A Declarative Act of Living...A Defiant Part of Speech

     Make today a declarative act of living, not a defiant part of speech.
     These words were given to me on April 14, 2011, when I took ownership of a red Invacare FDX-MCG.  After hours of labor that enabled me to have a power wheelchair, I struggled.  I did not want to be victim of--a victim to--FDX-MCG.
     I am a woman of words.  I need clarity as my advocate.  FDX-MCG hardly fits the bill.
     Make today a declarative act of living.
     A declarative act is an expression of faith--a belief of what can be, if I will it.  Faith begins in prayer. I pray.  I believe it may be.  I will it. If it be, I pray.
     Do not be mistaken.  A declarative act of living is not a guarantee of a life as I want it to be.     
     Will.
     Will the faculty of conscious and especially of deliberate action.  Will is quite different from defiance.
     Not a defiant part of speech.
     Defy.  Defiant.  Defiance.
     Defy--to challenge the power of; resist boldly or openly; to challenge (a person) to do something deemed impossible.
    Defiant--boldly resistant or challenging.
    Defiance--a challenge to meet in combat or in a contest.
    Most of my life--before knowing how to do otherwise, and long after I was old enough to know better--I have lived in defiance.  I defied expectations of surgeons, "she may never walk or talk," the expectations of educators, "if I were to guess, I would say she might be mentally retarded," and occupational therapists, "here are exercises to help you to learn to use your right hand."
    As my Dad has said, "We didn't if you would learn to talk, but, once you started to talk, we didn't know if you would stop talking."  Though never a stellar student in graded terms, I did graduate from college, then, I completed graduate school.  There need be no apology for my life's story.  Only if I do not share it must I apologize.  Only if I share it will I ever learn.
      Long before graduate school--long before learning to speak--I defied the best-intentioned expectations of occupational therapists.  Carefully planned exercises--customized to my needs--were blown to smithereens.  Honestly, it was so long ago--I do not know if I could know, if I could remember.  How did I perform the assigned tasks with just one, and not two hands.  My intent was not defiant.  My act was.
   Throughout my life, if driven by nothing else, I am driven to excel-lence by, "I don't think you can do that."  "Do you want to make a bet."  Yet, such defiance comes at a heavy price.  I lived an act of defiance.  My body crumbled under its load.
     Far better than any dose of defiance is a measure of will. 
     I do not know the precise content of my acts--of my living.  I do know that I can not live under the destruction defiance delivers to my soul.  
     Make today a declarative act of living, not a defiant part of speech.

Zoomer Chronicles: John Steinbeck

...I discovered that I did not know my own country.  I, an American writer, writing about America, was working from memory, and the memory is at best a faulty, warpy reservoir.  I had not heard the speech of America, smelled the grass and trees and sewage, seen its hills and water, its color and quality of light.  I knew the changes only from books and newspapers....Once I traveled about in an old bakery wagon, double-doored rattler with a mattress on its floor.  I stopped where people stopped or gathered, I listened and looked and felt, and in the process had a picture of my country the accuracy of which was impaired only by my own shortcomings.
     So it was that I determined to look again, to try to rediscover this monster land.  Otherwise, in writing, I could not tell the small diagnostic truths which are the foundation of the larger truth....
     With all this in mind I wrote to the head office of a great corporation which manufactures trucks.  I specified my purpose and my needs.  I wanted a three-quarter-ton pick-up truck, capable of going anywhere under possibly rigorous conditions, and on this truck I wanted a little house built like the cabin of a small  boat.  A trailer is difficult to maneuver on mountain roads, is impossible and often illegal to park, and is subject to many restrictions.  In due time, specifications came through, for a tough, fast, comfortable vehicle, mounting a camper top--a little house with a double bed, a four-burner stove, a heater, refrigerator and lights operating on butane, a chemical toilet, closet space, storage space, windows screened against insects--exactly what I wanted.
                            Travels with Charley:  In Search of America
                            John Steinbeck, pp. 5,6,7.
     My ego is not so inflated as to think that I am riding with John Steinbeck across America.  Yet, the genius of a good writer is that he or she may take you as a passenger--their traveling companion--on their written journey.  I accept his invitation.  He has the room.  I have the time.
    On April 14, 2011, to take liberties with Steinbeck's words, Zoomer, "in due time, specifications came through...exactly what I wanted" was delivered to me.  Frankly, I did not know exactly what I wanted--what was possible to want.  I still don't know precisely what I want--what the life I am to lead is missing.
   As much an optimist as I put myself out to be--as much as I have lived my life as--I did not know whether my body had come to the end of its line.  Had my body closed the line of credit it extended to me to use--to move through my life?
   The intent--the purpose--of my journey with Zoomer is to determine what my physical limits are.  Put another way, how far may I travel.  My mind still works.  Zoomer and I know that that is not enough.  She has not lived through a Minnesota wintertime, but, my stories do not snow her--she finds them chilling.  My goal?  The scope of my pursuits--downtown St. Paul and its environs--is far smaller than Steinbeck's.    
    Wintertime memories cloud my optimism of the distance I may travel.  If I may be so bold--if I may divine--past wintertime's isolation shall remain the past.
    I am not asking that Zoomer and I see America.  I do not seek a four-burner stove, or a refrigerator.  Although heater, and windows screened from insects would be nice.  I can get by with Joy the Joystick, Brainy the Blockhead, and Zoomer.  I can get by with Sally the swing-away arm, Selia the seat recline, Lars the leg tilt, and Ellen the elevate, if I must.
     Zoomer, may we discover our country.  How far may we go?  Where must we not go?  When may we not go?  Night.  On freeways.  When may we go?  During winter?  In snow?  On ice?
    As Zoomer and I embark on a journey to create a new life, I watch a new college graduate take his tentative steps toward a new life--an adult life.  I would not change my place for his--I have gone through the angst that awaits him.  John, may we travel with you to discover our country--to find our way.

Zoomer Chronicles: Global Maps and Positions

     Cartographic scale is deceptive.  Small scale maps minimize potential explorations, yet to be undertaken.  Large scale maps provide perspective necessary to orientation--spatial orientation.
     Zoomer empowers my exploration.  Yet, her power is conditional.  She is not compatible with other powers--any other systems.  Any desire to position myself systematically--globally--beyond the view of Zoomer's position--must be disengaged.
     The medium of old--paper--must guide my explorations.  Yet, all the paper does not determine my explorations.  With faith I begin, while logic and reason I suspend.  Were logic and reason to reign me in, I might never have discovered the Vento Regional Trail...the Ramsey County Medical Examiner...the Alexander Ramsey House...the Science Museum exterior exhibits...the Robert Street Bridge...the Wabasha Street Bridge...Lowertown....
     Logic and reason have not been trashed.  Come snowfall, they will reign me in.  Yet, between now and then, I must take leaps of faith crossing curb cuts, will strong strides crossing streets, and jinx not my adventures with confining precision.
     Zoomer, teach me your ways that we may weather the storms, be steady in snow.  Zoomer, I pray, may we learn how to travel from November to May in fresh air, confined to no inner sanctum.

Zoomer Chronicles: Adventure's Name

     Zoomer v. Invacare, FDX-MCG, Front-Wheel Drive, Center of Gravity.
     Many individuals with scooters, electric wheelchairs, and the like adorn their vehicles with American flags, safety flags, and the like.  I have not motorized the American flag, although I seek the power of protection a bright orange safety flag is promoted as affording me.
     Some people are branded as Jazzy.  I have not been so bestowed.  Were I branded, I would be known as FDX-MCG, or front-wheel drive, center of gravity.  While the balance center of gravity promises, and the power front-wheel drive promises, FDX-MCG or center of gravity is hardly intuitive, much less catchy.
    Wheelchair-bound, or wheelchair-confined is hardly the way I pray that I will proceed through my life.
     If it be so, that is how I will go.  Yet, for now, I vow to take a different road--the less traveled road--toward adventure.
     Adventure--lived fully--must flow from A to Z.  If I am so to travel the road of Adventure, my companion must be Zoomer.
     I hate to be a woman of delusion.  Saying I use an electric wheelchair still stings a bit.  Say it if I must, I will do.  Yet, somehow, Zoomer removes the stinger, and allows me adventure and does bind or confine me to a wheelchair, even if it be mine.  Zoomer is a power-filled princess, while Front-wheel Drive, Center of Gravity is a frightening dictator.
     For now, Zoomer and I shall travel down the road less traveled toward whatever unknown adventure awaits.  We shall travel together, yet, still not alone.  In the spirit of three--Robert Frost, John Hockenberry, and John Steinbeck we shall travel.  Travels with Charley:  In Search of America I must read.