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! Standard http://deeprootsmag.org/2013/08/28/synesius-of-cyrene-to-hypatia/ levitra 60 mg drug makers use the formula of bestselling drugs by government’s permission.
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, ViewsFrom 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!”
When my feet did all the walking, autumn was my favorite season. I still love her displays of clear azure skies above amber and carnelian dressed trees, nippy winds raining down flurries of autumn leaves, and dropping temperatures ushering in winter. What I love about all four of the seasons is how they announce each others’ approach, like the warm-up opening act for the next season’s concert.
Since childhood, the one cohesive element in nature’s draw for me has always been the tent of the heavens. No matter the season, I lay transfixed on a blanket or cocooned in a sleeping bag staring heavenward, transfixed by its expanse, wondering, contemplating life, identifying the constellations, and praying. And, how I love a full moon!
In silence, I learned to listen to what I saw, and to trust what I heard. Though still, I can’t carry a tune with my voice, as I behold the night’s sparkling heavens, my heart sings to God.
I’m not alone when I say this: King David, who spent countless nights under the stars 3,000 years ago, wrote a psalm expressing his awe and understanding of the heavens.
He wrote: “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament shows His handiwork. Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night reveals knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard. Their line (sound, parenthesis mine) has gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world.” (Psalm 19: 1-4 KJV)
On the next clear evening, find an exquisite view of the heavens. Pause beneath them. Listen to their symphony. Soak in their harmony. Feel your heart swell with awe and hope. Pen your psalm and sing it. If the disease http://appalachianmagazine.com/2016/05/10/honoring-the-southern-soldier-on-confederate-memorial-day/ buy levitra is not controlled in time, then it increases the chances of impotence.
No one will hear…except The One Who knows your name; The One Who hears your thoughts, The Wonderful One Who made you.
Just like the heavens shout without speaking a word, let your heart sing His favorite song.
What weighs 110-115 deadweight pounds and is shackled to the earth by 30 pounds of metal? ME!
I used to love leg wrestling; and I was good, weighing in at only 105 pounds. I never studied or was trained in wrestling techniques; I just knew how to take another off-balance. It’s at the waist—the center of gravity. As long as I could get one of their legs from under their center of gravity, it was my match. Whether scuffling in the yard or in water (pool, ocean, lake, or swimming hole), it made no difference, except for the landing; which brings me back to deadweight.
Thefreedictionary.com defines deadweight as, “The unrelieved weight of a heavy, motionless mass.” Yes. Motionless? Yeah, except for my Scream 5-ish open-mouth/empty eyes, ghostly white face go-i-n-g d-o-w-n. THUD! Early on, I even did a “motionless” face-plant into my dinner plate, stimulated from a back spasm. I’m sure a couple of you resemble that.
Let’s, for a minute, cast our deadweight aside, lift-off in our weightless imaginations, and go soul-soaring. Let’s
…silently hang glide with eagles aloft cool mountain currents over verdant valleys below. Listen to the whistling wind as it strokes your hair and kisses your face.
…swish down steep powder trails on air-spring knees with ski-pole’s rhythmic propulsion and metronome timing as silent ice crystals melt on your face and crown your toboggan.
…glide silently beneath the frigid water’s surface gently tossed in its oscillating ebb and flow. Soak in voyeuristic vistas of fish’s synchronized movements as you fluidly float among them, hearing only your Darth Vader-ish breathe in surround-sound.
…with tight grip, slalom on a tranquil mornings’ smooth-as-glass cool lake waters, whose only ripple is the boat’s wake.
…take a running leap off a crusty lichen-covered boulder into the still lake thirty feet below, dropping deep, and deeper into its black abyss. Feel your chest swell as you pull the waters down to propel your body up. When you finally burst through the liquid cocoon’s surface, you gasp in depleted air!
…rise up from sweltering beach towel sunbathing to bolt across blistering foot-scorching sands. Dive into the shimmering ocean’s cooling waters.
…meditatively sit on a smooth protruding rock along the seashore. Close your eyes as crashing waves explode their exfoliating salt on your already sticky skin. Tune in to squawking seagulls soaring above the ocean’s roar. Open your eyes. Watch as they dive-bomb through the water’s surface for their favorite fare.
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…lay back on a fallen tree trunk within an autumn leaves-blanketed wood. Shhh! Listen to the rustlings of scampering squirrels playing chase, the distant call of a hawk for its mate, and the watchful doe with her fawn.
Or, feel
…the heat of summer’s sun on your skin,
…the soothing warmth of bath water or its sting on your sun-burned skin,
…melting ice cool your overheated body,
…chill-bumps,
…a mosquito bite.
Now, go back to one of these never experienced sports, a long forgotten sensation, or your favorite activity. In your mind, dwell there for an expanse of time, as the morning sun rises or evening’s sun sets, in your favorite season, alone or with a special someone. It’s your story. You’re the writer, director, cinematographer, and star.
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.
(NOTE: This is more than my standard 500 or less words for my articles. I didn’t want a “To be continued” tease at its middle. So, grab a juice or flavored water. Travel with me.)
For me as a SCI, travel and dilemma are synonymous. I look forward to the fellowship and activities at destination’s end, but the tedious planning and knowledge that MOST plans will crash before realized encroaches upon my hyped anticipation.
This recent Chicago trip was planned around a rehabilitation conference to sell my first book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html . To make travel possible, my dear friend and European daughter, Sandy LeBihan (one of my international exchange students twenty years ago), planned a two-week vacation to fly across the pond for our visit and my business adventure. We hadn’t seen each other since her third visit in 2007.
We flew a direct flight in an Express—a VERY SMALL, plane. Don’t do it…unless you can get out of your wheelchair or are a paraplegic.
Normally when I fly, I am the only wheelchair traveler; but as we waited to board, there were four other wheelchair users at the gate. Waiting my turn to be strapped into the hard plastic 12-inch-wide isle chair to be bumped and precariously rocked on board, each of the others transferred themselves into it. Obviously, they were paraplegics.
Of course, I’m going to inquire who they are and where they are going after Chicago. The serendipity is: One was competing in tennis and a couple in basketball at the Paralympics in London! Sandy just came from there, 6 days ago. (She’s French but has lived in London for the past 6 years.)
The horror that snapped me out of my awe was my “handlers!” Inept and obtuse can’t describe the experience or their training. On the other hand, at the Chicago end, I have never experienced two more trained, qualified, and intuitive handlers. When I informed them of my poor upper body strength, they snapped into a harmonious flow of precision I have never experienced before. I wish I knew their names to applaud them. Thank you, guys! Two other of the eight seemed to understand quadriplegia.
“GO Airport Express” (www.airportexpress.com) has wheelchair accessible ramped vans. They have a counter by baggage claims. Make round-trip reservations including them to pick you up at the airport and take you back for your return flight.
Everything I had prearranged with the hotel two months ago was not arranged. There was no accessible room available until the next day (I had specifically reserved one beginning on that date), a mile-high bed that the hotel “engineers” could not lower, and as I had requested—with the foreknowledge of the need, there was no one at the desk who could lift me into the “accessible” bed at night’s end. An hour later after three calls, a dear woman from housekeeping came up to assist Sandy in heave-hoing me in, as she did for the following four nights.
The best things about our room was the skyline lake view, and the cloud-soft beds. Sandy and I both tend to be insomniacs. We slept like babies.
The week-end conference was successful and a delight due to the skill and contagious personality of Gary Rainaldi, its organizer. I met some wonderful people, made several good contacts, and sold a lot of books.
Saturday afternoon, Sunday, and Monday were scheduled with sight-seeing tours. Due to an hour-and-a-half wait for our “scheduled” taxi equipped with a wheelchair lift, we missed our Trolley tour. We waited two more hours to be told there were no more wheelchair accessible tours for the day. (After the fact, they were late because our hotel was twenty minutes from downtown. Their business is downtown where everything is happening. Stay downtown! But, Flash Cab Chicago, 773-561-4444, was the best! Congenial and knowledgable of disability, the drivers were delightful.)
Sunday, we returned in the rain to be told the lift on that particular trolley was broken; there would be another trolley with a lift soon. An hour later, and after scrapping corroded metal from the wheelchair anchor locks in the Trolley’s floor, we saw Chicago—looking like drowned rats, but happy rats.
State Street
We traveled State Street where Batman rode his Bat mobile in “The Dark Knight.” (Many movies film on this street.) Somewhere on the tour, we passed the wreckage of 6 or 7 topsy-turvy police cars staged for the aftermath of a chase scene. And, we passed by Giordono’s, renowned as Chicago’s best pizza, although several boast the honor.
Overall, the Chicago Trolley (& Double Decker Co.) tour was informative and enjoyable. It was the hop on/hop off tour where you can get off or back on at fourteen allocated points to experience up-close-and-personal sight-seeing, shopping, and/or dining. If possible, plan the first morning tour to allow for this adventure. However, know the calculated arrival and departure times at each point or you might get stuck. The trolley sits for one minute at each stop. If your mind isn’t focused on the task at hand, and don’t move on until you achieve what you have a peek here viagra 50 mg set out to do.
A $35 ticket lasts for three days of trolley hop on/hop off sight-seeing. A tour without leaving the trolley lasts a couple of hours. If you have the time, ride the first day to pick points of interest where you would like to “hop-off” on other days. We didn’t have the time but were told getting off for a panoramic view of Chicago from the John Hancock Observatory was the exceptional one; there is also the Chicago Sky Deck in Willis Tower.
Sadly, due to so much waiting on the first day, we didn’t get to tour the museums or aquarium—my thing. For you shoppers, “the magnificent mile,” the northeast end of Michigan Avenue, is shopping nirvana.
Monday, blue skies returned for our 90-minute boat tour on the Chicago River and into Lake Michigan.
When I told Sandy that we would visit Chicago, her first thought was that she wanted to be on a boat like the scene with Julia Roberts’ and Dermot Mulroney’s characters in “My Best Friend’s Wedding.” (She works with Universal Studios!) This was my highlight—after a dubious beginning.
Wendella Dock below Wrigley Bldg
Boarding for the Wendella is at Wendella Dock, the ticket counter, at the base of The Wrigley’s Building (yes, the gum). Boarding for the disabled, wheelchair bound, or aged is supposed to be at The Trump Dock. BUT, the street lift down to the ramped, accessible boarding was out-of-service for the week. No one knew this or warned us of the possibility when we purchased our tickets.
After two days of missed tours and delays, we arrived two hours before scheduled boarding. (Thank you, Jesus; we are teachable.) ANYWAY…learning that the street lift was closed, we entered Trump Towers inquiring how to descend to Trump Dock.
Trump Towers
To save you an hour of finally solved cunundrums, Gwen, one of the concierges, retraced our steps to realize the inaccessibility to the boat. She called for building security to unlock a private entrance from Trump Towers to allow us onto the Trump Dock. (We met a ninety-year-old woman here. By her looks and agility, I bet she could have boarded the Wendella by jumping.) Gwen had a couple of bottles of ice cold water waiting for us upon our return. Thank you, Gwen!
On this architectural tour, we had breathtaking up-close views, excellent live narrative about magnificent buildings, architecture, and Chicago’s rich history. We passed through
Chicago skyline from the Wendella on Lake Michigan
Chicago’s Lock into Lake Michigan to view Chicago’s entire skyline. I always looked for the Batman Building (John Hancock) with the two metal spires reaching heavenward, and Navy Pier.
(Adults $26, seniors $24, and children (11 and under) $13. The Wendella even had an open bar.)
Allow me to give kudos to my little hero, Sandy. This trip would not have been possible without her; not just for her physical presense accompanying me, but also for her astounding mental and visual memory. Whether taking directions, finding our way, remembering people’s names, streets, or buildings, she’s a human GPS. I love you, Sandy. Thank you!
All this talk of viruses disabling computer programs. There are other ways of disabling us users, and I’m not referring to disability.
What is it with this younger generation, anyway? They come out of the womb air typing—like they already know QWERTY’s keyboard layout. Really! It took me a high school senior class to memorize my typewriter’s layout, though my class drill assignments looked like Greek on a modern-day sheet of papyrus. I mean, with 50-65% typing errors, it was sort-of illegible.
Even now, I have deceptive looking hands. My five-year-old Grand Niece says my hands are “tangled,” meaning: I can’t grip things. They look like they belong to a keyboard maestro with long skinny fingers and a palm spread to rival The Shaq. Hey, I’m not complaining about my unusual hands, I’m complaining about our 21st century digital communications.
Since I was born in the first half of the 20th century—a long time ago—hertz and gigahertz mean nothing to me but frustration. Forget kilo, mega, and gigabytes. Our brains store information, hopefully; computers store space or bytes? Where I come from, a byte means a “bite of food,” or a limb, if you’re a child in the throws of anger. Anyway, we used to have bully bullies. In addition, we now have cyber bullies. I can’t take it anymore! I’m tired of being pinned against my password wall!
I’m being bullied into taking “Brain Energizer” supplements to boost memory and ward off disabling Alzheimer’s Disease; because I can’t remember all my passwords to my varied treasure chests of Gold? NO! They’re to my many portals of business goings-on. It’s not my fault!
For security’s sake, when I come up with a password, I’m asked if I want my program to remember it. Of course. It’s a time saver to click “Yes;” so I click “Yes.” If they remember it, why should I. Right? Wrong!
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When my Shaq fingers make a mistake, they ask me to verify my password. Excuse me! They were the ones who asked me if I wanted them to remember it. When I type in my username, that horizontal line of bold black dots clues me that they remember; it’s right there, hidden in plain sight, to login.
My question is: “How does this clock-and-dagger password drama relate to my identity?” Hackers, BE HACKED! Computers, my brain intelligence has out-witted your byte space. I’ve been byte-n enough.
I have a manila envelop titled “Usernames and Passwords” filled with each venture’s name, email address, username, and password…written in reliable, old-fashioned long-hand.
I love my long digits; especially my multi-functional middle finger—for the express purpose of typing, of course.
P.S. Just returned from my Chicago convention. I’ll have the update, and warnings of “accessible” tours, next week. Stay tuned.
Are you stressed, lonely, bored, or all of the above and SCI? Do you relieve these anxieties with serotonin producing comfort foods like bread, pasta, chocolate, or ice cream, wind down with alcohol, mellow out with drugs, or work it out with exercise or sex?
The last two have been proven to be beneficial, but if “All the world’s a stage,” (Shakespeare) did you know that you can relieve stress, feel connected, and find equilibrium (mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual) in the show of Nature? Preferably in the wild outdoors, but pictures of Nature bring comfort on these levels, as well.
Consider going anywhere green. (Green lends balance, renewal, and peace.) There are 80 national and state parks. Take a pick!
Then, there are scenic drives like the 444-miles of Natchez Trace Parkway (MS), Tennessee’s Great Smokey Mountains, 469-miles of the Blue Ridge Parkway (NC-VA) over the Shenandoah Mountains and through North Carolina’s Asheville in the Appalachian Mountains.
(FYI: The Biltmore Estate is a MUST SEE! Overcome with amazement at George Washington Vanderbilt’s vision (8,000 acres worth), I couldn’t sleep for two weeks after touring its mansion (175,000 square feet and 250 rooms) and gardens (75 acres), which are 95% wheelchair accessible. It is a self-supporting estate. I was more impressed with The Biltmore than the many European mansions I have visited.)
Organize a trip to Arizona’s brownish-orange (B-vitamin enhancing) clay, or New Mexico to drink in its landscape of neutral desert rocks, thirsty plans, and sand (browns calm and ground), and its eternal sunset colors—golden yellows (ease depression and increase energy), ochre, orange (stimulates happiness and joy), and rust; maybe a greenish-yellow margarita, or two; always helps what ails you.
Maybe, take in Wyoming’s Doppelgänger reflections of blue (for vitality, knowledge, intuition, mental relaxation) lakes, snow-capped mountains, and evergreens.
Then, there is oxygenated Oregon; great for renewed energy and cerebral creativity. An impotent order generic cialis browse around this man might say something like he has lost his world while it is totally wrong.
Take in an ocean view with its turquoise (calming, sleep inducing) waters, like a trek along California’s Big Sur, a Caribbean cruise, or Jamaica, mon.
Your geographical location determines the landscape, or lack thereof. If you are a city-dweller, there must be art and science museums, public parks and gardens, a zoo, an animal shelter, or aquarium, most always wheelchair accssible. Plan weekly look-forward-to trips somewhere. Reward your dedication to work. Remind yourself that you’re not a lost island or, relieve a rut.
If your mobility limits these participations, rent travel and adventure videos. My favorite are “Warren Miller Entertainment” videos (extreme snow skiing, snowboarding, etc.), because I loved snow skiing and relish Nature. “The Wonders of God’s Creation: Animal Kingdom, Planet Earth, and Human Life” is awesome. And, there’s youtube.
You can purchase paintings and pictures of whatever calms and inspires you—the Northern lights, mountain tops, sunrises and sunsets, moon-lit evening skies, clouds, rain, rainbows, rainforests, waterfalls, whales, seascapes, trees, flowers, animals, insects, etc; Nature is limitless. She’s waiting for you.
I am calmed, refreshed, inspired, and renewed when I commune with Nature. As well, my home is filled with objects of Nature. I even frame note cards and cut pictures out of magazines to frame. I have pictures of lightening on my refrigerator that I cut out of a National Geographic magazine.
WELL! I have had an eye-opener-of-a-day!! (Pay attention to double exclamations.) I went through my drive-thru shower this morning only to realize that I COULD NOT make the landing (transfer) onto my helipad (commode). Wheelchair positioning alongside the right of my commode is essential for a successful transfer. Three-fourths of the way, I could not disengage from my rubber ROHO!!
“Help, I need somebody,
Help, not just anybody,
Help, you know I need somebody, help.”
–the Beatles
For a safe transfer, I depend on my shower-wet rubber cushion. It was not in slip-n-slide mode. My left buttocks sat on a dry cushion; my right, on the dry left side of the toilet seat. I was stuck, literally. Teetering, I balanced with my left hand on my cushion, while trying to heave my dead weight over onto the toilet seat. NADA!!
I’m not a once-does-it kind-of-girl, so with Olympian efforts amidst multiple Hail Marys (prayers, not passes, although it was in desperation), I finally retreated back onto my ROHO, reentered my shower for a second water-lube, and tried again.
Forget it. It wasn’t happening!
“When I was younger, so much younger, than today,
I never needed anybody’s help in any way.
But now these days are gone, I’m not so self-assured,
Now I find I’ve changed my mind and opened up the doors.”
I used to have an antique ball-and-claw tub fitted with a hydraulic-lift seat secured by suction-cup feet under its base. That was definitely when I was younger. The precarious struggles off the rotating seat, over the tub’s rim, and into my wheelchair gave birth to my drive-thru shower design. (I’m also an interior designer.) A drive-in shower seemed much safer, and certainly has been until, lately, when my body and strength changed.
“And now my life has changed in so many ways,
My independence seems to vanish in the haze.
But every now and then I feel so insecure,…”
–the Beatles
To remedy my impasse, I had to transfer into bed, dry off, slather up with my lotion, and dress in bed. But, I did it!!
“…Won’t you please, please, help me, help me, help me, oh.”
–the Beatles
Waiting for some “Help!”-ful comments; but not from you, Paul.
Recently, my 5 ½ year-old Grand Niece and I were playing “I Spy a Color.” Of course, Diego—of the Dora and Diego duo—was participating. It came his turn to pick a color. He normally picks green, because green is his favorite color, but his spokesperson said he chose brown. Herein, lay the challenge.
We were in my great room. In the “Bless This Home” chapter of my book, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html, I reference this room as my mixed child because of the various countries represented in its antique décor.
There is an English bow-front chest, a huge American chest, an African coffee table, Irish, French, and Italian chairs, and to magnify my conundrum, wood floors. If I didn’t use colorful upholstery fabrics and Persian rugs, we would drown in brown.
So, I said, “Baby, tell Diego that this will take forever for Toppy (her pet name for me) to guess. Look at ALL the brown.”
She looked around the room, realizing the truth of the matter, and said, “Oh, it’s easy. It’s round, made of wood (yes) and has horn legs.”
From her fitting description, it was obviously the African coffee table. What struck me was her cooperative compassion.
Now, she likes to win. Don’t take me wrong. We had just played a visual memory card game, “What’s That?” where I pick eight pair of numbers, she lays them face down—four rows, four cards across—then, we take turns turning two cards up trying to find a match. If they don’t match, the cards are turned back over in their same space for the next player’s turn. Though this has been a recent discovery yet Sildenafil Citrate has become cute-n-tiny.com levitra prices the most accepted drug to be accepted by the medical experts but also won the faith and reliability of the victims those who have seriously infected.
I always make sure that I win one game to give her the “joy exercise” for my win. Life, disappointments, even disability gives us opportunities to look on the bright side. Thereafter, she deserves her win. (Give and take is an important heart lesson/character quality in my book.) Her Olympic victory dance, and its accompanying celebratory song, had lasted ten minutes. She likes winning!
Nonetheless, in her realization of Diego’s difficult color choice, she still played by the rules, but chose to benevolently offer clues to make my guess easier…instead of prolonging the agony of my defeat.
During this Olympic season, winning is the name of the game, as it should be. Each participant has dedicated their life for the goal of the Gold. But, how often in our daily lives do we stroke our own ego above another’s, just to be right, or to win?
I choose cooperative compassionate collaboration to make the world a better place.
“There was a little girl who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead.” (It’s not exactly a curl; it’s more like a wave, if I have a perm. If I don’t have a perm, I wear unintentional bangs.) “And, when she was good, she was very, very good, but when she was bad, she was horrid.” MY story changes here to: When she was MAD, she was a Warrior. Let me explain:
Last week, I told you that my ebook was coming SOON. I was three-fourths through; I had about one more week of typing to do. As I’ve told you or you’ve read, or maybe you haven’t read and I haven’t told you, I type about 8 words a minute, with my middle finger. Five hundred words a day is great for me. It’s a good day. Recently, I typed a thousand in one day. I was elated to be ahead of schedule. How I did it, I don’t know. Magic fingers, I guess. What can I say?
I took a break, went to dinner, came back to my office, and opened the file. It was EMPTY—0 CHARACTERS!
I clicked here, clicked there, trying to find where it went. Was there an auxiliary file? No. The original file was still titled, but there was nothing in it. Seven thousand words circling Saturn!
Okay, I have “lost” articles, emails, FB notes before but not of this magnitude. I decided to call my computer guy the next morning. He had retrieved things before; he could do it again.
He said, “If the file remains with no content, it can’t be retrieved.”
I was sick; I was literally nauseous. I thought I would vomit. Instead, I cried. After a short cry (I do not indulge in pity parties.), I made my morning espresso. I enjoyed my morning indulgence then, went to wash my face and apply make-up. In respect of quality and effectiveness of buy generic viagra cute-n-tiny.com, we are able to see that ED is not only related to physical problems, but on the long run, ED is also related to erectile dysfunction.
I decided on black eyeliner. After lining my eyes, I thought, “I feel like black eye shadow.” I have NEVER been Goth but, today, this felt right!
I DECLARED WAR!
I blackened my eyelids. My hand painted God’s zigzag lightening rod on my right cheek and on my left cheek. I drew a cross (the blood of Jesus) between my eyebrows, three interconnecting circles (Father, Son, and Holy Ghost) on my chin, and symmetrical arches (my angel’s protection) on my jaws.
Because this book is for YOU, my faithful readers, this MAD WARRIOR put her head down, fists up, and middle finger poised. Threatening the enemy, I DECLARED VICTORY to complete this book!
I am back again, two-thirds of the way through. Determinedly, it is COMING SOON. (You can order, Views From My Chariot: A Wheelchair Oddity while you wait. Click “Purchase,” and click the link to its web page. Order there.)
