TToT: Narrative of a Floating Life – Jellyfish Armageddon, #10Thankful

When you’ve got nothing left, you’ve got nothing left to lose.”

Sweet Jane – Garrett Kato

This week I was reminded just how much I have to lose. That means I haven’t even come close to having nothing left.

Not everyone can say that. We here in Ontario, Canada, we experienced our own little incident with radicalism recently. He was attending a mosque just down the street from where my brother lives. They tried to help him, but unfortunately he was a very angry and disillusioned young man.

We are not immune here, in Ontario, in Canada, in North America, but that doesn’t suggest we should then turn toward hate all our own.

In a week where privileged young star athletes act poorly in Rio, when another image of war torn Syria features a small child, and where more attention is given to that athlete than to floods and fires and the suffering of children to begin with,

I search out blessings and I remember to look for the bright side of life.

That I got back to it, art I mean.

My Blue Period and My Decade Adrift: Water, Water Everywhere

I’m glad I got back to it and hope to do more of it.

That a friend saw my picture on Facebook and offered her knowledge from her art school days.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Wave_off_Kanagawa

So unbelievably cool. That’s what I love about art, what I want to put into it, even if it comes out looking nothing like how I’d imagined it would.

For an empty theater to watch a sweet movie with the perfect person for the occasion.

Review found here. – Bad Moms

Touchy subject sometimes.

In spite of that, I liked this film. I hope the mother I saw this with enjoyed it as much. Motherhood, toughest job around.

For a small step in the progress of my lessons and for my violin teacher taking the time to record herself playing the two basic songs I am learning technique on.

I thought the other day about how learning the violin, for me, feels meant to be. It feels natural, or oh so close to.

It’s as if I am walking in a forest and I’ve come to a stream just a bit too wide for me to jump across. I can see the opposite side and I just need to find a bridge or even some stones to get me to the opposite bank.

The other side, where violin music comes to me, flows through me, naturally, that’s in view.

For fresh food grown in my back yard.

Of course, without the work of a couple cousins who do this sort of thing for a living, a dedicated ex boyfriend, or the gifted hand of my mother and her knowledge about all things gardening, I wouldn’t have had any of it.

It’s a nice feeling to hold a fresh cucumber in your hands and bite into it, knowing it only came from your own yard. Something rooted in the natural world so close and yet so far from myself. I owe others who care to make nature such a part of things so that I can enjoy it.

For the extra effort some are putting into me and my future.

I often feel like an extra weight or burden for others, including family, friends, and any other relationship. I guess having most kinds of relationships with me can demand certain things of people.

I hope I give back, as much as possible, in my own unique ways. I hope I bring something to each situation as it comes. I pledge to do that once more, for all who took the time out this week to help me not to give up on my future growth and progress.

This is my promise.

That I got to speak with an amazing Canadian travel writer.

Breathe Dream Go

For me though, it would likely be more like: dream, breathe, and then go. Take the deep breath and dive in. My dreams are waiting for me, out there somewhere.

We had a brief but helpful phone conversation where we spoke about solo travel as a woman and finding the confidence necessary to become comfortable traveling alone.

Our situations are quite different, but she has experience and knowledge and I was grateful she took a few moments out of her day to return my call and speak to me for a short time.

For another full moon.

I understand the science behind the moon, its phases, and the pull of the tides of our oceans. I think it’s rather magnificent.

I also understand how some feel those forces mess with their mood. I can see that.

For me however, a full moon is my best shot of actually seeing it up in the night sky. When it’s at its brightest and roundest I have a better chance at spotting it and I cherish that opportunity.

But yet, when I can’t find it in all that darkness I still know it’s out there somewhere. That’s my best lesson in faith, whatever your beliefs or religion might be.

For medical and surgical advancement and the ability of doctors to perform gall bladder surgery.

My mother had it done and so did my sister. It causes a lot of women especially a lot of trouble.

Now it is needed again and I am glad those in need this time around can receive the surgery and hopefully recover from here on out. Modern medicine in this part of the world saves lives and halts so much pain and suffering. We are lucky and blessed to have it so readily available to us around here.

That we here in Canada could come together for one night.

The World Can Learn a Thing or Two From Canada – The Planet D

I admit that The Tragically Hip aren’t my favourite band. I am, by no means, their biggest fan. Still, it was a strange feeling of oneness last night. The Rio Olympics were preempted and the CBC instead broadcast this final concert by a Canadian iconic musical group and their singer who may not have very long left to live.

What would it be like, what would any of us say or do if we knew we had so little likely time left to live?

Hmm. I wonder.

This month,

#1000Speak

focuses on

thankfuls

and

blessings,

with this final thought and the related song to go along with it.

Living On The Bright Side – Angela Saini

When a bulb burns out I see
Even in the dark, it feels sunny to me
Skipping in the shadows, every corner holds beauty
There is always light if you look closely

http://angelasaini.com/track/1039590/living-on-the-bright-side?feature_id=286532

I can See! I can see!

Spring has sprung!

Well, almost nearly.

Even so, I am loving the talk of blooming cherry blossoms, tulips, and just the other night it was another blood moon and short eclipse.

April is daffodil month.

April showers. Bring on the rain.

Another Memoir Monday and edition of,

The Redefining Disability Awareness Challenge

In my post, from one week ago, which I fittingly called:

Social Media,

I introduced the new Facebook page.

Please feel free to join me there, where more will be introduced in the months to come by myself, Rose, and others.

There’s just a lot going on right now, as spring arrives, and always in the world of blogging.

🙂

***

Q: If you could “cure” the disabilities that affect your life, would you?

Why or why not?

A: Do any of you remember the Barqs Rootbeer commercial with the blind man?

Perhaps not. I searched all over YouTube and found every old Barqs commercial but the one I wanted.

😦

Well, the blind man is offered a Barqs and, upon drinking, he proclaims:

“I can see! I can see!”

With this the other guy says:

“Really?”

“No. But it’s got some bite to it though.”

Funny stuff when I saw it, at the time. I quote it now and again, but it raises some interesting questions.

I like to imagine I were the one taking a drink of pop one day and suddenly I am able to see, just like the commercial promised.

😉

I used to answer the above question from this post with a defiant “NO” because I thought that meant I was accepting and proud of my situation and my life.

Does the fact that I have changed my tune on that mean I haven’t accepted anything after all?

I don’t know. All I know is that if I had the chance, suddenly to see, I would be a fool not to take it.

I am not talking about literally, as science stands now.

All the time I read about some new developments in the world of medicine, allowing the blind to see. I usually don’t jump at the chance because it isn’t as the headlines would make it seem.

Most times it’s speaking about some contraption or device, worn on the head, wired up and with a battery pack. It’s some pair of space-aged glasses that send some sort of signals and produce outlines or shapes, giving the wearer some kind of ability to sense objects in front of them.

This is how I see now. Anything more than that gets more complicated.

There is no pill to take and no surgery in the world can bring back the sight I used to have, let alone the sight I have never had before.

If, in some futuristic or magical moment, true and full vision were possible I would be first in line.

I won’t stand here anymore and say I am happy with my life and don’t need to be fixed or cured. I wouldn’t get in my own way like that.

If I could see things would…well, they would still be complicated as life often is, but they would be easier. It would make things a whole lot easier on myself and on others.

I could see colours again. I could see the expressions on my family’s faces.

I could drive. I could write. I could walk unassisted and unaided.

It would be easier to find employment and the job prospects would grow exponentially.

I am not too proud to say I could use the help.

Wanting that and wanting more for my life than I currently have does not mean I am not happy right now.

Being blind has taught me to appreciate things and to not take life for granted. I might not have that same perspective if it weren’t for blindness, not that I would be a bad person had I never experienced all that.

I am glad I did not have parents who couldn’t accept my disability and who went on a determined search for some magic cure. Some parents did or do just that.

I was taught to work with what I’ve got and to make the best of it. I’ve had a mostly happy life. I am lucky.

IF I could see though, I would. I would take that huge gift, if science or some other entity offered it. I would experience things I have only dreamed of.

I would take it and rush to stand in a bookstore or library, surrounded by my beloved books, of which I could finally pick up and read.

The world would look strange to me and I can’t quite imagine it, as I write this. What kind of world would that be? What would it look like to me?

I recommend a movie now, all about a man’s journey to almost having his sight back.

At First Sight: starring Val Kilmer and Mira Sorvino.

I saw it in the theatre in 1999, it struck a cord, and I have wondered seriously on the question ever since.

It’s about finding love and what two people do to stay together and to make it work.

She wants only the best for him and that, she thinks, includes helping him get his sight back.

Was it his blindness that got in the way of their happiness or the fact that she couldn’t accept him for him?

This is a question, in a way, for another time. It only demonstrates how complex it really is, to suddenly get one’s sight back.

I answer this question with a yes, while others may answer differently, but in the meantime I like commercials that can make a joke out of something so hard to fathom for anyone who has been blind all her life like I have.

***

Would you choose to get rid of something about yourself, anything, if you had that choice?

Why or why not?

Spread the word.

The Redefining Disability Awareness Challenge: Redefining Disability, on Facebook.

Like, like like.

Share, share, share.

And until next week:

What things are most important to you when it comes to media representation for people with disabilities or your disability in particular?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oIY0AcBZm28

TBT: Feeling Like a Freak

Today I returned to the office on the ground floor of the medical building. The place is so familiar to me, with the smell of the chemicals used to polish artificial eyes that hits your nostrils the moment you enter.. The smell may be strong, but the leather couches are just as comfortable as I remember them.

This took me back to myself as a twelve-year-old girl. I was scared, sitting in the chair, but out of pain finally.

What was going to happen?

I thought about the past, today, as I sat waiting for him to return with my artificial left eye.

It is an indescribable feeling. I tilt my head back slightly so my artificial eye can be removed. I still shudder at this thought.

It feels odd to even myself as he slides out the prosthesis and I am left with nothing but the place holder inside where my real eye once was.

It was being attacked by an unknown and unnamed virus of some sort. The doctors and specialists could not diagnose and the pain just would not stop.

Removal seemed like the obvious choice. I did not have to think about it for long and the surgery took place within a week.

Now eighteen years later and I can’t believe how long ago that was. So much has changed and I am no longer that little girl.

Six years ago was when I had a second eye made. They recommend making a new one every six to eight years.

My sister and brother were there, in place of my parents. My brother, with his photographer’s eye, stood in the room as the eye was skillfully made, formed and molded, fit and refit and resized until it fit just right.

This was a unique photo shoot, but one well worth capturing.

On this throw-back Thursday I still shudder at the thought of no eye there at all. It’s in my own head and I can barely stand to have anything to do with it. I don’t touch and don’t remove it if I absolutely do not have to.

Last time it was not in its place, where it should remain, was a few years back, one early morning when I rubbed a little too hard and it fell.

This isn’t easy for me to speak about. Something still makes me want to distance myself from my own eye, but I can’t. I can’t get away from it and most times I would not know anything different.

But when I am required to let this ocularist examine his creation, I sit alone in an examining room by myself and I wonder.

This still grosses me out. I feel somehow less feminine and like a freak, but why?

It’s fascinating even, depending on who you ask. Some may be grossed out too.

How can I expect everyone else to be totally fine with it when I myself never quite have been?

Father

He holds me up. His strength and support have never let me fall far, for very long. On this Father’s Day I want to share a personal memory of my father, a perfect example of why my father is the best there is.

The day had been long and full of fun, but I was dead on my feet. We spent the day touring Toronto. Mom and Dad wanted to try and cheer me up, just days before the big surgery. We had to be in Toronto to check into Ronald McDonald House. I had to report to Sick Kids for some pre-transplant tests and one last dialysis run.

My three friends were allowed to come for the night. After spending the morning at the hospital the six of us went first up the CN Tower and to The Toronto Islands for the afternoon. We spent the day playing mini golf and riding the rides. It was a day none of us would ever forget.

By the end of it all we had the long walk, back from the ferry to Ronald McDonald House. I was hours away from receiving his kidney, in the hopes that I would get a whole new lease on life. I had been feeling unwell and weak for too long. The day, although fun and memorable, had been more than my fragile body could take. I simply couldn’t walk another step. There was no way I could make it all the way back, blocks and blocks through the Toronto streets.

He was about to undergo a major surgery, for me. He was taking a risk, for me. Of course, I was his daughter and there was never any question, and I will never forget it. However, it was something small, in comparison, that he did for me that day and of which I have never forgotten.

He picked me up when I could not continue. He put me on his back and carried me the rest of the way. As I wrapped my small arms around his shoulders and relaxed against his broad strong back, I was no longer exhausted beyond believe and I was no longer scared of the days to come. My father was my hero and my protector in every way in that moment. I have never felt safer or more secure and protected than I felt on that walk back to The Ronald McDonald House, early in June.

My father is the kind of father to take away my pain and make me comfortable. He would take all the risk and hold me up, anything so I could feel no fear. There’s nothing he would not do for me and he has proven that over and over again, until there is no doubt to be had.

Dad: I know I am safe when I have you in my corner. Thanks for always being there for me. I can only do you this small gesture and let others know about the strength you possess. If only all fathers were like you and no child was left to suffer – this would be a much better world.