Zoomer is NOT happy. Her children, if that is who they are, are at war.
"Brainy the Blockhead started it all!" Joy proclaimed.
"I had nothing to do with it. Someone bumped me. Someone hit me so hard that I landed underneath Lily Ann the Left Armrest," Brainy retorted.
"Likely story. Own up to what you did. You elevated Lily in midair without my permission--without any warning," Joy the Joystick argued. "You left us hanging in midair--you scared us."
Zoomer came home so that her children could nap--be recharged. Later, Zoomer pleaded with me to let her out. She reminded me that she could take me where I needed to go--desperately needed to go. So, I relented. I warned Zoomer, and Joy the Joystick, that however we felt, we needed to beware such that Brainy would once again elevate us to peaks we had no interest in ascending.
We completed my appointed task--almost. The morning's frustration and fear called for one simple antidote--Breyer's Vanilla Ice Cream. So it was to be.
With a cold container awaiting my spoon now in my grubby little hands, I ventured forth boldly. The next appointed task? A tool kit. Brainy has a questionable amount upstairs, but with a metal screw loose, and another screw missing, it was all but a matter of time before I befell another of Brainy the Blockhead's pranks.
Walgreens. Honestly, my attention has been so focused on being outside, and honing my skills on outside destinations, that I had forgotten when my last time in Walgreens might have been. The Internet has been--is an intimate of mine--a bridge from wintertime isolation to indulgence in the outdoor world. It is not hard. All that is required is creativity, and a strong will, not to mention a strong will not.
But, I digress. With glee, we--Zoomer, Joy the Joystick, Brainy the Blockhead, and I--entered the accessible door of Walgreens. We were joined by our timid friend--Randy Andy the Right Armrest. Timid? Randy, timid? Yes, you see, Randy Andy suffered a broken wrist--his foam rubber split right in half--at the hands of Zoomer, who was navigating an elevated state. After a fuschia pink tape did not offer the healing he needed, Randy Andy was subjected to surgery to re
Showing posts with label Joy the Joystick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joy the Joystick. Show all posts
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: An Anniversary
On April 14, 2011, my life changed dramatically. One year of denial and resistance to my needs. One year of fear, "People are going to be condescending toward me." Finally, my resistance gave way in the face of debilitating ankle weakness--complete lack of stamina.
Two months ago, that changed. Invacare FDX-MCG is hardly captivating, or intuitive. Yes, FDX means "front-wheel drive," and "MCG" means "center of gravity." Front-wheel drive gives me the traction I need to navigate in wet conditions, although we should not be out in heavy rain.
Zoomer has transformed my electric wheelchair fears into personal liberation.
Never have I been an outdoors person. I am not athletic. Childhood neighbors' GREAT DANES instilled in me paralyzing fears of animals. They were far taller than I was. I wanted no part of being trampled by these GIANTS. So, little has tantalized any outdoor desires I might have had.
Then....then, an interminably long Minnesota winter, the magnitude of snow not seen since the late 1960s, germinated in me not just a desire, but a yearning to be outside--to stay outside--to live beyond health's necessary confines dictated by a weak ankle. Opportunity presented itself from an unlikely place to open the doors--exceed the confines of my necessary confines--an insurance company advocate knowledgeable of available vehicles of freedom. She guided me through the winding roads of the adoption process. Truly amazing.
Fast forward to April 14, 2011. Four months of labor gave birth to Invacare FDX-MCG--Zoomer.
Never a mother, never a driver, this large infant--an elephant in my room--was frightening. Unbelievable to many, my long confinement extinguished knowledge of where do I want to go? Fundamental survival instincts were beyond my comprehension.
Door jambs, narrow hallways, doors, handicap-accessible doors, and elevators were among the infant steps to be taken at a snail's pace on level 2 of the four levels of the wheelchair available to me. Interminable--painful--sounds of Zoomer's dancing wheels did not help my confidence. Yet, that yearning for freedom overrode my fears. Slowly, the knowledge that the nicks never dented my body--never injured anyone else--or Zoomer's seemingly indestructible body accelerated my confidence.
I have never been a risk taker, or so I think. I have been fiesty--one who tried to push the envelope of others' expectations--yet, never a risk taker. I have never been a risk taker--never a gambler. Yet, now placed on the table before me is a necessary risk--a gamble I must take. I am not a person of stupid risks. Though poor in math, I am a calculating person. Before I knew to count, I was naturally calculating in my breaths.
I cannot live within the confines of my home's safe cocoon. I must open the door. I must lap up the pool's buoyant waters. I must strengthen my legs. I must kick the arthritis from my ankle's innards. Zoomer is the vehicle to drive me toward my goals--to fulfill my needs, to satisfy my desires.
Yet, Zoomer, "What are your capabilities--your capacities? What are your limits? Rain? How much? How heavy? Snow? What depth? How far may I travel by the power of Baron's battery? Watt must I do? Am I speaking the language native to your understanding? TELL me. Do tell me. I MUST know.
These are the this anniversary's answers I seek. Yet, I know you may not choose to wrap up these answers and present them to me today. This is my wish list. Should you wish to present me with answers in a future anniversary's gift, I would not complain.
For now, engage me--present me with engagement in today's life.
Two months ago, that changed. Invacare FDX-MCG is hardly captivating, or intuitive. Yes, FDX means "front-wheel drive," and "MCG" means "center of gravity." Front-wheel drive gives me the traction I need to navigate in wet conditions, although we should not be out in heavy rain.
Zoomer has transformed my electric wheelchair fears into personal liberation.
Never have I been an outdoors person. I am not athletic. Childhood neighbors' GREAT DANES instilled in me paralyzing fears of animals. They were far taller than I was. I wanted no part of being trampled by these GIANTS. So, little has tantalized any outdoor desires I might have had.
Then....then, an interminably long Minnesota winter, the magnitude of snow not seen since the late 1960s, germinated in me not just a desire, but a yearning to be outside--to stay outside--to live beyond health's necessary confines dictated by a weak ankle. Opportunity presented itself from an unlikely place to open the doors--exceed the confines of my necessary confines--an insurance company advocate knowledgeable of available vehicles of freedom. She guided me through the winding roads of the adoption process. Truly amazing.
Fast forward to April 14, 2011. Four months of labor gave birth to Invacare FDX-MCG--Zoomer.
Never a mother, never a driver, this large infant--an elephant in my room--was frightening. Unbelievable to many, my long confinement extinguished knowledge of where do I want to go? Fundamental survival instincts were beyond my comprehension.
Door jambs, narrow hallways, doors, handicap-accessible doors, and elevators were among the infant steps to be taken at a snail's pace on level 2 of the four levels of the wheelchair available to me. Interminable--painful--sounds of Zoomer's dancing wheels did not help my confidence. Yet, that yearning for freedom overrode my fears. Slowly, the knowledge that the nicks never dented my body--never injured anyone else--or Zoomer's seemingly indestructible body accelerated my confidence.
I have never been a risk taker, or so I think. I have been fiesty--one who tried to push the envelope of others' expectations--yet, never a risk taker. I have never been a risk taker--never a gambler. Yet, now placed on the table before me is a necessary risk--a gamble I must take. I am not a person of stupid risks. Though poor in math, I am a calculating person. Before I knew to count, I was naturally calculating in my breaths.
I cannot live within the confines of my home's safe cocoon. I must open the door. I must lap up the pool's buoyant waters. I must strengthen my legs. I must kick the arthritis from my ankle's innards. Zoomer is the vehicle to drive me toward my goals--to fulfill my needs, to satisfy my desires.
Yet, Zoomer, "What are your capabilities--your capacities? What are your limits? Rain? How much? How heavy? Snow? What depth? How far may I travel by the power of Baron's battery? Watt must I do? Am I speaking the language native to your understanding? TELL me. Do tell me. I MUST know.
These are the this anniversary's answers I seek. Yet, I know you may not choose to wrap up these answers and present them to me today. This is my wish list. Should you wish to present me with answers in a future anniversary's gift, I would not complain.
For now, engage me--present me with engagement in today's life.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: Hometown Tourist
Today, Zoomer and I have been exploring my home of 28 years--downtown St. Paul. Zoomer took me to places here at home that I have heard about--seen on a map--but, never explored as I did today.
When was the last time you explored the town where you live as a visitor? Are there any plaques on buildings? Have you read them?
Some years ago, I did just that. Although from then til now, what sites I visited--what the inscriptions said--have long escaped my memory.
Life has given me time-- Zoomer has given me the energy--to acquaint myself anew with Downtown St. Paul. It seems counter-intuitive to set out on an expedition without a destination--without an ETA. Yet, that is precisely how my expeditions have proceeded. I thought I had to have a destination in order to have an interesting adventure. Quite to the contrary. Am I aimless? No. Quite to the contrary.
Temperate weather for pedestrian pursuits in Minnesota is a rare commodity. It is to be treasured--life, however imperfect it may be, is to be treasured. So, I shall not squander the snow-free days shining on me.
Goals??? Yes. Identify safe curb cuts. Gain confidence crossing intersections. Find as many new routes for Zoomer and me to travel. Zoomer bores easily. She needs stimulation. She needs challenge.
Today, Zoomer and I passed a new threshold--the Robert Street Bridge over the Mississippi River. A plaque passes my eyes. Joy the Joystick jolted us to a halt. She called our eyes, and ears to the words etched in stone.
Robert Street Bridge. When did it open? It opened on August 6, 1926, after a two-year construction period. Nearby Shepard Road. Was it named after anyone? Yes. George M. Shepard, who was the St. Paul Department of Public Works director from the 1920s to the 1950s.
This is hardly vital information. This is hardly worth losing sleep over not knowing. Yet, it is an invitation to keep our eyes, and ears open for all life that crosses our pathway.
Thank you Zoomer, thank you Joy the Joystick, for awakening me to what I overlook that is right beneath my nose.
When was the last time you explored the town where you live as a visitor? Are there any plaques on buildings? Have you read them?
Some years ago, I did just that. Although from then til now, what sites I visited--what the inscriptions said--have long escaped my memory.
Life has given me time-- Zoomer has given me the energy--to acquaint myself anew with Downtown St. Paul. It seems counter-intuitive to set out on an expedition without a destination--without an ETA. Yet, that is precisely how my expeditions have proceeded. I thought I had to have a destination in order to have an interesting adventure. Quite to the contrary. Am I aimless? No. Quite to the contrary.
Temperate weather for pedestrian pursuits in Minnesota is a rare commodity. It is to be treasured--life, however imperfect it may be, is to be treasured. So, I shall not squander the snow-free days shining on me.
Goals??? Yes. Identify safe curb cuts. Gain confidence crossing intersections. Find as many new routes for Zoomer and me to travel. Zoomer bores easily. She needs stimulation. She needs challenge.
Today, Zoomer and I passed a new threshold--the Robert Street Bridge over the Mississippi River. A plaque passes my eyes. Joy the Joystick jolted us to a halt. She called our eyes, and ears to the words etched in stone.
Robert Street Bridge. When did it open? It opened on August 6, 1926, after a two-year construction period. Nearby Shepard Road. Was it named after anyone? Yes. George M. Shepard, who was the St. Paul Department of Public Works director from the 1920s to the 1950s.
This is hardly vital information. This is hardly worth losing sleep over not knowing. Yet, it is an invitation to keep our eyes, and ears open for all life that crosses our pathway.
Thank you Zoomer, thank you Joy the Joystick, for awakening me to what I overlook that is right beneath my nose.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: Driver's Training
With no driver's training, Zoomer was entrusted to my care. Our partnership arranged. I expressed need. Zoomer was assembled
Some intersections are for daredevils. Others are not traveled by chickens.
Chickens never open their doors. Chickens dare not strap themselves into Zoomer's comrades.
Peacocks strut their stuff on sidewalks. Rush hours pose no fear. Peacocks fly through as the colors green, yellow, and red flash by the whites of her eyes.
Peacock the Primadonna--my alter ego--was poised to prevail. Joy the Joystick blew her top. Though willing to be accelerated, she has her limits. 1...2...3...4....Slow as a tortoise. Fast as a hare.
The peacock ever so elegantly presses the envelope. Joy the Joystick would not be jilted. Peacock the Primadonna was pushed into action--into submissive service to Joy. Peacock the Primadonna acted. With grace, she pranced onto the curb cut. Then, with the flow of her feathers, she repositioned Joy's top.
Will Peacock the Primadonna and Joy the Joystick join in an adventurous partnership? Will Zoomer zap the two with a spirit of cooperation?
Only time will tell.
Peacock the Primadonna--my alter ego--was poised to prevail. Joy the Joystick blew her top. Though willing to be accelerated, she has her limits. 1...2...3...4....Slow as a tortoise. Fast as a hare.
The peacock ever so elegantly presses the envelope. Joy the Joystick would not be jilted. Peacock the Primadonna was pushed into action--into submissive service to Joy. Peacock the Primadonna acted. With grace, she pranced onto the curb cut. Then, with the flow of her feathers, she repositioned Joy's top.
Will Peacock the Primadonna and Joy the Joystick join in an adventurous partnership? Will Zoomer zap the two with a spirit of cooperation?
Only time will tell.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Enthusiasm's Moderator
High clouds wisp over a blue springtime sky. 65 degrees in St. Paul's May lure me outside--with Zoomer.
Dressed properly. Pursed with a phone for emergencies. Keyed for safety.
All set???
Well....Not quite.
Zoomer must be as charged as I for an adventure. Last night's tiredness left Zoomer forgotten, with no recharging.
Zoomer's battery state. Empty.
Zoomer's Battery States??? Empty. Partially Charged. Battery Ready.
You may know your car's Empty does not mean truly empty. You may know you have ten miles to go until you will be with gas can in hand. I do not Empty's distance. You may no the equivalence of Half of a Tank in Gallons. You may know the miles per gallon your car affords you.
Yet, Zoomer is a heavyweight. Without the umpphh from Joy the Joystick, Zoomer is dead weight. Brainy the Blockhead is no help. He may Elevate me to reach to higher places. He may offer relief with his state of Recline. He may lift and lower my Leg Rests. Yet, Brainy the Blockhead is of NO help in charging Zoomer's Enthusiasm for our adventures.
Zoomer's dead weight frustrates me--frustrates my enthusiasm. Yet, my frustration--my impatience--has no pull with Zoomer. I cannot push Zoomer into full power--fully charged energy--with my impatience. My inflated sense of self does nothing to empower Zoomer's tired state.
So, I must wait. I must welcome Patience as a visitor into Enthusiasm's Sanctuary.
What does Empty mean? How many blocks? How many hills? How many curb cuts? How many intersections?
How do I measure Partially Charged? Does that mean I will limp along painfully with a broken ankle's speed.
I--my Enthusiasm--celebrates Battery Ready.
I may be safe in the States of Empty, and Partially-Charged. Yet, I cannot take that risk. My health is more precious to me.
Yet, I will not submit to Empty, and Partially-Charged. Battery Ready, and Enthusiasm shall prevail. We shall prevail. Zoomer, you will not fail me. We shall prevail. We must. My health depends upon it.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: Gunnit!
I confess, I am finding great pleasure in an unfamiliar source of aggression. But...but...before you pass judgment, you must know the source--the reason.
I do not own a gun. I never will. Yet, I DO Gunnit!
When?
Across intersections. Up curb cuts. Up skyway inclines.
My very survival depends upon it.
Gunnit!
Gunnit is one word, contrary to what you may think. With a walk signal lasting only a few seconds--with oncoming traffic--there is not a spare moment to waste. No time--no space--for the space between two words. The meaning is the same. Gun it. The urgency demands it, Gunnit.
Gunnit! Joy the Joystick, Gunnit!
The secret to my success--the key to greater confidence? Gunnit. At top speed--4--at the speed of a hare, success, and safety rule the day. Practice. Gunnit!
At the lowest speed--1--at the pace of a turtle, death comes in slow, excruciating motion. Horns honk. My heart pumps out of my chest. I will be run over. I will never get across the intersection. The offering of the Hail Mary prayer does not have a prayer.
Gunnit! Joy the Joystick, Gunnit!
I do not own a gun. I never will. Yet, I DO Gunnit!
When?
Across intersections. Up curb cuts. Up skyway inclines.
My very survival depends upon it.
Gunnit!
Gunnit is one word, contrary to what you may think. With a walk signal lasting only a few seconds--with oncoming traffic--there is not a spare moment to waste. No time--no space--for the space between two words. The meaning is the same. Gun it. The urgency demands it, Gunnit.
Gunnit! Joy the Joystick, Gunnit!
The secret to my success--the key to greater confidence? Gunnit. At top speed--4--at the speed of a hare, success, and safety rule the day. Practice. Gunnit!
At the lowest speed--1--at the pace of a turtle, death comes in slow, excruciating motion. Horns honk. My heart pumps out of my chest. I will be run over. I will never get across the intersection. The offering of the Hail Mary prayer does not have a prayer.
Gunnit! Joy the Joystick, Gunnit!
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: Pacifism.
Sunshine, and 66 degrees Fahrenheit are Minnesota callings to go outside. The destination? Outside.
Inclines. Curb cuts. Intersections. Curb cuts. Hills. Curb cuts. Sidewalk. Curb cut. Home.
Speed. 1? Slow. A snail's pace. 2? Some UMPH to get over thresholds. 3? Moderate speed. A safe speed to avoid taking out anyone, who crosses my path. 4? Indoor straightaways where no one else is in sight. 4? Intersections.
Torque. A turtle's pace? A hare's race?
A turtle's pace? My condominium walls--narrow openings. Tight spaces. Elevator doe-si-doing.
A hare's race? Intersections. Inclines.
My credibility is being challenged--my values tested. I thought I was a pacifist. No pleasure taken in being aggressive. No aggressiveness in my bones. Or so I thought.
The first day out, each intersection was preceded by an offering of the Hail Mary prayer. That and facial contortions to ensure a safe expedition--a safe arrival on the other side.
I thought I was a pacifist.....But....
Today. Steep incline. Sidewalk. Curb cut.
4....a Hare's Speed...Gun It!!!
Safe landing. Curb cut.
4...a Hare's Speed...Gun It!!!
Touchdown. Sidewalk. Curb cut.
4...A Hare's Speed...Gun It!!!
Sidewalk. Curb cut.
4...A Hare's Speed...Gun It!!!
Intersection.
4....A Hare's Speed...Gun It!!!
Patty: Gun It!!!
Zoomer: OK. OK. I'll Gun It, You Pacifist.
Inclines. Curb cuts. Intersections. Curb cuts. Hills. Curb cuts. Sidewalk. Curb cut. Home.
Speed. 1? Slow. A snail's pace. 2? Some UMPH to get over thresholds. 3? Moderate speed. A safe speed to avoid taking out anyone, who crosses my path. 4? Indoor straightaways where no one else is in sight. 4? Intersections.
Torque. A turtle's pace? A hare's race?
A turtle's pace? My condominium walls--narrow openings. Tight spaces. Elevator doe-si-doing.
A hare's race? Intersections. Inclines.
My credibility is being challenged--my values tested. I thought I was a pacifist. No pleasure taken in being aggressive. No aggressiveness in my bones. Or so I thought.
The first day out, each intersection was preceded by an offering of the Hail Mary prayer. That and facial contortions to ensure a safe expedition--a safe arrival on the other side.
I thought I was a pacifist.....But....
Today. Steep incline. Sidewalk. Curb cut.
4....a Hare's Speed...Gun It!!!
Safe landing. Curb cut.
4...a Hare's Speed...Gun It!!!
Touchdown. Sidewalk. Curb cut.
4...A Hare's Speed...Gun It!!!
Sidewalk. Curb cut.
4...A Hare's Speed...Gun It!!!
Intersection.
4....A Hare's Speed...Gun It!!!
Patty: Gun It!!!
Zoomer: OK. OK. I'll Gun It, You Pacifist.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: Reactions
Zoomer and I explored the sidewalks, curb cuts, and streets southwest of my downtown condominium. The weather is bone-chilling; the sky is gray. 45 degrees Fahrenheit is a far cry from my Minnesota springtime fantahsy.
Curb cuts, and streets is the terrain best suited to weekend travel. More room for indecision. Less likelihood of running into--literally, or figuratively--impatient drivers.
Today's goal? Wheel from 9th Street to 5th or 6th Street. Joy the Joystick, and Zoomer were up to the task. Brainy the Blockhead has yet to finesse doorways sufficient to win my confidence. Brainy has a mental block, when it comes to finessing. OK...OK...So, Brainy can finesse some doorways, and more narrow spaces. Yet, Brainy has a hard time negotiating offers from others to open doors for her. Could it be? Is Brainy a closet feminist???
Offers of help send Brainy jolting forward and backward to accommodate the gracious offers. Zoomer has made clear to Brainy the Blockhead, and Joy the Joystick that running into people is not polite--is not acceptable--and must be avoided at all costs. Zoomer has prevailed--so far.
Fears of people being condescending toward me, when they encountered me with Zoomer, have been for naught. In fact, the reactions of people--neighbors, and other people I encounter--is an outgoing attitude contrary to how I have known them to be. One neighbor, in particular, stands out to me. A soft-spoken, self-effacing man has been a neighbor for many years. Neither of us have done much in the manner of reaching out to one another. Zoomer was my elevator guest, who met my neighbor for the first time. Trying to abide by my instruction not to run over anyone, Zoomer was hesitant to join my neighbor in the elevator. My neighbor encouraged us to join him. Zoomer and I did the doe-see-do without doing him in. A delightful conversation ensued.
Zoomer, when do you think we can go back out again to test a few more street corners? When will the weather change? Any word Joy? Do you know anything, Brainy?
Curb cuts, and streets is the terrain best suited to weekend travel. More room for indecision. Less likelihood of running into--literally, or figuratively--impatient drivers.
Today's goal? Wheel from 9th Street to 5th or 6th Street. Joy the Joystick, and Zoomer were up to the task. Brainy the Blockhead has yet to finesse doorways sufficient to win my confidence. Brainy has a mental block, when it comes to finessing. OK...OK...So, Brainy can finesse some doorways, and more narrow spaces. Yet, Brainy has a hard time negotiating offers from others to open doors for her. Could it be? Is Brainy a closet feminist???
Offers of help send Brainy jolting forward and backward to accommodate the gracious offers. Zoomer has made clear to Brainy the Blockhead, and Joy the Joystick that running into people is not polite--is not acceptable--and must be avoided at all costs. Zoomer has prevailed--so far.
Fears of people being condescending toward me, when they encountered me with Zoomer, have been for naught. In fact, the reactions of people--neighbors, and other people I encounter--is an outgoing attitude contrary to how I have known them to be. One neighbor, in particular, stands out to me. A soft-spoken, self-effacing man has been a neighbor for many years. Neither of us have done much in the manner of reaching out to one another. Zoomer was my elevator guest, who met my neighbor for the first time. Trying to abide by my instruction not to run over anyone, Zoomer was hesitant to join my neighbor in the elevator. My neighbor encouraged us to join him. Zoomer and I did the doe-see-do without doing him in. A delightful conversation ensued.
Zoomer, when do you think we can go back out again to test a few more street corners? When will the weather change? Any word Joy? Do you know anything, Brainy?
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Zoomer Chronicles: Brainy the Blockhead
Zoomer and I are continuing to become acquainted. It seems longer than about three weeks, since we met.
Doors, and elevators are my challenges. The real challenge is tight spaces, and trying not to jam a control box on my left arm rest into a wall, or doorway.
Never having driven a car before, I am still trying to learn how--in what direction--to turn my joystick, in order to avoid crashing into doorways, or elevators.
The control box needs a name. It needs a gender. The only way to surmount the challenge of The Control Box is to give It a name. The Control Box is not an It. The Control Box is a He. The Control Box is hardly a name given to a male being. The long-form birth certificate of The Control Box was issued on April 14, 2011--the date I adopted him. The Control Box needs a strong name. Thus, I have named The Control Box as Brainy Blockhead. I want him to know he has a bright future, yet, he has a lot to learn. Brainy has a lot of say over how I travel, yet, he is far from a veteran driver. He and I have been issued our learner's permits, and we pray that we kill now one due to our inexperience.
The real challenge of tight spaces is Mr. Blockhead. He protrudes from my left armrest just shy of my left elbow. Brainy contains levers that control elevating, and reclining the chair, and leg rests. Brainy will allow me to do a tremendous amount. Someday. Yet, Brainy has a lot of bravado. Mr. Blockhead can't seem to get it through his thick skull. I don't have the time right now to give him the attention he demands of me--his mother.
"Watch me Mom, watch me! Look at it. If you put your hand on the lever on my head to the right, and I can move your leg rest up and down."
"Brainy, I am busy right now. I can't watch you. I am busy right now trying to get through this door carefully, so that I don't hit you on the head, and give you a terrible headache."
"But Mom, I can make you more comfortable. Look at me, look at me!"
"Brainy, I told you, I am busy."
"Mom! Listen to me. Put your left hand on my lever. Move it to the left, and I can elevate you from the ground. That would help you, wouldn't it?"
"OK Brainy, so you have my attention. I have stopped. So, now what?"
"Mom, put your hand on Lisa the Lever. Push her forward, and your seat will recline. Then, push Lisa the Lever back toward you, and she will push up your back to the upright position."
"That's nice, Brainy. I need to talk with your sister, Joy the Joystick now. So, you go back and be a good boy."
Doors, and elevators are my challenges. The real challenge is tight spaces, and trying not to jam a control box on my left arm rest into a wall, or doorway.
Never having driven a car before, I am still trying to learn how--in what direction--to turn my joystick, in order to avoid crashing into doorways, or elevators.
The control box needs a name. It needs a gender. The only way to surmount the challenge of The Control Box is to give It a name. The Control Box is not an It. The Control Box is a He. The Control Box is hardly a name given to a male being. The long-form birth certificate of The Control Box was issued on April 14, 2011--the date I adopted him. The Control Box needs a strong name. Thus, I have named The Control Box as Brainy Blockhead. I want him to know he has a bright future, yet, he has a lot to learn. Brainy has a lot of say over how I travel, yet, he is far from a veteran driver. He and I have been issued our learner's permits, and we pray that we kill now one due to our inexperience.
The real challenge of tight spaces is Mr. Blockhead. He protrudes from my left armrest just shy of my left elbow. Brainy contains levers that control elevating, and reclining the chair, and leg rests. Brainy will allow me to do a tremendous amount. Someday. Yet, Brainy has a lot of bravado. Mr. Blockhead can't seem to get it through his thick skull. I don't have the time right now to give him the attention he demands of me--his mother.
"Watch me Mom, watch me! Look at it. If you put your hand on the lever on my head to the right, and I can move your leg rest up and down."
"Brainy, I am busy right now. I can't watch you. I am busy right now trying to get through this door carefully, so that I don't hit you on the head, and give you a terrible headache."
"But Mom, I can make you more comfortable. Look at me, look at me!"
"Brainy, I told you, I am busy."
"Mom! Listen to me. Put your left hand on my lever. Move it to the left, and I can elevate you from the ground. That would help you, wouldn't it?"
"OK Brainy, so you have my attention. I have stopped. So, now what?"
"Mom, put your hand on Lisa the Lever. Push her forward, and your seat will recline. Then, push Lisa the Lever back toward you, and she will push up your back to the upright position."
"That's nice, Brainy. I need to talk with your sister, Joy the Joystick now. So, you go back and be a good boy."
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