Category: Book/Views From My Chariot

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Let’s Get Together…

I post each Friday to stimulate thought for our conversations, and for you to know that as a fellow SCI, I know and understand your plight.

I recently added pictures, an ‘About Me’ page, information about my books (Views From My Chariot which is frozen for sales until its second edition is available, and HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU will be available mid to late April.), and, we’ve talked back-and-forth. This week, I’m adding a link for us to meet in person!

This is an excerpt from last week’s TV interview about me, my adjustment to SCI, and my books. It’s a little over two minutes long, so look fast!

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skwc-tczGkE&feature=youtu.be

HAPPY EASTER!

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Pause For A Cause

I don’t talk much about my problems or the disheartening ramifications of my SCI. I take them to God. That’s where I vent my frustration, cry, and fuss. Then miraculously, I can suck it up, redo whatever, or start over. I believe ‘start overs’—second chances—begin in hope. It’s the pauses that make it possible to start over or to cut a new trail in the actualization of new dreams. Let me use the comma as an example.

A comma is a punctuation mark that represents a pause to the eye of the reader. Whether used to delineate a list, give emphasis to a word, separate words and phrases of words, the comma gives clarity of interpretation. Like in the saying, “Life is just, not fair.” the comma clarifies that happenings in life conform to some fact or reason, although they may not be fair.

For instance: My car ran off the road, up an embankment, and flipped back down onto the road, landing upside down on its roof. The wreck was caused by the fact that my rear tires had a blowout. My SCI is its result. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t something I deserved. It happened.

As with the saying example, I used a pause—the comma after “just”—to accept it, re-evaluate, and clarify my options then, reconfigured my old dreams and created new ones.

WITHOUT the comma/pause, the sentence reads: “Life is just not fair.” Have you omitted the pause that could give clarity to your situation/disability/illness? In belligerence or bitterness, have you ricocheted off every hopeful course of action offered to you to better your life, to adjust to disability? Do you find yourself repeatedly boomeranging back to the same bad attitude of ingratitude and self-pity? It’s a self-fulfilling prophesy only you can change.

We ALL experience dashed hopes and broken dreams, but is that any reason to quit hoping, to stop dreaming, or to punish others because you have? Since we’re promised nothing more than today, why not begin today with a clarifying pause.

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In recognizing there is a problem, you open the mental windows for fresh ideas to circulate. The desire to do something about the problem(s) is the door to your freedom. Then, the choice to make the changes puts you on the path to fulfilling your purpose.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             My

My first book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair  Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html , is a beginner course for you to recognize fresh ideas that will revive your hope after a SCI, resuscitate mental clarity for strength to push forward, and encourage you to open the door to a promising future that awaits you.

Once you make the choice to open the door to your future, my second book, HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU-from A to Z, coming SOON http://booklocker.com/books/6811.html,
is somewhat of a follow-up—a how-to find yourself, rediscover your heart, change your ‘stinkin’ thinkin’, and take a detour around the roadblocks to fulfill your destiny.

My hope is that you do. Let me be a part of your turnaround, your start-over, your happiness, and your life’s fulfillment. Then, please tell me about it.

We’ll all benefit from your success!

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Beware: Karma-BANG! BANG! DUCK!

We’re all familiar with the Eastern philosophy of karma: the inevitable action of bringing upon oneself results, good or bad, of our own actions, or “What goes around, comes around.” Here in the Bible Belt, it’s referred to as “The Golden Rule”: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. What personal messages (PM) are you sending out…that inevitably come back to you?

Optimistically, we are always kind (in word and deed), patient, sympathetic, and loving, to the Nth degree. SURE!

In all honesty, you KNOW there are times when you deliver impatient, arrogant, and hateful PMs in a variety of ways: in exasperating return lines, home interruptions by telemarketers, misunderstood orders by outsourced telephone assistants, garbled orders (and prices) in drive-thru food services, road rage reactions, frustratingly persnickety family members, and sadly, on-and-on.

My question is not only to those of you adjusting to disability, but to anyone wondering why life seems to always give you lemons: What boomerangs back at regular intervals in your life? Misunderstandings; relational discord; exclusion from social gatherings; perpetually being over-looked for that promotion; constipated cash flow; recurrent health issues; bad luck? If any of these strikes a cord, you may be the one plucking it.

I’ll illustrate my point with the analogy of ammunition. Much like shooting a shotgun, unresolved issues detonate emotions. There may be lots of issues/pellets loaded into the shell (repressed emotions) or one big issue/slug (volatile emotions). Wrapped in the subconscious, they lay loaded, cocked, and waiting to explode their charge.

When the specific volatile and toxic emotion is triggered, a single projectile of words or actions like the metal slug, or lesser bullet, is aimed to murder its downrange target. Always looking out for a particular perpetrator’s profile, this person is ever-conscious of their injury. This is a stalker/predator hunting style. Vengeance is theirs.
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Then, like the number of smaller pellets wrapped inside a shotgun shell, are the more common repressed emotions from childhood, adolescence, and/or adjustment issues. They have become so enmeshed in our temperaments and relational styles that the emotion triggered is associated with a personal affront or putdown.

In a compulsive need for self-defense, and in ignorance to the cause and effect, the disabled and the able-bodied alike shoot off verbal ballistics. BANG! BANG! Stinging words scatter; more whelped offenses. Remember: What you sow, you will reap.

In PART TWO of my book, HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU http://booklocker.com/books/6811.html,
I offer a strategy of brain exercises to train your out of shape, disabled brain. You will learn to strengthen those flabby mental muscles that have offered no resistance to out-of-control thoughts. You will realize their continued circuitry—mulling them over and over and over in your mind, fires up the same emotions as the original words/action/offense did.

DUCK!

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Blue Bird Days

For several years after embarking on my chariot (wheelchair) ride, I experienced a brooding sadness. No one knew about it, only me. After the second year, I pinpointed it to occur for a couple of months in the fall. It dissipated as subtly as it appeared.

In the third and final year, I realized it was a mild depression. This sadness resulted from my association with the month of my SCI, September, and the loss of participating in favorite fall activities and exhilarating winter sports. This realization began my resurrection.

I had already grieved the death of sojourning the remainder of my life via feet (although I do believe in miracles). Now, it was time to bury old dreams and resurrect new hopes.

I leased an apartment in a newly completed complex. I recall the prediction of a possible evening snow. With the late-night news came the announcement that, indeed, it was snowing.

I threw on a shawl, wheeled out to the sidewalk, and laid my head back as silent snowflakes sifted softly onto my face. I lingered there for the longest, drinking in the peaceful beauty, and praising God, out loud.

Yes, I remember wondering if my neighbors thought I was crazy; but my joy trumped worrying about what they thought. I missed the snow. Just because I couldn’t ski or cross country in it, didn’t lessen my delight. I was in heaven. (A “crippling” half-inch accumulation of snow caused all schools to be closed the next day. What?)

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In recognizing my sadness, I could open the mental windows for fresh ideas to circulate. My desire to do something about it, to find happiness in other ways, was the door to my freedom. Choosing to make the emotional change adjusting to disability, put me on my healing path.

My first book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html , is a beginner course for you to recognize fresh ideas that will revive your hopes for a promising future after disability, resuscitate mental clarity for strength to push forward, and encourage you to open the door to the productive, fulfilling future that awaits you. It’s your choice.

Still, snow is rare in Alabama, but that doesn’t limit my experiencing it. Warren Miller Entertainment provides me vicarious thrills “catchin’ air” around the world. Mostly, they film heli-skiing and backcountry skiing, WAY beyond my expertise. But this way, everyday is a blue bird day on champagne powder for me!

“On your left!”

SWUSH!

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Make My Day

I have lived happily, independently, and triumphantly from my chariot (wheelchair) for thirty-six years now. I have worked as a speech and language pathologist with special children, dabbled in interior design, designed and built my wonderfully accessible home, hosted a multitude of international exchange students (You can read about them in the “Bless This Home” chapter of my book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html.), counseled teens and young women in a life coach capacity (as well as boosting their self-confidence through make-over workshops), ran an antiques home gallery, and design(ed) jewelry.

When it comes to entertainment, beauty, and joy, I’m a low-maintenance kind-of-girl. I am entertained by a good book, an old movie, or stimulating conversations. I find beauty in the simple yet magnificent pleasures–all my little sanctuary’s animal, mineral and vegetable gifts, nature’s seasonal raiment, and sunshine. I live a blessed life.

Routinely, the first delight of my day begins by feeding and loving on my 3 cats. Everyone is hungry, wants to play, be brushed, and have one-on-one time.

Once satisfied, the boys–Fred Astaire and Laptop–scamper onto the screened-in porch to relish nature’s activities. Before hitting the office to write and research, or whatever else is on the day’s agenda, I have my espresso and spend more time with Ciati, my only female feline. (Picture in memory. Ciati transitioned to Heaven’s rosemary fields–her favorite–at 22 years spry)

Then, there are the occasional days my body requires extra TLC (with my Young Living essential oils) from over-worked muscles. On such a day this week, a monstrous house spider (Sorry, God. I do not, not, NOT like spiders.) blatantly crept into my kitchen.

I’m OCD about spiders. I know they are uninvited pests in everyone’s home. I’m fine with “out-of-sight…” Though, when I do see one, I do not allow it out of my sight until I have read its rights…or, I’ll just say, “The last thing on its mind is reading material.”

With focused contempt, I scanned the room for a book or magazine to drop on it, which is exactly what I did. SPLAT!
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Whether with a bow-and-arrow, shotgun, handgun, or horseshoes, I was an excellent shot. I may not manually hold any of the above at this time, but I can still  judge speed and distance.

It requires skill and strategy to heave the written word in such a way that it lands horizontally on a scurrying target. This takes the printing “press” to a whole ‘nother level. Agree?

Even though I wasn’t up to par, and that spider stealthily deliberated its exodus, I assuredly dared, with squinted eyes and a frown, “Make my day.”

It did! I felt much better.

 

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My Pearl

I want to take you on an historic walk along the scenic ocean shore. Please, bear with my analogies. (I could have said “Bare with…” which means “get naked”…do what you will to get in the mood:))

It has never been my thing to talk a lot, particularly about myself. Solitude is, and has been, my oyster shell. Solitude remains a harboring place and cultivating bay for me.

 

Still waters

The sands of time have rudely, but mercifully, exfoliated the overgrowth of barnacles and parasites that have tried to infect the pearl God so caringly implanted inside me. In spite of or because of these rhythmic disturbances in my cultivation, my pearl has finally been harvested. It remains in the polishing stage, but its color and luster are appearing.

My voice, silenced since childhood, is my pearl. And like a ventriloquist, I talk with my hands; more specifically, my middle finger. NO, I’m not talking birds; I type with my middle finger.

I’m a slow southern talker of about 8 words a minute. I’ve been talking steadily for a while now but am still treading water in this social media thing. My cyber synapses are sparking to catch up with my speedy Gonzales fingers. ARRIBA!
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My first book has been out since June, and I’m tweaking my second. My first children’s book will be out late winter or first of the year. I post each Friday on this blog, AND the first week of each month, I update at www.facebook.com/ConversationsWithCynthia. I’m going to talk your eyes out of your head.

Of course, you can’t “like” my first book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity, until you actually read it. You can PURCHASE it at http://booklocker.com/books/6235.htmlthen, let’s talk.

Please leave me a comment or review after my June 21, 2012 article, “Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity IS HERE!”

Talk to you soon.

 

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Spontaneity

According to me, one of the misfortunes of living with a disability is the loss of spontaneity. I miss impromptu trysts with friends for a midday coffee, catching a matinee at the last minute, foot-scorching sands on the beach while beach towel sunbathing, walking barefoot in the rain….But recently, I felt overindulged at a friend’s “throw her own” birthday party.

She invited an estimated seventy friends for a special luncheon at her country club. The speaker was Dorothy McDaniels of Dorothy McDaniel’s Flower Market fame in Homewood, Alabama. (She has even made arrangements for Margaret Thatcher!) She demonstrated techniques of a dozen different floral arrangements using red roses and green roses (I didn’t know that there were green roses.), green hydrangeas, purple irises, hot pink lilies, yellow this and thats, and white everythings; I love the purity and simplicity of white.

My rose after a couple days’ bloom

The table settings were breathtaking. At each place setting was a single rose tied with bows of purple organza and spring green satin. Every rose was a different type and a different color. (This was my rose after a couple-of-days’ bloom.) The centerpieces were low and glorious with light and hot pinks, purples and periwinkles, orange and yellow and green. SEE! And, the meal was as colorful and tasty: Spring greens salad sprinkled with sliced strawberries, wild mushroom crepes with Béchamel (a rich, creamy white sauce) over a rice pilaf, and rainbow sherbet with a Pirouette (rolled cookie) served in a long stem wine glass. Yum!  This is me wearing my Asian tree Fascinator, after drinking my adrenalin (coffee).

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Outings have been rare lately, although I’ll be out promoting my book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity, in the upcoming months!

Although, I believe this is my temporary home, I make the best of living with my disability. I look forward to traveling the universe beholding Reality, whole and healed, enjoying Real spontaneity.

 

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Living With a Disability-WITH A HOPE

According to me, one of the misfortunes of living with a disability is the loss of spontaneity. I miss impromptu trysts with friends for a midday coffee, catching a matinee at the last minute, foot-scorching sands on the beach, beach towel sunbathing, walking barefoot in the rain…but, living with a disability can not diminish beholding beauty.

Recently, I felt overindulged at a friend’s “throw her own” birthday party. She invited an estimated seventy friends for a special luncheon at her country club. (For you guys, if you’re not into flowers, envision the panoramic view through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the 18-hole, 6,702 yards of rambling golf course. Now, fantasize about your par 71 score. Check back in for the last three paragraphs.) The speaker was Dorothy McDaniels of Dorothy McDaniel’s Flower Market fame in Homewood, Alabama. (She has even made arrangements for Margaret Thatcher!) She demonstrated techniques of a dozen different floral arrangements using red roses and green roses (I didn’t know that there were green roses.), green hydrangeas, purple irises, hot pink lilies, yellow this and thats, and white everythings; I love the purity and simplicity of white.

My rose after a two day bloom

 

The table settings were breathtaking. At each place setting was a single rose tied with bows of purple organza and spring green satin. Every rose was a different type and a different color.

 

The centerpieces were low and glorious with light and hot pinks, purples and periwinkles, orange, yellow, and green. See!

A floral rainbow

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The meal was as colorful and tasty: Spring greens salad sprinkled with sliced strawberries, wild mushroom crepes with Béchamel (a rich, creamy white sauce) over a rice pilaf, and rainbow sherbet with a Pirouette (rolled cookie) served in a long stem wine glass. Yum!

Outings have been rare lately, although I’ll be out promoting my book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity, in the upcoming months! August 23-26, I’ll be in Chicago for the fall National Rehabilitation Conference peddling my book. Look me up if you’re there.

Although, I believe this is my temporary home (like Carrie Underwood’s song), I travel daily, making the best of living with a disability. Each room in my home is decorated with a different country’s influence. My wardrobe is ethnically chosen, and two of my three cats are Persian and Russian.

A language barrier you wonder? No problem! The language in my home is love—the universal language!

When I “relocate,” I look forward to traveling this universe beholding its breathtaking beauty. I’ll be whole and healed, enjoying unsurpassed spontaneity. That will be something.

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Wheelchair Delights

Until you read my book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity, let me add a little more personal information, aside from the tidbits included in all my articles about my living with a disability.

I’ve been riding in my chariot, i.e., wheelchair for thirty-five+ years now, at break-neck speed—probably not funny because that’s what I did (broke my neck), but it made me giggle as I typed it.

In fact, I was making a phone call a while back checking on something, maybe accessibility, I can’t recall. My sister was at home with me. Midway through my conversation with whomever I was speaking, Candace reminded me—like a backseat driver—to offer that I was handicapped.

As I began to explain that I was disabled, my sister and I broke into hysterical laughter. The harder we tried to regain appropriate solemnity, the more boisterous we became. Finally, I just hung up. Neither of us could compose ourselves enough to explain. I’m sure they thought it was some sick prank—totally disrespectful of the disabled plight. What can I say? That’s how I roll.

Besides my sister, here are some of my favorite things: Nature’s cooperative communication—like a school of fish changing direction in a split-second (I used to scuba dive.), and a flight of birds swooping in a 180° turn in unison; expressive music (Carmen’s “Champion” is my favorite Easter song; for Christmas, Michael English’s “Mary, did you know?” and in general, the Chordettes’ “Mr. Sandman”—a VERY old oldie.); cashmere sweaters, scarves, and barefoot sandals; breakfast, spicy Indian food, and mahimahi;  beets, turnips (boiled, roasted, and sautéed),and roasted garlic; the aroma of freshly baked bread, rosemary, and lemon verbena; the scents of gardenia, honeysuckle, and vanilla; azure skies, full moons, and shooting stars; the exuberance of orange, and the peacefulness of white; late winter daffodils, bright Gerber daisies, and red poppies;  ancient Asian peonies, graceful crepe myrtles, and their leaping lizards (which will make sense when you read my book); a tugboat’s baritone horn in the night, a train’s distant whistle, soothing wind chimes, and a child’s voice; movies, movies, and more movies; cats, cats, and cats (I have three, and I’ll be posting some of their antics.); a good book, and time to read it; oxymorons (Are you thinking I’m clearly confused?); a smart joke, a fun game with friends, and laughter; champagne, dry red wine, Maker’s Mark Whisky, Glenlivet Scotch, Jose Cuervo Gold Tequila (I’m fasting liquor. Can you tell?); coffee (coffee candy, coffee yogurt, Tiramisu, anything coffee), and espresso.
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I have been tediously repetitious with things that I love, but I DO LOVE LIFE! If you think about it, all of the above are simple sensory delights available to the able and the disabled alike.

And now, like any of you, after my coffee’s adrenalin surge, I am exceedingly alert with dilated arteries and accelerated blood flow. I think I’ll go run it off.

Uh-oh, I can’t run.

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The F-word

When I was nine, my younger sister asked my mother, “What does f*** mean?” Mother asked me to leave the room while she explained its meaning, but I listened. (Inquiring minds need to know.) That was the first time I had heard the word.

I have since read various postulations of its origin: An acronym for the King of England’s consent for a married couple to procreate, an acronym labeling a prosecuted prostitute, or an acronym for an unlawful, sexual attack. Most probably, it arrived in the 15th Century from the Dutch or Low German language, fully formed, and not from the swearing Irish.

Less sensational than this four-letter word’s questionable etymology, but equally misunderstood, is the F-word I’m talking about: Flexibility. It isn’t a vulgarity, although many consider it a dirty word.

Before my disability, I did things when I wanted, where I wanted, how I wanted, with whom I wanted, and because I wanted to. If I wanted to explore, I searched country roads to discover their secret destinations or strolled through secluded graveyards imagining the mysterious deaths. When I wanted to socialize, I gathered with friends, went shopping, danced and listened to music, or participated in sports. All of these are spontaneous freedoms. Once confined to a wheelchair, I had to learn to be flexible.

In living with a disability, I consider flexibility to be my lifeline.

Merriam-Webster defines lifeline as 1:“a line…used for saving or preserving life…to keep contact with a person…in a dangerous or potentially dangerous situation” and 2: “something regarded as indispensable for the maintaining…of life.” The way I see it, hired caregivers or family, friend, and neighbor volunteers are our lifelines assisting us in maintaining our health and preserving our quality of life.
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I live independently, but I happily anticipate the weekly and bi-monthly help from my girl Friday and housekeeper. (Learn about the village that keeps me independent in the “It’s a beautiful day in my neighborhood” chapter of my upcoming book Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity.)

My “village” helps me with miscellaneous errands, grocery shopping, pet trips to the veterinarian, keeping a clean house, etc.; they sacrificially work me into their schedules. And yes, there are times that their availability interrupts my schedule. Beggars can’t be choosers. What is a little inconvenience when it is my needs (or wants) being met? For that matter, being flexible is a consideration of someone else.

Knowing that I am clay in His hands keeps me malleable. I can’t be broken if I am adaptable and pliable; and gratitude insures my flexibility.

Have you been rigid and staid in your time table? What are your thoughts on the F-word? (the one with eleven letters)