rest of Americans right now.

We both have health insurance and paying work, even if mine is less stable, especially recently. And my goodness have I had some wonderful things happen this year – the house, the pregnancy, the book deal, the career advances. And yet, I’m going to pieces for this difficult time with a pet. I’m not trying to trivialize my own pain, though I admit it’s what my attempts at rationalization end up doing. It’s just remarkable, as my thought process telescopes in and out of my current situation, how the life of a creature now barely weighing 6 pounds can have such an impact in the midst of so many other positives (albeit no doubt exacerbated by this occurring at the end of a series of distressing events).

So, that’s my cathartic rant, disguised as a year-end wrap-up. I do look forward to 2014 (even as I find all the emphasis on a “new year” a bit tiresome and silly). The next 12 months will bring their own challenges, with bringing another child into the world, finishing the book and other big things still being developed or that are sure to come along. Some time in the next month or so, I hope to sit down and plan a few realistic, achievable, worthwhile goals moving forward. We’ll see. Right now, my primary goal is to get done the essential work I must get done and to take care of an adorable, inquisitive, thoughtful preschooler and a precious white ball of fur and his brother. And myself. I’ll try to squeeze that in there somewhere too.


UPDATE 1/7/13

On Friday evening, January 3, Ghost died around 10:30pm while he was on the dog bed on the kitchen table. His tail began flapping rapidly, which D found delightful. When I ran over to see what was happening, I knew something wasn’t right. His tail eventually slowed to a stop and then he was completely limp. The juxtaposition of D’s excited “He’s wagging his tail!” with the reality of what was happening was jarring. We rushed him to a nearby 24-hour animal emergency hospital, but he was already gone. His body could not hold out, I suppose.

We had not prepared for this because the vets had expected him to start recovering, or, at the least, not to be likely to die, but I am grateful that at least Ghost is not suffering any longer and that we will not be worried about his potential quality of life going forward. Those concerns, and the overall burden and emotional exhaustion of having cared for him over the past week, meant I felt a bit of reluctant relief, even as I was a wreck at the hospital that night. I also felt confident that we had done everything we possibly could have and made Ghost as comfortable as possible in his last week. Bringing him to the vet earlier on the day he died or even the day before would not, I am certain, have changed the result since there was nothing the vet could do that we were not already doing at home. I have shed tons of tears, that night and since, and I’ve tried to stop playing the “what if” games in my head as much as I can. I will be picking up his cremated ashes tomorrow.

Meanwhile, we have moved somewhat quickly to look at shelter/rescue long-haired chihuahuas needing adoptions because we wanted a companion for Casper (who has always had a canine companion since birth) and, frankly, a new dog would likely be good for D and good for me. We found online a cute, friendly 1-year-old pup named Pico at a shelter near Chicago who is good with kids, good with other dogs and tolerant of cats. We applied and put down a deposit, and he’ll be ours on Saturday.

We have not talked to D about Ghost or where he is because D has not asked. I’ve tried to come up with what I would say because I’m expecting he will ask at some point, but I think I’m just going to have to wing it when that happens. Neither I nor my husband are comfortable with talk of “heaven” or a “better place” or such, but I can describe things as simply as possible and note that Ghost is no longer feeling pain or suffering. I continue to remember little things about Ghost that I found adorable, and they often make me cry, but I know that will fade in the good sense.

I did not have much time to dwell on it the day after Ghost died anyway – as soon as I got up and walked into the living room, my mom informed me that my dad was in the hospital. He had driven up there at 5 am (just an hour after I’d gone to bed, actually) with chest pain and numbness/tinging down one side, both classic heart attack symptoms in someone with a history of heart disease and a quintuple bypass surgery ten years ago. Fortunately, after he was there a few days and did a stress test, he was discharged yesterday with normal results and no immediate danger related to his heart. He will be undergoing an MRI and ultrasound to look for other causes, such as a pinched nerve in his neck.

In the meantime, I have not been able to work – work can often be a solace or escape – because it’s just not been worth the effort with caring for D, processing everything, etc. The new year was intended to be an opportunity to readjust my professional career, but that is necessarily on hold, and I have little cognitive stores available for thinking beyond what simply needs to be done from one day to the next. To add to everything else, I found out today that my computer’s logic board needs to be replaced, which will require 3-5 days, so I’m going to be restricted from working anyway, for better or for worse. My mom, who was not cleared to drive from her knee surgery recovery until today, needed rides to/from physical therapy, and I’ve continued to be stranded in Texas anyway because the Midwest is literally frozen over. Although I’m not looking forward to single-digit (or negative-digit) temperatures and a much earlier setting sun, I am anxious to get back home to try to recapture some semblance of “normal life” as soon as the weather lets me.


http://www.taraincognita.net/a-look-at-the-past-year-concluding-on-a-difficult-note/feed/ 5
Macro iPhone images of snowflakes from a Midwest snowstorm http://www.taraincognita.net/macro-iphone-images-of-snowflakes-from-a-midwest-snowstorm/ http://www.taraincognita.net/macro-iphone-images-of-snowflakes-from-a-midwest-snowstorm/#comments Fri, 01 Mar 2013 08:07:03 +0000 http://www.taraincognita.net/?p=56 Just about every phase of my has involved a tradeoff somewhere, which is probably true for most people. When I moved to Peoria, I gave up the heat of Texas summers (thank God!) for the cold of Midwest winters (so far I’m fine with that). I also gained the opportunity to really focus on my writing – but at the expense, for various reasons, of my photography. snowflake Tara Haelle Midwest

For now, I’m mostly okay with that too, but I still need my photo fix, including a bit of creativity and exploration. Therefore, when I read on a colleague’s blog post about her attempts to photograph snowflakes using a macro lens on her iPhone, I was intrigued. The photos were pretty cool, and the Easy-Macro lens Karyn mentioned as her favorite was only $15. I figured I’d try it.

The lens arrived late last week, just in time for a snowstorm’s arrival here in Illinois. But the snow started falling too late in the day to have enough outside available light for the iPhone camera. Fortunately, it snowed again yesterday and today, so I had the chance to try out the Easy-Macro lens – basically a lens of about 1 cm in diameter embedded in a blue rubber band that wraps around your mobile device. Real high tech, right? Well, low tech doesn’t mean low quality, it turns out.

In my first “shoot,” I caught the snowflakes on the sleeve of my green sweater-jacket, which has also caught more dog and cat hair than a pet groomer’s floor, I think. As the flakes fell on my jacket, I had to move fairly quickly to pick out the best ones and try to photograph them before they started to melt. (I was also doing this while sitting in my car with the door open and a 2-year-old in his car seat anxious to go wherever it was we were going while mommy did some strange thing with her phone.)snowflake Tara Haelle Midwest

I wasn’t thrilled with the background, so I figured I’d try something else later. I also had an Otterbox on my phone and wondered if the few additional millimeters between the macro lens and the camera influenced the magnification and/or focus. I resolved to try the lens again later sans Otterbox when said 2-year-old was not getting anxious in the back seat.

I tried again in early afternoon, but then the flakes were too small – they appeared to be only small pieces of complete flakes without any visible patterns. A few hours later, however, I saw thicker flakes coming down and decided to try again, catching the flakes on a black sweater this time. This time, the flakes were large and gorgeous. Each flake was about 3 to 5 mm and nearly every one that landed on my jacket was complete with patterns clear to the visible eye.

I discovered the black background led the iPhone to overexpose a bit, though this actually worked in my favor for photographing white snowflakes. Still, I didn’t like the grayish background (or the many pet hairs magnified in the images), and the flakes were still melting a little too quickly for me to frame and focus my images.snowflake Tara Haelle Midwest

I experimented with a few different clothing items to “catch” the snowflakes, including a gray nylon jacket, khaki pants and gray slacks. What eventually worked out beautifully was a blue fleece blanket. I was able to bunch it up enough that my body heat didn’t travel through it, so as long as I didn’t breathe on the snowflakes, they remained intact for plenty of time to be photographed before melting. (The blanket had its share of pet hair too, but oh well.)

The focusing was understandably finicky because the depth of field range for the Easy-Macro is very small, but I eventually got a feel for approximately how far to hold the lens/iPhone from the flakes – somewhere around two inches or so – to get shots in focus.

I was thrilled with the results. The slideshow below includes some of my favorites as well as some of the missteps. I haven’t tried the macro lens with any other subjects yet, but it was definitely worth the fifteen bucks (and the freezing hands on my porch step) to get some of these lovely images of snowflakes.

http://www.taraincognita.net/macro-iphone-images-of-snowflakes-from-a-midwest-snowstorm/feed/ 4
An Ode to Dads and Daughters http://www.taraincognita.net/an-ode-to-dads-and-daughters/ http://www.taraincognita.net/an-ode-to-dads-and-daughters/#comments Thu, 21 Feb 2013 09:00:11 +0000 http://www.taraincognita.net/?p=37 I took the bus to St. Jude’s Catholic School in first grade, but as happens sometimes, I missed the bus one day. No worries – my dad happened to be off work that day and was able to take me to school. The easiest mode of transportation? I rode in the sidecar of his motorcycle for the brief few miles to the school. This was no big deal to me. I’d ridden in the sidecar and on the back of the bike plenty of times with my little arms wrapped around my dad and my heavy helmet weighing on my head. I’d grown up around Dad’s motorcycle.

Dad and I danced, naturally, at my wedding. Photo by Matt Valentine.

But my classmates? Yea, I guess not too many 6-year-olds get dropped off at Catholic School in the sidecar of a motorcycle. For a week, I was the smallest celebrity in the school. The big, scary and popular EIGHTH-GRADERS were even talking to little first-grade me. The nuns gave me a funny sort of look. I was a good student, but I had, you know, arrived at school… on a MOTORCYCLE. I’m not sure they knew what to think. Other than basking in the sudden popularity that week, I didn’t think much of it. That was Dad.

When I was in Brownie Girl Scouts, our troop “cookie mom” was also Dad. During my elementary school years, Dad took us out on the boat, out fishing and to the deer lease, where he taught my sister and I how to drive a truck and how to shoot – and respect – guns.

As I entered adolescence, friends, school and my own activities took on a bigger role in my life, and I was probably always a little closer to my mom, but there were still activities that were very clearly opportunities for just Dad and me, such as the years he coached my softball team when no one else would step up to bat. Today, I continue to consult Dad on the stuff Dad knows – be it related to long-distance trips, home-buying or – believe it or not – sewing. We have had our clashes (let’s not get into politics), but the early experiences we shared forged an important bond.

Not surprisingly, my experiences are part of a common thread in the lives of young girls. A new qualitative study (pdf) asked 43 daughters and 43 fathers (though not related to one another) to write about the “turning points” in their father-daughter relationships. The authors, Elizabeth Barrett and Mark Morman at Baylor University, asked the study participants specifically to write about the turning points in closeness in their relationship with their father or daughter.

Some are the expected moments, such as a daughter getting married (the second most mentioned turning point by father and daughters) or a girl’s first dating experiences. (Of course, my father was the one who found it funny to answer the door to a potential suitor with a shotgun just to see his reaction. You had to be thick-skinned and have a good sense of humor to date me!) Others involved leaving home. But the number one cited “turning point” by both fathers and daughters was “participating in activities together.” The shared activities often involved sports, but they also involved other activities and even travel experiences like road trips.

The top five moments listed by the daughters included participating in activities, marriage, physical distance from her father, maturing and developing a friendship with her father and having children. Fathers’ top five moments included participating in activities together, a daughter’s marriage, the daughter’s first dating experiences, a daughter’s first claim of independence and physical distance from their daughter. But what the experiences described primarily had in common was the fact that they existed at all: the relationship between dad and daughter matters.

Throughout this week and last, I’ve heard a number of interviews and NPR radio stories about Betty Friedan, given that the 50th anniversary of The Feminine Mystique has arrived. The best of these interviews and discussions (though unfortunately only a few of them) have talked not only about how Friedan’s book changed women’s lives but also how it changed men’s lives.

Photo by Matt Valentine

Whereas men were once not allowed in labor and delivery rooms to see their child born, they are now expected to be labor coaches. Whereas it was once a novelty for a man to give his baby a bottle now and then, we now expect men to change as many diapers and get up (almost) as often as mom does for the baby. Companies have not kept pace with these changes, and the work-family balance is tougher than ever on men and women, but there is now at least an understanding that it is not strange for a man to want to devote time to child-rearing and spending time with his children.

Certainly I am grateful that I was born in the late 70s, when the second wave of the Women’s Movement had paved the way for me to have more choice in the balance I wanted to (try to) strike between work and family (regardless of how difficult it continues to be). I can legally serve on a jury, and I don’t need my husband’s permission to work outside the home – both of which were not true for many women in the U.S. in 1963, the year The Feminine Mystique was published. But I’m also grateful for the ways that book spurred a movement that encouraged fathers to be more involved in the lives of their children, including their daughters.

http://www.taraincognita.net/an-ode-to-dads-and-daughters/feed/ 2
Welcome to Tara Incognita… where I’ll be rambling about whatever http://www.taraincognita.net/welcome-to-tara-incognita-where-ill-be-rambling-about-whatever/ Wed, 13 Feb 2013 06:31:39 +0000 http://www.taraincognita.net/?p=26 So, it’s high time I got this blog rolling. I already blog about health and science news for parents and families over at Red Wine & Apple Sauce, but I am constantly finding there are other things I want to tell people about, whether it’s science-related, political, personal, or it’s just some thoughts or commentary related to the news of the day.

That’s me, in a past “terra incognita,” India. I backpacked there solo for five weeks in 2005, and this town of Bundi was among my favorite places there.

Therefore, welcome to Tara Incognita. The name, an obvious play on “terra incognita,” alludes to the fact that this blog will likely roam all over the place – it’s unknown ground. My greatest strength in life is also my greatest weakness: I’m interested in everything. I actually find it a relief when I stumble upon something about which I can sincerely say, “Meh. Not interested.” That’s a rare occurrence indeed. This curiosity and thirst for information is great as a journalist and a teacher – it’s no surprise that I’m both – but it also means my attention gets split and it’s difficult for me to immerse myself in one thing too deeply for too long. There are exceptions, but they are few and far between.

Along that vein, expect this blog to cover a range of topics, from albatrosses (literal and metaphorical) to zoo excursions with my toddler son. An incomplete list of the stuff I might cover on this blog…

  • Cool science stuff
  • Cool brain stuff
  • Intersections of politics and science or religion and science
  • Political ramblings (with some semblance of a point, though)
  • Children’s and young adult literature
  • Education news and learning theories news
  • Anything related to SHARKS
  • Parenting stories
  • Reviews of great (or crappy) books I read
  • Teaching stories
  • Photography news
  • Travel stories… and so on

It will take a while to build up an audience when I blog about such eclectic stuff, but hopefully people will chime in. It’s much more fun to discuss stuff with others than mumbling out loud to yourself in the corner.