Zoomer Chronicles: Her Voice

     Zoomer is tired this evening, after an inspiring day.  Zoomer was fitted with a small camera on her armrest--on Lily the Lefty.  I was dressed with a small microphone.  Off we went.  Strange as it may sound, we encountered no incidents of being cut in front of, or the like.  Odd to wish for that to happen, yet, I wanted to provide the visual evidence to reinforce my point.
     The KSTP-TV producer, and cameraman did not doubt what I was saying was true.  However, all of us wanted to get some tangible evidence.  Perverse.  Truly perverse.
     Zoomer and I worried that I would be so nervous that I would forget what I wanted to say--what perspective we wanted to share.  We worried that information essential to wheelchair safety in traffic would be lost to nerves--that my information would be the victim of my jangled nerves.  As the sleepless hours dragged on, my worries intensified. [Intimate frieinds though we are, Zoomer sleeps in the living room, not in my bed.] Fixation on the route to follow finally succumb to unconsciousness shortly after 3:18 A.M.
      Zoomer and I took a last minute tour this morning.
     What route were we going to follow?  Would it work?
     Would there be some--enough--examples of me being cut in front of to reinforce my concerns?  Would I provide material worthy of their time and effort to tour downtown?
     What if nothing happens?  Are they going to be upset that I wasted their time?  Would they think that I blew the incidents out of proportion?
     Those were my early morning questions--my obsessions.

     Well...nothing happened--no incidents occurred during our tour. 

      So, nothing happened--no incidents.  Now what?
     Will they say, "Well, I am sorry.  We can't devote any more of our resources to this story.  Maybe if something had happened that we could photograph, we would be able to do a story.  Good to have met you.  Have a nice day."
     But...such was not the case.
     "Mike, I have run out of film.  What would you like to do?  Should we come back another day?....Do you want to do an interview?" the cameraman asked.
     "...What does your schedule look like?...I've got your email and number.  Mine is on my emails," the producer said.
      So, my questions were answered.  I guess we did OK.
     Zoomer and I conducted the tour, and narrated it splendidly.  Maybe there was too much narration on my part.  I am a novice to television interviews.
    Splendid.  Just splendid.

Zoomer Chronicles: Safety's Anger

     This morning, Zoomer met fraternal twins--Safety's Anger, and Anger's Safety.  Mirror images of one another, they are born of the same root.  Danger.  Fear.
     A return to swimming was my dear ankle's hope.  Pool maintenance.  Facility remodeling.
     A return to swimming was not to be.  Not this day.  Ankle's hope was dashed--dashed far short of 50 yards.
     An elevator.  Button pushed.  A short wait.  Doors opened. Zoomer wheeled in--turned around.  Facing forward.  Third floor's button pushed.  Ankle's Hope salivating.  Slow and crotchety though she was known to be, today, this elevator went nowhere fast.
     Door Open's button pushed.  As an accordion opens, so too the doors.  Yet, just as with a fast, bad polka, an accordion closes, so too did the doors.  Though Zoomer is learning to dance, the polka is not her step.
     Though armed with her cell phone--a Jitterbug, I kid you not--my ankle's hope kicked back at me.  Angry. With the weight of a bowling ball on her, my ankle's hope was to kick off her burden.  One more time, she implored me.  Third floor button, one more time.  Once again, Zoomer, my ankle's hope, and I went nowhere fast.
    Though Jitterbug tried to call to Ankle's Hope, she would hear none of it.  Take me home, Zoomer.  Take me home.
    Safety's anger. She prevailed.  Safety's Anger drove Zoomer and I out of Harm's Way.
    Though Ankle's Hope kicked high, she fell flat into Zoomer's lap.  No harm.  Just anger.  Frustration.  Door Open's button hit.  Zoomer and I sped forward.  To Safety, we arrived.
    No sign.  Out of Order.  No sign.
    Anger's safety.  Though Safety's Anger had spoken--rescued--now it was for Anger's Safety to speak.
To quiet solitude, find your way.  Let Anger rest, let Safety's Advocate cry forth in due time.
    Impatience overruled quiet solitude.   A simple report. "Your elevator is out of order."  
    "The elevator repairman has been called.  They should be out sometime today."
    Safety's Anger yet satisfied, though Logic told her she should be.
      "You are new to this world, there were many signs not posted before you.  Many signs will not be posted in years yet to come."
     Yet,"Where is the Out of Order sign--Safety's Warning?" was all this impatient soul could ask.