I found it a challenge to talk about disability on a weekly basis and needed to leave it for a while. This blog is not, strictly, a blog about disability and/or blindness.
I realize, as much as I want to forget about such challenges for a while, I can’t get away from disability. It is tangled up in me and with me wherever I go.
I write about it, in small ways or big ones, anyway.
So I will address a few stories in the news lately and use a specific example from the other day, in my life, to illustrate a point. Hmmm. Guess I should hurry up and think what that’s going to be right now.
😉
I guess this might answer number 40 in the list of RDAC questions, as I feel quite sure I want to find ways to become in volved in awareness and social issues: feminism or equal rights. Either way. This involves disability in a big way.
Q: Are you involved in any political or social activities related to having a disability? This could be anything from an advocacy group to an informal social gathering to participation in adaptive sports.
I try to deny it sometimes because the feeling is often uncomfortable, but I keep being dragged back to it.
I have an interview coming up on this blog with a guy who just graduated with a degree in Women’s Studies. I am very interested in hearing his story and viewpoint.
Maybe you’ve heard about it. This is the kind of thing that makes one want to speak up and stand up for what is right.
It’s hard to imagine, in 2015, that this would happen.
It’s the kind of thing my mother would have fought hard against, if it had been me being told I couldn’t have my cane at school, instead having to rely on others. This girl was told to be with supervision at all times. So much for the independence that is the whole point of school.
If this were true, white canes everywhere would be tripping people, left and right. There would be anarchy, injuries galore.
As long as she is taught how to use her white cane properly, this should be a non issue.
Okay, so there may have been one incident, when I slipped on a wet floor and sprained my ankle in the hallway at school, my own white cane going flying as I went down. This may have nearly empaled a staff member. I say “may have”.
But this could very easily happen with anything, with any child. There is no way a child should be told she can’t have her way of getting around school.
This is the sort of thing that we must not accept from people. This is why awareness and consciousness of others is so important.
How dangerous is a white cane?
How dangerous is a wheelchair? That’s like saying a wheelchair is dangerous because it might run over someone’s toe. Ridiculous. Care is always needed, of course. No waving it around madly, but man…this story is everywhere.
What is a school mobility officer anyway? Differences from North America to Britain I guess, but she should be having mobility lessons of her own, with an instructor, to learn how to use her cane safely and correctly.
They said it was just temporary, while they discussed the matter with the family. What does that really mean anyway?
This story has made the news, in the papers from the UK where it happened, over to Canada and the US, all the way to New Zealand.
It makes an excellent headline, but it really is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.
Well, I’m so worked up, that perhaps I’ll save the other stories for next week. There will be one of those, and much sooner this time.
The schedule calls for next week to be a free post day anyway and there are only ten or so more of these RDAC questions left.
I seem to remember something about a book of rules for the TToT and there’s one of those for baseball, not that I understand it, but more about that later.
It was a difficult week, in some respects, but only because I am finally putting myself out there, my writing and myself, and receiving feedback. This translates into criticism and that can be difficult to take sometimes. Doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it.
Ten Things of Thankful:
For my immune system.
Mine works for me. Okay, so I may be singing a different tune come the middle of winter, but at the moment I think all’s well.
I have been around several sick friends and family in the past month and I just assumed I would catch their colds, etc.
I haven’t. I have a lower immune system, as a transplant recipient, and it can seem to permit multiple colds each winter, every year, but it is unpredictable. I can’t predict when or if I’m going to get a cold.
I am visiting a friend in Toronto tomorrow and her niece is there recovering from a bone marrow transplant. As long as I don’t jinx myself and come down with something in the next twenty-four hours, I will be happy and thankful. Not to mention, my immune system hasn’t decided to completely attack my father’s kidney, in nearly twenty years, so that’s something to be grateful for.
For a delicious cup of coffee, some relaxing Lorde inspired tunes, and a couple of hours at the salon.
The coffee and the half hour I sat there, listening to music playing and the hustle and bustle of my cousin’s salon, while my hair had foils in it and waiting for the dye to do its thing made for a most relaxing break.
For the chance to feel like I was dressed up and with somewhere to go for the evening.
For the deliciousness that is movie popcorn.
Who’s with me?
For a totally eye-opening documentary experience.
“Our voices are our most powerful weapons.”
I went to see He Named Me Malala and I found it to be every bit as inspiring and moving and sweet and real as I thought it would be.
This film needed to be made and it needs to be seen around the world. It makes me cry, but it forces me to be thankful.
For the game that kept Toronto in the running, for the first time in over twenty years.
It was a real rush to know that we had little chance, at that point, but that I never lost faith. It ended up being one for the record books, and I don’t pretend to understand all the little ins and outs of the game and its rules, but I know the tension and the energy felt, sitting there watching.
We were losing two games in a five game series. Nobody thought we would go on to win the next three, but I believed.
What is it about rooting for one’s sports team that can cause such strong feelings and stress?
For my white cane.
October 15th was White Cane Day or White Cane Safety Day. I feel like a lot of these days are more US based, a lot of the times, but it doesn’t really matter where or what day.
I will admit that I have had my battles with the white cane. I have truthfully felt embarrassed about it, like a little brother or sister, always tagging along, but being forced by a parent to let them join in the fun.
Yeah, I’m working on getting over my issues because without it, I would be in more danger and would have been left without the means to get somewhere, anywhere, unable to see my surroundings well enough. I can’t deny the importance it has played and must play to me in future.
“Watching the news in the evening is a bit like being on an emotional Tilt-aWhirl. “Isis now sets people on fire.” “Harper Lee has a new book out!” “Some oddballs are bringing measles back because they’re scared of autism, which is a bit like saying I’m worried about birthday candles, so let’s start a forest fire.” “It’s going to be gorgeous this weekend!” “Look, a politician being deliberately rude.” “And also, look at these adorable puppies!” My limbic system does not work that fast!”
–JEG
***
From Harper Lee to Stephen Harper.
Another one of these “In The News” posts, two weeks in a row, but this one is a special edition, not my favourite topics, but definitely in the news here.
I read so many awful, nasty comments in the Facebook post from a local college. The question of refugees, Syrian and other, was being debated. It was shockingly sad to hear some of the statements people were making.
What would I do if I had a home no more and had to leave? What would I want?
I did one project, in high school, about the immigration process. I have no clue, being born a Canadian, what it takes to become one.
Is Stephen Harper pushing a cynical agenda, a lot of prejudice against any specific group of people? Could anybody be so wrong as to vilify any whole group of people for the actions of the few? Are there those living here who don’t feel safe, feel wanted, feel accepted?
I knew very little about much when 9/11 happened. I don’t see how bad it’s said to have gotten since. That’s not my experience, but I know how important it is to feel like a part of one’s country, society, treated like a real person who matters.
“It was great to be in London with hundreds of enthusiastic Conservatives last night. People here want lower taxes, balanced budgets, and more good Canadian jobs. They’re voting Conservative on October 19th. Will you be doing the same?”
–Stephen Harper
Canada’s Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, has been leading Canada for, what seems like forever to me now.
Does that mean it is time for a change?
Research. Educate. Check the facts. Pay attention to your gut. What are the facts anyway?
I have felt an unease, a slide, a nagging in the pit of my stomach these last few years. I don’t think I like what’s happened to my country, the direction we’ve been led in, but perhaps I wouldn’t have been happy before that and I just wasn’t paying much attention.
I’m told Harper looks so staged when he speaks. He won’t allow for questions. He won’t answer, won’t address.
What’s going on with the environment? What is our stance on military issues, fighting, peace?
Harper’s talk is always about budgets and other boring things. Okay, so they are necessary for the running of any country, but I know very little about them. I try to educate myself, watch the news, but read a lot, honestly, on Facebook. Articles are posted there and I read about how other Canadians live and the concerns they’re having.
His threats are all fear based. I hate that. The other guys, Trudeau or Mulcair, they will screw our country up, Harper and all Conservatives keep saying.
Vote for him or they will raise taxes. Vote for him or spending will become out of control. We wouldn’t want that, right? What sane person would want that? Of course. No brainer?
I hear this again and again. I never hear him talk about the health of the environment. I never hear any feeling in his voice. Do I truly believe that he cares at all? Would anyone else, anyone, do a worse job than he’s done? Could it get any worse? How bad is it really?
Promises. Promises. Promises. I am tired of broken promises. I don’t want to feel invisible anymore.
The US has the Americans With Disabilities Act. Canada has the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, but I am looking or feeling for more of this. It is a big concern for me, even if many Canadians are more worried about taxes.
The rich, middle-class, poor. Conservative, Liberal, NDP, Green Party…so much to keep up with and keep track of.
Who do I want to run Canada? Who do I vote for and do I only feel as strongly as I do because that is how I was raised? Hmmm.
How do people pick up their beliefs? I wonder all of this as the next federal election is coming in a few short days. I want to vote, make the right choice, and see it make a difference. Is this all possible?
These are some of the questions I have been pondering lately, in the run-up to October 19th.
Re-elect Stephen Harper? Vote Liberal and Justin Trudeau or NDP and Tom Mulcair?
I voted, for the first time, back in the last election. I have done it a few times only. I didn’t exercise my right to vote, as a Canadian citizen, up until recently.
I know why I didn’t vote before that. It’s the same reason many people don’t.
Oh, I can’t possibly make the slightest bit of difference. I hate politics. I don’t know who to vote fore, so why bother, casting a vote for someone I don’t even really like?
I said all of these to myself. It is true that I hate politics.
It’s rhetoric. It’s attack ads. It’s making false promises, only to not come through with them after being elected. I loath it all.
I guess I wish we didn’t have to deal with it, but there are worse things, like not having the ability to vote at all. I tell myself this now, in moments of pure annoyance, and I say to myself that I’m damn lucky to live in Canada, even with the parts I dislike. I should be grateful and thankful and I should vote, just because I can.
So that old question, that I’ve struggled with, has been resolved in my mind. The next question, after the why, is the whom?
“Nice hair though.”
This has been a favourite line of Conservative attack ads against Justin Trudeau, along with the pronouncement that he’s just not ready yet.
I don’t know how anybody could be ready to run a country.
Do I vote for the liberals? NDP?
I ask my dad what he thinks. He tries to explain about the local politician in our area, which has been Conservative for a while. I grow weary of politics, but I must become more informed.
Minority government. Majority government. And my mind begins to drift. Blah blah blah.
I wish I had more interest in these things, but I honestly begin to doze. Politics, I can’t grow up and get away from the feeling of boredom I have always felt at thinking about government and all of its proceedings.
But then I listen to my father’s passion when he speaks of the country his parents came to, all those years ago, to start a new life. They gave him one, made one for him and his brothers. I truly believe hearing the passionate tone of my father, to understand what he cares about seeing for Canada, has been good for me. It’s taught me to figure out what I feel strongly and passionately about too. He’s shown me the importance of paying attention to how I feel and what my heart tells me is right.
I wonder how much family has influenced my thinking, but at some point we must all decide for ourselves what we believe.
I know what I truly think and feel, somewhere deep down, in my gut, I know. So why then do I still question it?
I know I want protection of our resources, our wild life, our oceans. Just the word “oil” has begun to leave a bad, you might even say an oily taste in my mouth.
🙂
I know I want freedom, to remain the welcoming people we Canadians like to think we are…to feel like we are accepting of all races, cultures, and religions.
People are going on about their discomfort with the niqab. It doesn’t affect me. I wonder what it matters to anyone else. I can’t see the coverings Muslims wear. Why do we fear this? We do not understand. It’s a sign of oppression, as we’ve been told, hear about in extreme cases that make the news.
Can we sit down and talk to those people, those women, to find out if they are happy. Do they have good lives? Are they afraid?
Islam and the Muslim religion are the targets in our world today, not only here in Canada, as we all know.
Culture and belief systems are powerful things. I don’t see to judge. Being blind helps me with that.
“This is Canada. If they don’t like it, they can go back to where they came from.”
This is something said repeatedly, at nauseam. I want us all to live our lives how we want, as long as that doesn’t include harming others. Why is that so complicated?
Instead, again there’s only more separation, more division, more one side against another. I want to feel like this isn’t always the case in Canada.
Fear of terrorism is real, but how much? How afraid should I really be that my safe home could ever see the kind of danger other parts of the world see? Do I fear or do I remain rational, find compassion, believing in a just and peaceful world?
Most people are good, only want to be left alone, to live their lives. Why must we make it more than that?
Okay, so after talking about all these things, what answers have I really found? What conclusions have I actually reached? Where do I stand?
I must go now and stop reading the upsetting things being said, the nasty back-and-forth comments on Facebook posts about who should run Canada after Monday, and move no to more important things, things that feel hopeful and positive. This afternoon’s game, the Toronto Blue Jays against the Texas Rangers. It’s all up to Toronto now.
All I know is I feel better when I hear how hyped people around here are. The impassioned back-and-forth of politics giving way to the pride in our only MLB team.
What is it about sports, a baseball team, a game that makes us all feel so energized?
I wonder, as I’m watching. I feel the excited tension in the pit of my stomach, a nervous energy, but a quickening of my pulse, my heartbeat. It’s just a game of course, but the feeling is contagious.
Of course there are those little funny things that make the game extra fun.
Not such a big deal. He didn’t know. He didn’t know I spent more time, as a child, not playing baseball because of my visual impairment, but playing around a baseball diamond. My sister, my brother, my parents all played. He didn’t know. Made a silly comment and suddenly Twitter was buzzing.
I focus on the positivity I get from my mom. They can win this. It’s possible.
As Scarlet O’Hara mused, in Gone with the Wind: I will go back to thinking about politics and the important issues of the day, in the news, tomorrow.
Indeed Sheryl, indeed.
Oh no! Will she sue me for using this song in my post, if she doesn’t agree with my political views? Hope she doesn’t see this.
“Watching the news in the evening is a bit like being on an emotional Tilt-aWhirl. “Isis now sets people on fire.” “Harper Lee has a new book out!” “Some oddballs are bringing measles back because they’re scared of autism, which is a bit like saying I’m worried about birthday candles, so let’s start a forest fire.” “It’s going to be gorgeous this weekend!” “Look, a politician being deliberately rude.” “And also, look at these adorable puppies!” My limbic system does not work that fast!”
I would like to expand on the list of seemingly random news topics my FB friend started above, in my sporadic mid-week Wednesday post: IN THE NEWS AND ON MY MIND.
I thought about what’s been front and centre, in the news lately, and here I go:
**the recent hacks into the adult dating website Ashley Madison.
I don’t care what a couple consenting adults (and I use that term loosely) do, as long as it’s consensual. My problem is when there are lies and deceit involved.
The site’s tag line, “Life is short. Have an affair,” is the most offensive thing I’ve ever heard and I hate that it’s a Canadian company. My problem with it, even though it’s people I have no business with, is that it reflects badly on society at large. All I can add would be, I don’t feel badly in this instance, and karma’s a bitch.
However, this Vice article has an interesting take on the situation,
The final decision on the ruling and appeal is that Tom Brady is solely responsible. The coach and all others involved are off the hook, but of course Tom wasn’t the only one with knowledge, having done something shady here.
He destroyed his cell phone, for unrelated issues he claims, and now he is stuck with his mansion and his gorgeous super model wife. Poor guy.
I suppose all this affects other people, those who may not be involved. I can say it’s only a game, just a silly football player, but then I remember people and the pure joy I’ve seen in them when it comes to football, this team in particular. Although it may seem insignificant to me, I want to keep an open mind because sports can be a positive thing, something to make people happy.
On the other hand, cheating isn’t a lesson I want today’s youth to pick up from their favourite athletes.
The work force and these companies, society as a whole, has this whole thing all wrong. Don’t offer incentives for women to hold off on having children because they won’t have to worry, can focus on career, and just worry about starting families later. Offer time off for parent-child bonding from the beginning, without the pressures to get right back to work. Depending on frozen embryos isn’t the answer.
Why does America only seem to care for themselves? I am sure that isn’t everyone, but it’s still an “every man for himself…or woman, as it so happens” situation and this is so very backwards.
We are giving birth and raising the next generation. They matter. Invest in them. Don’t focus on money alone and what it will take away from everyone else.
No. Women are not going to milk it, having children just so they can get time off work. That is a silly excuse and a lame go-to rebuff to what most of the rest of the world has already figured out.
The other argument is, oh what about other women and men who have decided, for whatever reason, not to have children. It’s not fair and even for them. So life isn’t always fair.
I’m blind. What’s fair about that? I’ve learned to deal and they can too.
Even if this does start a trend, there will always be those who judge women on this, their loyalty or their work ethic, but now that fathers are included in this, I hope for more gender equality all around. This is including adopted parents too.
**Immigrants and migrants.
I heard it’s something like 2,000 so far this year. That’s the number of African and other migrants to have come, trying to sneak into Europe, being stuffed into boats by greedy smugglers, sinking and drowning by the boatload.
It’s so sad, the things, the types of persecution these poor people are fleeing from, hoping for a safe crossing to a better life. They may realize how unsafe their journey seems, but are desperate and willing to risk whatever they must. Those who capitalize on this vulnerability are the scum, but with all these stories I’ve tried to keep an open mind, even if it might not appear to be so.
And last but certainly not least:
With the story of Cecil the Lion being talked about everywhere lately, with airlines banning transport of hunting trophies and 90s favourite Beanie Babies soon to release one of the lion and with sales going to wildlife causes, I thought of a movie my brother and I watched several years ago.
This was still when we lived at home with our parents and when VHS was how we watched our movies, the pre-DVD era in our household.
Have you ever seen the film starring Val Kilmer and Michael Douglas?
He was famous Doors front man Jim Morrison, Batman, and a blind massage therapist. It was his highly convincing role as John Henry Patterson, real life engineer and author of the nonfiction book “The Man-eaters of Tsavo” that is as far from The Lion King as you’re going to get.
Do we here in North America truly know what it must be like ore in places like Africa and Asia, where some of the most dangerous animals live alongside humans? We shout our disapproval when a story of mistreatment happens to get picked up, but what do we really know of it?
In the time of “Ghost and the Darkness”, we had no social media to spread a story far and wide in a matter of minutes or even seconds.
I do know that we are all sharing this planet and deserve to share its resources, but our shared use of all this gives those determined to destroy for their own aims the chance to mess it up for us all.
Oil here in Canada.
The clear causes of global warming and the power of nature, with the extreme weather and lack of water in not just far away deserts, but drouth in California, which is so often in the news.
Is it such a surprise that wildlife is being poached illegally?
I disagree with how we treat animals, The Calgary Stampede or the Running of the Bulls for example.
I have had and do have hunters in my family. I grew up with it around me at times. Sure, it was never my thing, but I went on eating meat. I still do. I am not a vegetarian, but I have vegetarians in my family as well.
I love my family and respect their wishes. It’s a little harder to judge those you care about and know personally.
I don’t see why anyone would want to hunt a lion for sport. I don’t get the point of mounting an animal’s head on the wall. What satisfaction does that possibly provide?
Someone needing to feel superior to an animal. Yes, we humans have advanced weapons and we can come out on top. Doesn’t mean we should.
Defenseless, like so many are afraid to be without their guns, we would be at the mercy of a wild animal or an intruder, both of which may very well intend to cause harm.
I want to understand those living in Zimbabwe, just like I want to understand why the people living in the remote Faroe Islands have an annual pilot whale hunt as a part of their culture.
I want to understand different cultures, not to simply sit in judgment from over here, without the foggiest clue.
I am definitely no radical activist. I respect the passion they have, if all they want is to save a species from being hunted to the edge or off the edge of extinction. I often wish I had it in me to go out and make a difference, but for now I remain here, writing to hopefully make my voice heard amongst the roar and the uproar.
Ghost and the Darkness seemed a wild, historical, adventure film. I was hooked by it from that first time I watched with my brother. He described the scenes where Douglas and Kilmer hunt the bloodthirsty lions. Truthfully, although characters like the doctor (played by Bernard Hill) meet their end at the jaws of the killers, it was more the cow that was sacrificed by the people and the baboon used as bait to catch the lions that bothered me most.
This true story made an excellent film, showcasing what it was like then and now. Why humans hunt. It’s an important part of many cultures, since the beginning of humanity, and our modern times now seems to have made it a trophy sport, for pleasure and for fun.
So many traditions should come to an end, in my opinion. We must learn to let go of certain practices, to make way for the advances we have made and the knowledge we now possess. There’s just no need for some things, unnecessarily curl things.
I commented on the above blog on Cecil and the wider problems, and it wasn’t a very optimistic comment. The blogger tried to reply in a more positive light, but I don’t know how to look at our world in just such a light most of the time, if I am being honest. It is apparent that many people care, as the response to Cecil shows, but at the same time we are battling a large segment of our world that just does not care, is only out for itself, as I have pointed to several times in this week’s “In The News and On My Mind” post.
Then there has been the demand for blood, directed toward the dentist who killed Cecil. I don’t know the man and his motives, nor what’s in his heart. I don’t condone his actions, but he is a human being, therefore I believe there can’t be mob ruled justice, as outraged as so many are.
Why should be be honest in our relationships or in athletics?
Why should we care about those being persecuted in their own countries or those who want to spend time with their newborns?
Why does it matter to think about how we use the world’s resources or why animals are important to our planet and to its future?
I hope I don’t have to even answer that, but some people just don’t get it, nor do they care, and I’m not sure that can be fixed with rational convictions or logical bullet points. I don’t know why “every man for himself” seems to be how humans think and act.
What are your thoughts on any of these topics I’ve mentioned here today? The discussion needs to continue. for all our sakes.
was my life, my normal and my reality. I don’t remember anything different.
So, as for how my life has “changed” – it hasn’t. It’s an ever-changing state of being, of course, but I do the best I can with the life I’ve been given.
That is why I’ve decided to move on with describing the diagnosis of subsequent conditions I can recall. This allows me to get a better sense of what my parents dealt with with me and my brother.
Of course, that was from the perspective of a parent. Every parent just wants to know that their child can and will have a happy and productive life. Once they educated themselves, all there was left was to take the steps they could to give us the best chance at that happiness.
This is why I made out as well as I did for the first several years of my life.
Education and socialization were issues to be faced and I was able to find success in both, to varying degrees.
I visited the eye doctor very rarely, as there was really no need. That may sound strange, but as a child I was healthy and I lived my life, like any other child.
My level of visual impairment was stable.
***
I felt the cool, smooth floor of the lounge/dining hall against my cheek. I don’t recall which camp activity we were engaged in, as to why I was lying on the floor in the first place, but this gave me the perfect opportunity to give into my exhaustion.
Nausea gripped me. I was eventually given some sort of children’s Tylenol.
All down the hall of my particular girl’s cabin I could hear friendly chatter and laughter, lots of fun to be had, but I wasn’t taking part.
I stayed in my room, in my bed, racked with the most painful of stomach cramps. I was away from home and I was afraid.
“Are you feeling sick?” asked an older girl.
“My stomach really hurts,” I replied.
“It’s okay you know,” she said, patting my arm reassuringly. “It’s normal. It’s what happens to girls around your age.”
She was referring to what I had learned about the year before, in health and sex ed. She assumed I was experiencing menstrual cramps.
I wasn’t. I hadn’t gotten my period and wouldn’t, for five more years. This was something else.
A few nights later I woke my roommate up, to the sound of me throwing up, on the carpet between our two single beds. She ran to get help from our cabin’s head counsellor.
I spent the final few days of camp, while the other children were out participating in the many sports and recreational activities, in my bed, in that cabin. They brought me broth and crackers.
This was the summer before my sixth grade year, before I would be diagnosed, before my parents would once more see their child diagnosed with an unwanted and unexpected condition.
My life would be forever changed. I would know what it was like to feel scared, ill, and uncertain of many things. I would suffer through more fatigue, stomach cramps, and general nausea. The diagnosis of kidney disease, to add on to the already present visual impairment would add a level of complexity that none of us were prepared for.
As I look back, that was the summer it all began, but had been going on even earlier, even as I was unaware of any problem.
Twenty years ago seems like such a long time, as I look back in reflection, and yet not. I can say I learned a lot about myself and how to appreciate life, from the age of eleven or twelve, of which I may not have learned otherwise. That, at least, is what being diagnosed with any of these things can offer in the way of positive life lessons.
“Watching the news in the evening is a bit like being on an emotional Tilt-aWhirl. “Isis now sets people on fire.” “Harper Lee has a new book out!” “Some oddballs are bringing measles back because they’re scared of autism, which is a bit like saying I’m worried about birthday candles, so let’s start a forest fire.” “It’s going to be gorgeous this weekend!” “Look, a politician being deliberately rude.” “And also, look at these adorable puppies!” My limbic system does not work that fast!”
–Thank you J.E., for that. You sum it up quite nicely.
🙂
It has been a while, but I am back with my mid-week “In The News and On My Mind” segments from weeks gone by, which I like to preface with the above directly borrowed quote from a Facebook friend who has a way with words.
This week I have once more decided to avoid the subjects of cheating scandals in sports or the growing presence of ISIS around the world. Instead, I give you the diary of a young girl, a teen shot and killed, and my big announcement to round things off.
Firstly, I am a bit jumpy today. I have been on the verge of bursting into tears for days, a dull ache in the pit of my stomach really.
I saw “The Diary of Anne Frank” on stage last night.
(Show review to come.)
I don’t like it about myself necessarily, but when I get into something, I can become overly immersed in it. This can become a detriment to me.
This is particularly uncomfortable when it comes to the story of that famous historical diary. I have had to pull myself out of all that since leaving the theatre and take a step back.
Today I have had to put all that in its proper place in my mind and heart and enter back into my modern environment of Facebook, blogging, and the music that sooth my weary soul.
I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m safe and I know that – well, relatively so, but the outside world keeps me on my toes, or my fingers as I write these words.
Okay, so it’s Wednesday and sometimes I feel dramatic on Wednesdays, but it doesn’t make any of it any less true.
I relate most to Anne Frank because she had her writing and I have mine. It got her through the long and ultimately deadly fate dealt to her.
If she were in my shoes, would she have a blog? Would she write about the contemporary issues of the day or the lessons we’ve hopefully learned from history? This is what I wonder. This is what I, myself, will do.
Next, must I just say that when an eighteen-year-old is murdered over a stolen cell phone – it’s a mad, mad, mad world people!
😦
Yes, this happened last week, in London, Ontario. I have a brother who lives and goes to school there. I want him to live in a safe place, somewhere where human beings don’t resort to the unthinkable for something involving a lousy electronic device.
I am heartsick when I hear the number of murders in cities like London is growing as 2015 progresses.
Last, but not least – MY BIG ANNOUNCEMENT.
I have heard all the reasons why people are fighting to be who they feel inside, even when it does not seem to match up with how they are viewed by the rest of the world.
I would just like to admit, here and now, that I have always felt like and identified most closely to visually impaired people and I have sworn to fight for the rights of people with disabilities, who have barriers in today’s society to be sure.
Am I a blind woman. Well, I don’t quite see the distinction, the difference between the question of was I born blind? I carry a cane and I think you all are missing out. Who’s in?
We can make a difference:
Is all inequality for those with disabilities a vanquished cause, finally and after all this time?
😉
Yes, all who may stumble upon this. It’s still a mad world out there.
Okay, so I already included the “Mad World” song in a recent post I re-blogged. Here is one just as poignant. I think it makes my point.
I will admit I needed a few days to ruminate over how show creator Matthew Weiner wrapped everything up like he did.
As series finales go: I’ve seen better, I suppose, but I’ve definitely seen worse. Being unable to see the now famous smile was a big part of it. Not immediately recognizing the iconic ad to follow was another part. I would not be born for another thirteen years.
the more I thought about it, the more I thought, why not. Why wouldn’t Don find himself, after years of torment and secrets, on a hilltop california retreat?
I missed the subtle clues and hints, leading up to the end. I guess I do recall something about a Coke machine.
Mmmmm, coke.
I am several years too young to remember anything substantial about the above classic Coke ad from 1971 – and yet coke has played a big part in my own life, growing up.
I did not have a dad quite like the other dads. Mine was less a beer swigging father and more of the Coke guzzling, while watching sports kind.
The only Coke commercial I think on fondly is the one with the cute polar bears, the white ones who live in Canada’s north and like to kick back with an icy coca-cola now and again.
I remember, fondly, the sound of the polar bears, as they opened their bottles of Coke and growled with delight.
Never mind the fact that polar bears don’t drink Coke. That never mattered. This was more fun to imagine.
I remember the sound they made, as they walked – the crunch and the crispness of the snow underfoot; this, paired with the jingle of bells signified Christmas for me, as a child.
As for the original:
This 1971 coke commercial seemed to be about the end of innocence, but of the reuniting of the people. Could a soft drink really bring all kinds of people together? Just ask Don.
I didn’t want to write strictly on the characters and their story arcs because I know (like my father for instance) that not all of us watched Mad Men. I was surprised he didn’t.
This coming from the girl, me, who almost missed the Mad Men boat altogether.
I broke this review into two parts, one about the sixties and the other about a 1971 Coca cola ad, because I would hate to totally exclude any possible readers here.
I have enjoyed reading not only the reviews and interviews on such publications as the New York or Los Angeles Times, but also from my fellow bloggers.
When I came across a certain post titled It’s a Mad Mad Men World, I admit to that familiar feeling I feel when I hear a song lyric or line from somewhere, saying something I wish I myself had said.
I took the opportunity, all while still thinking up as many Mad Men puns as I possibly could, to share this blogger’s post. As I was temporarily prevented from blogging like I normally did, due to unforeseen mechanical issues, I shared her review and included a personal touch of my own:
“When people run in circles it’s a very very, mad world.”
–Tears For Fears, Mad World
Coke and Tears For Fears. These things both bring up strong waves of nostalgia for me. Mad Men could be sumed up in one word: “Nostalgic”.
Whether it be the sixties, seventies, or eighties I think we all can relate to how it feels to reflect back on our individual and our shared past.
Is Don doomed to make the same mistakes, over and over again? for that matter, are all of us?
It’s a mad world, indeed, but most things in life can be forgotten, if only we just kick back and crack open a refreshing Coca Cola now and then.
The little boy loved to play in the dirt and the tiny stones and gravel of the ball diamonds that filled his family’s summers.
While his parents sat up above him, on the bleachers watching their son or daughter’s baseball games, their youngest child would amuse himself as best he could.
He and his older sister did not play, both unable to really see well enough for such team sports, but she did not enjoy her little brother’s activities either. She did not enjoy playing in the dirt and getting it caught all underneath her fingernails.
She sat up next to her parents, just waiting for someone to suggest a trip to the snack bar, or booth as it was lovingly known as in her family.
It wasn’t all fun and games.
The same rocks that were sharp and hard under the children’s feet, before their other set of grandparents paved the top part of their driveway, those are just the type of rocks he was told to collect. It was always a torturous trip from one side of the stony driveway to the other.
Such as life. This is life sometimes: rocky.
Their grandparents before them knew this well.
***
The man had worked hard in his life, way before his grandchildren came along.
He had to dig ditches during the war, or so I believe I heard was the story. His life is something I often think about, unable to imagine what that would have looked like for him, as such a young Polish man: Polish, French, Polish, a war in Germany and across Europe, and to Canada he eventually came.
His days of hard work did not end there.
Working in the mines in Quebec. I shutter at this thought, being highly claustrophobic myself. What did he have to do? How did he toil just to make some money to support himself and his new wife, in a new country so unfamiliar to the both of them?
He was a brick layer and he moved to Ontario to make a better life for the children they would have. My father was one of those children.
HE would build the little house, for his growing family, on Dover Street, close to the park.
This little house and the one I thought of today, on the anniversary of his death.
We have his houses to remember him by, whether it’s the big one, we still drive by sometimes or the miniature he built, from skill and with love.
For months my little brother brought him bags and bags of stones for the project they were working on together. They were buddies and my opa had a special thing in mind for his grandson.
He took those skills, now scaled down in size, due to all those years of drudgery and a bad back as a result. He would build a little house from the stones the little boy collected and he would build it, special, just for that boy.
Stones, a wooden frame, cardboard shingles for the roof. The little stone house was simple and beautiful. The accompanying garage, along with a chimney, and long-ago-lost plastic Santa on top.
The little house and garage are still with us, down in my parent’s basement. They serve as a memory of love, the simple and sweet love my father’s father had for my brother, and me too.
It is a kind and gentle love that will never be tarnished by age, time, or circumstance. We were young when we lost him, when he was taken from us. This freezes that love, a representation of innocence in childhood. I feel it every time I run my hands over the stones that he sculpted into a work of art.
He made my brother something he could touch with his hands, unable to see, and keep even after he was soon gone.
It will forever be, to me, the house that love built.
***
Last year, only weeks into my blogging journey, I wrote a post,
Q: Are your leisure activities or hobbies affected by disability? How do you work around this?
A: Of course they are. I don’t know what kinds of things I would be into if I had all my sight. I sometimes wonder. Would I like sports? Would I love to paint? However, it does no good to linger on these questions. I like to have fun and enjoy myself just like anyone else.
I love to watch movies: in the theatre or at home on the couch. I know a lot of visually impaired people who could care less and who would place movies very low on the list, but I have always loved to escape and get lost in an interesting storyline, with gripping characters, played by my favourite actors.
I might not have been able to enjoy all the movies I’ve enjoyed over the years, if it hadn’t been for people like those in my family who learned to describe the action going on on the screen, so I never felt left out of popular culture and the blockbusters of the day.
Now, of course, there were services such as DVS (descriptive video service) and my brother and I used to order movies from a catalogue. They would arrive in the mail and we could watch movies on our own.
This is where I first discovered my love of Gone With The Wind.
I like to think I have a wide variety of hobbies and interests, just as varied as anyone else.
I would probably love to paint now, if I could see. I miss the times, as a child with more sight, when I would draw for hours at a time with my beloved markers. This hobby I had to give up, but I have replaced it with others.
Spending time with family and friends isn’t really affected. I fit in with them because they know me and accept me. We have fun spending time together.
I love to go to concerts, on day trips/road trips, and theme parks.
The big question and the universal joke made by and for visually impaired people would be the issue of driving.
One of my favourite things to do is go for a drive, especially at night, with my favourite music playing. I love feeling like I am moving forward, speeding ahead, an energy and a relaxation I get no other way.
I never have to drive and can always just sit back, in the passenger seat or in the back, and enjoy the ride, leaving other people to concentrate on the road.
Of course this means I am never able to just jump in my car and go for a drive alone, but with the possibility of technology and the driverless cars that already exist, who knows what the future may bring.
I have had the chance to sit on a parent’s lap, when I was younger, and drive around a WAL-MART parking lot at night. In my dreams I drive sometimes and perhaps that’s a sign that I could be good at it, if circumstances were different.
My main hobbies are reading and writing, both not impossible with the help of technology. I need help from special equipment, such as: Mac computers with built-in voice software, electronic braille displays, and iPhones. These things continue to improve and there is no telling where things could be headed.
I used to have shelves and shelves of thick braille books and volumes. This could be cumbersome at times, but nowadays space is more plentiful with the inventions I mentioned above.
With the help of these technologies I spend time on Facebook and other social media like most people these days. An entertaining distraction, taking up maybe more time than it should.
🙂
I have a tandem bicycle. I can walk alone, depending on whether I know the route. Going for a walk outside in my favourite autumn weather is better arm in arm with a loved one. Sometimes I take my dog. Sometimes I take a cane.
So the song applies to all girls, even me. It’s important to have fun and to have time to relax and kick back and I look forward to this, with others or solo. I find ways around the problems that can arise, if it’s something I really enjoy. I owe my parents for helping to show me, from a young age, that this is possible.
***
Next Week I will answer a broader, more open-ended question for the challenge:
Does disability affect you in other ways? If so, how?
Which hobby or leisure activity that you enjoy would you think might become difficult or impossible to do if you lost your sight? Which one would you miss most: driving, painting, sports? How do you think you might adapt?
Her Headache 
