Old? Infirm?

A friend sent this article to me today:

Are you Old? Infirm?

I can relate. Though I'm not old - despite what the three-year-olds in my Sunday school class say.

And I am not infirm - and I'll wack over the head with my cane anyone, repeat anyone, that would call me that.

I resemble Nancy in the article. She calls herself crippled. And Mr. Bruni wrote, "I confessed that I cringed whenever she called herself “crippled,” which she does, because she values directness and has a streak of mischief in her." I prefer the term 'gimp' and have also had others cringe when I say that. I like the term they arrived at "limited" but it's not perfect - maybe just a little more politically correct.

I have felt that diminishment when in my wheelchair. But being a tad feisty and Irish, I fight that with every ounce of my being. My personality has always been a little on the large side and not very quiet or shy, so I make it a challenge to 'be seen' - and not as the woman in the chair but instead for the woman that I am, and to make the chair disappear.

I also believe, I am ahead of my time. As we boomers are getting older, we rely more on assistance to get around. So, dear friends, I'm just being a four-wheeling trailblazer and doing all I can to erase any potential stigma there might be to being 'limited'. You can thank me later!

Comments

It's not a popularity contest, but ...

Ten Year

When I was in junior high school, I staged a sit-in and learned about 'ten year'. This will come as a total surprise to most of you readers - I was not a perfectly well behaved child. I know, I know - you're shocked, amazed, in wonder how I could have turned out to be so well-behaved despite the oats sown in my youth. And the sit-in is a perfect example of how I marched to the beat of my own drummer. Miss Brown was an English teacher - and not a very popular one. She would invoke the yardstick on wayward student's hands and scowl the moment we walked into the classroom. We weren't very kind to Miss Brown but then she wasn't very kind to us, either. Personally, the hardest part of having Miss Brown as an English teacher is that she nearly ruined my love of my favorite topic in school. It was the year we were to learn grammar (have I ever mentioned that as a writer I detest grammar?). I think some new way of teaching English was introduced and in all l...

Blubbering Idiot

While doing crunches this morning, I turned on the TV to keep my mind off the exercise I was about to do and the movie "Gran Torino" was playing. It was nearly 3/4 of the way done. Perfect, I thought, I can watch the end of one of my newest favorite movies. Fifteen minutes later, I'm a puddle of tears on the floor. The end of that movie dissolves me to tears every time - and I think I've seen it now about six or seven times. When Clint Eastwood's character goes about his last day - including a lame confession with the priest - locking 'Toad' in the basement, I begin to get weepy. SCENE SPOILER ALERT ! But when he is shot down and is splayed as though crucified on the cross, I become a blubbering idiot. So much softness and sacrifice in one so tough and gruff - it highlights the intensity of his sacrifice for his new family next door. I only need watch the last few minutes of "Gran Torino" to get the full emotional effect. The same can be said...

Rubenesque at 50

As I was slathering on lotion after my shower the other day, I made the mistake of glancing in the mirror. And the thought that leapt to mind was, "I'm Rubenesque". The next thought was, "I am not happy with that analogy!" Of course the latter thought was more strongly worded and might have included an expletive or two. Or three or four. In a society that champions thin, Rubenesque is certainly not a prized state of being and it is taking all kinds of courage to admit this in this public forum, but I feel it's something I must do to get my Rubunesque butt into a more desired shape. I have let my MS gradually immobilize me to the point where fear of falling or tripping or looking klutzy are the glue that's keeping me in place. And the glue is made all the stronger by the snow and ice awaiting me as soon as leave the house. Nothing good can happen by hibernating in fear - in fact quite the opposite. So, I've committed to daily exercise - for now...

The Glass is Half-Full

Search This Blog