Tea

We took over three tables. 6 adults and 2 children. Coffee, tea, smoothies, everyone had something to drink, we settled in and began to talk. The cafe is in a bookstore and there were several other tables full of people browsing through books or quietly meeting others. We weren't, um, quiet. We started to talk and laugh, and laugh, and laugh. We talked about the love life of dogs, maple syrup and pancakes, hospital horror stories, being brought up on powdered milk.

Over the couple of hours what happens when friends get together happened. Labels begin to fall away, the way we are defined by the world becomes less important. Soon I became who I seldom get to be - sexuality, disability, gender, weight, age became mere adjectives that didn't define or describe the person under all those yellow stickies. Others looking at the table might have seen a fat, balding, wheelchair user sitting next to his boyfriend. But that's not who was at the table.

Dave was.

Just Dave.

Years ago I remember working with a little boy with Down Syndrome who had a wonderful best friend that he loved spending time with. I was told that if I wanted to connect with him, just ask him about Robbie. He waxed poetic about his friend and ended by saying, cryptically, 'he lets me feel free'.

I thought about that on our way back to the hotel. In an atmosphere of safety, created by friendship, there is a freedom which is seldom experienced. Surely we all remain respectful of each other, all remain caring, freedom could not exist without such social agreements. But even so, it was good to be Dave again.

Just Dave.

Not the blogger. Not the lecturer. Not the consultant. Not the boyfriend. Not the wheelchair user. Not the ... anything.

That little guy with Down Syndrome knew early what I am learning now.

Friends let me feel free.

STOP

For over three years I've been working on approaches to stop the abuse of people with disabilities within service systems. Being in care should not mean being in danger. Where do we start with abuse reduction? Well, simply said. We begin at home. Not home, the house, but home, the soul.

I've been pretty public about having had a few very down days. I am ultimately responsible for what happens during the down times - not for the down times themselves mind, those come and go as part of the ebb and flow of simply living. But during down times I become a harsh taskmaster, a brutal critic, an abusive overseer. I hurt myself, purposely. I say mean things, with intent. I ridicule past accomplishments. Words that I once ducked when hurled by others, I now aim solidly at myself.

Abuse is not ok.

Nothing justifies abuse.

Even when the abuser and the victim live within the same skin.

I sometimes terrify myself with my lack of control over my ability to be cruel, my eagerness to draw blood. I constantly worry that that capacity for hatred and meanness will spill out of me and into the world. I fear the fact that I am often surrounded by those who have suffered brutality and who look to see if it's in me. I am regularly in contact with those who expect the worst of me even as I struggle to deliver the best.

And I worry, if that mean s'umbitch will unleash himself on those who's goodwill I value.

How do I protect them?

By learning to protect me.

How do I ensure their safety?

By learning to confront me.

I need to value myself as much as I value others. I need to despise the abuse of self by self as much as I despise the abuse of others by others. I need to see that kindness toward self is simply practice for kindness towards others.

Stop Abuse.

Of others.

Of self.

Of hope.

Coping Strategies

For most of my life I have been troubled by a conflict between an optimistic heart and a nature that tends towards despair. I tend to see the best in the others while seeing the worst in myself. I know many others with similar world views and to greater and lesser degrees we deal with these conflicts by simply surviving them. For me, I'm lucky in that I see more blue sky than gray clouds.

I have a few little tricks that I do when things go suddenly dark. I teach people with disabilities coping strategies for a variety of issues, I decided that I needed coping strategies for my life as well. So, here's what I do ...

Beside my computer (and I know I'm taking a risk in telling you all this) I have a teeny tiny music box, about the size of a match box, with a tiny handle that turns a spindle inside. It gently plays 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow' by plucking out tiny notes. It's a thing that gives me much pleasure and a very simple kind of peace. I play it when I'm writing something difficult, when I'm working through a problem and when I'm feeling like having a slice of doom cake. It has been playing a fair bit the last couple of days.

I went for a long walk up Yonge Street stopping to look in windows. Just south of us there is a shop that has a thousand and one broaches that cover the bottom part of an old style wedding dress. The settings are all wildly eccentric. High heeled shoes. Martini glasses. Dragonflys. I like to stop and admire them but never do, except, on days where my mood seems to need a bit of decoration. I would never buy one of them, even so, I feel like Tiny Tim looking longingly into the toy shop window, an image that always, oddly, lifts my spirits.

Should these two things not work, I need to do something much more drastic. I need oatmeal. With a bit of milk and brown sugar. Real brown sugar. I need to simply enjoy the feeling of absolute bliss that this brings me. I reserve oatmeal to use as a PRN for days when bitter overtakes the sweet. Joe knows that when I ask for oatmeal that it's a bleak time for me. He makes me a bowl of oatmeal, not instant, and brings it to me with just the right amount of sugar, just the right dribble of milk. I can't imagine a wound on my soul that porridge can't make feel just a little bit better.

So, I'm curious. What do you do when you wake up with the icks? What are your strategies? I've shared mine ... your turn.

a gray day

Do you ever have those moments when you wonder?

If what you do really matters.

Do you ever have those moments when you question?

If there as any real meaning in anything you do.

Do you ever have those moments when you worry?

That life is not worth the work.

Do you ever have those moments when you see?

That the path is long and narrow and hard.

Do you ever have those moments when you realize?

That being all you can be is not enough.

Do you?

Cause I do.

Aye

The shine was remarkable. I don't know cars, at all, but I could tell this one was old. It had hard, strong, straight lines, it cut the air in half on strong right angles. I couldn't hear the engine as it drove by and then only a soft purr when it came to a stop. I was waiting outside our building for Joe to come and join me. The door to the old car openned and an elderly man got out. He wore a shirt, crisply pressed, and an old western string tie. He went to the door, stood and waited. I knew by his face that his passenger was on their way out. He beamed as he openned the door. A woman, of similar age, came through. I saw her walker first but when she emerged it was obvious that she took a great deal of care with her clothes, her hair, her presentation to the world.

He took the walker and set it aside offering her his arm to lean on. She rested her hand on his and they walked to the car together. He openned the door and waited for her to get in. He closed the door gently after her. Then he openned the truck, with some difficulty. The Cadillac emblem had come off and was taped back into place. It fell into his hand and he pocketed it. Then he lifted the walker into the back and closed the trunk.

It took him a few minutes of fiddling to get the logo back in place. It looked worse for the wear as he had used two pieces of black tape to get it back on. It looked like an X had been placed through it. But it held and he headed back to the car. I wanted to say something so I did, 'Still looks good.'

He grinned at me and said, 'Yes it does, son, it does.' As he was getting into the car he looked back at me and said, 'Just because one part doesn't work any more doesn't mean that the rest is disposable, does it?'

'I certainly hope not,' I said, 'or where would we be?'

'Aye, that's a frightening question isn't it?' he said as he got it.

'Aye, it is,' I said to no one in particular.

On The Highway

I punched the 'detour' button on Ted, our GPS. We were headed north on Hwy 11 to the hotel where we'd spend the night. Traffic was slowed right down. Joe muttered something about construction and something crude about dogs mating while I tried to find an 'off highway' route to get where we were going. We went up a little rise and then could see that the congestion ended only a kilometer or so ahead. There was a police car at the head of the right lane driving very slowly and after that the road was clear. We decided to wait it out.

Around us cars were filled with frustrated and angry faces. People on vacation in vacationland are the worst when it comes to road rage. THIS IS MY VACATION, I WORKED HARD FOR THIS TIME OFF, WHY IS SOME FRIGGING FRACKING ARSEJUMPER MAKING ME DRIVE SLOWLY WHEN I WANT TO RUSH TO GET TO SOMEWHERE WHERE I CAN SIT AND LOOK OUT AT THE SCENERY. I HATE LIFE! Some were banging on their steering wheels, many were shaking their heads at the comsic unfairness of the whole thing. Joe just says things like, 'It's only 3:00' It offends him when traffic is slow on non-peak periods. It's like traffic tie ups should happen at regular predictable times so smart fellows like him can avoid them. Three o'clock in deed!!

Me? I figure at least we're moving. As the right lane is blocked by something slow moving we all eventual merge over to the left. Something is changing, those driving the cars ahead of us, who can clearly see what we can yet not, are waving, smiling, honking horns. Joe and I glance at each other in real confusion. What caused the change? Finally we see a white trailer with a banner that says something about courage, I think. Then we see two guys on the road, between the truck pulling the trailer and the police car leading. They are on roller blades and carrying hockey sticks. Our windows were down so we both yelled out something encouraging like, 'Keep it going' or, God Forbid, 'Rock on'.

The bigger of the two guys I had seen on television a few weeks before. He was a blind guy (I think) who wanted to rollerblade across Canada (I think) in order to raise money and awareness (I think) for the idea of sport for people with disabilities and particularly those who are blind (I think). The specifics are really vague in my memory. I could have gone to look it up but a) I'm not a reporter b) its Saturday morning and I don't care enough and c) you look like you could use some time researching the net, why take that away from you.

I was surprised at my reaction. I've never seen one of these kind of marathons in the flesh before. I know many disability bloggers either shy away from this kind of fundraising and others are openly hostile to it. I don't really understand their upset at these, as they are called 'heroic crips' who do 'heroic things'. Personally, I experience disability my way, they experience disability their way, they have different abilities, different asperations and different contributions to make. The disability community is diverse and vibrant and full of those who rollerblade, those who blog, those who bitch over coffee. I think it's cool to see anyone doning something they clearly love to be doing.

But, shake my head and get back to the point. What was hysterical about the whole blind guy rollerblading across the Canada thing was that all those drivers who moments ago were screaming bloody murder were now smiling and waving. They were so, 'Hey man, it's ok with me you are tying up traffic, it's for a good cause and all.' They were so, 'The rest of these arsefaces were upset but not me man, I'm your bud.' Later on that evening we had gone to pick something up at the grocery and I heard a man telling his wife, 'At first I was pissed of, I mean that kind of tie up in the afternoon. But it was that guy we saw on television, you know the one who's raising money for blind hockey or something, he looked like he was having a blast.' His wife smiled and said, 'That's cause he has a purpose ...' He nodded and they walked out of earshot having a deeper conversation than I think either expected.

Hmmmm and Hmmmmm again.

I don't know how much money he will raise. I don't know how much awareness he will bring to sport and disability. But I'm guessing he will spark conversations that probably need to happen.

Whoever you are, cool guy on skates, good on you.

Rolling Takes Over

I knew that some of the readers of Rolling Around are true fans. Some have told me that they photocopy the blogs for team members in their serives. Others have told me tha they've colected everyone from the first ad have a 1000 plus book to use to read and refer to. OK, I guess. It's nice that people like that. But this I've known about you for a long time.

Today I learned something different. As I checked in to Gravenhurst Muskoka Wharf Residence Inn, the hotel I've written about reacently, eveything was proceeding normaly. The the General Manager said, 'Thank you for your blog.' I got embarassed, I never thought it would get back to him. He told me that he began receiving calls. He joked that a call from out of the blue was normally a complaint to be dealt with. He had to get used to the kindly things been said.

Later Joe went out for a walk, my summer school is tireing me. so I sayed to simply enjoy quiet. This room is higher and we have a spectacular views. I saw him strolling over to see what restaurants and facilities they had. On his way back to the hotel one of the housekeepers saw him and asked him if he was staying i an accessible room. He said he was. 'Are you Dave?' she asked. Joe told her that i was in my room. She then excited told him that she had read my blog and how pleased she was.

So Rolling Readers, thanks for picking up the phone call to talk to the people here. I think that a phone call of thanks cna be poltically more powerful than a phone call for any other reason. And of course, I'll remember you have this little habit.