Category: living with disability-cynthia white

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An Apple A Day and Disability Aids

With the prevalence of computers, laptops, ipads, mobile devices, and all their gizmos, it sometimes seems that the state of our society is grim.

By the radical technology of the 21st century, we (able-bodied and disabled) appear advanced and are technologically savvy. But, how can we read another’s honesty, integrity, or motivation by relating over a “device.” One-on-one, eyeball-to-eyeball communications are being sacrificed. Learning to interpret interactive body language and the associative heart-mind connections is becoming a lost life-line.

Are we becoming a robotic society?

On the other hand, one can travel faster than a cheetah’s 60mph in three seconds with the touch of a mouse; can explore foreign lands without making reservations…deciding what to pack…waiting in lines, risk, hassle, and expense-free; earn a degree; have a world of knowledge at our fingertips.

As well, today’s mobile apps not only afford mindless amusement but can provide driving directions for travel and beyond to expand horizons.

For those of us living with a disability, there are iphone apps for providing helplines and medical care, apps for functional movement and alignment of prosthetics for the disabled, language learners for learning new languages, as well as providing expressive vocalization for the nonverbal, blind, and physically paralyzed.

The first bite out of the apple wasn’t such a good idea. However, that company with a bite-out-of-the-apple logo is a good thing!

Here I am talking to you on a lighted screen. Via whatever device, you’re reading my letter at home, at work, in transit, or as you wait.

I’m grateful to be communicating. I’m thankful I have a message. And, like many of you who are confined or shut-in due to SCI, illness, injury, or disease, I’m blessed to have a worldwide avenue where my words can travel into cyber space with an echo you can hear.
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I hope you’re not just reading my words. I hope you hear what I’m saying in my letters to you, because Conversations with Cynthia aren’t conversations until you reply.

Let’s talk. I miss hearing back from you.  

R.S.V.P. with your “comments,” questions, and reviews on my books.

P.S. Don’t forget to enlist for my monthly newsletters with health hints and humor for whatever ails you! (After enlisting by adding your email address, remember to confirm my email to you.) 

 

 

 

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Proportional Relationships

You’ve all heard of, know someone who has, or have experienced sleep walking antics (in my dreams!), even the Ambien-induced zombie driving, cooking, eating, or whatever activity undertaken during/after the drug’s kick-in. Well, pathetically, I have no excuse. I was awake!

It had been a l-o-n-g day in my wheelchair: my back hurt, my boo-tā needed relief, my feet felt like stuffed sausages, and my face screamed, “Nourish me!” If a CSI quadriplegic can hurry, I was trying to!

Whether or not you’re living with a life interruption (my coined expression for SCI, a prolonged illness, injury, or disease), you know the urgency of a getting horizontal reprieve. It’s more expedient than a need; more urgent than a must; more demanding than a have-to. It’s an emergency!

In the throes of discomfort, after tending to the boys, turning back my sheets, preparing my bed with my nightly supplies (if you’re SCI, you know what I mean), and turning off all slumber-robbing lights and electronics, I remembered seeing a white tube of face cream next to my stash of Young Living’s medicinal, therapeutic essential oils on my kitchen table.

Okay, I’m on that side of sixty. Get a grip! You’ll be there in the blink of an eye.

Anyway, assuming it to be my anti-wrinkle-undo-sun-damage-of-my-youth cream, I squeezed its emulsion into my palm, and slathered it generously upon my face—around my lips, cheeks, eyes, eyelids, eyebrows, and forehead.

Instantly, I was distracted from its odd, but vaguely familiar, scent. OMG, did it burn!

Still in the dark, I wheeled to the bathroom to administer a soothing gel. After a couple of minutes of no soothing, I smeared on a hefty portion of hydrating lotion. Still, no relief. Hmmm.

I reasoned that my face was extra sensitive after washing my hair, head down, in the sink, rather than in the shower. I figured, “Oh, well; overnight, my skin’s pH will balance.”

In the night, I had a rememory of something work-related I had forgotten to do. In the morning, in spite of a tight, itchy face, my feet hit the floor running (in a manner of speaking) to my office. After a while, a growling stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten.

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Back to the kitchen table in daylight, I noticed the writing on the tube of “face cream:” Sally Hansen® Crème Hair Remover for face. OH, NO!

YES, I do have facial hair…it’s peach fuzz…and is only noticeable in sunlight…if you’re using a magnifying glass…sort of.

In horror, envisioning the hikimayu practice—shaved eyebrows, I skidded to a screeching halt in front of my bathroom mirror to see if I still had eyebrows, or eyelashes. Disability is one thing but a bald face is another.

Amidst scattered red splotches and snake skin scales were two brows. Below, circling both eyes, there were lashes.

Through extreme gratitude, I can’t explain why those hairs defied removal, but it did explain the pain! Oh, and yeah, “…the vaguely familiar scent.”

I believe my oft’ recurring missteps are directly proportional to the air in my wheelchair tires, not to the air in my head.

Are there any mathematical geniuses out there that would agree?

(“In pre-modern Japan, hikimayu was the practice of removing the natural eyebrows and painting smudge-like eyebrows on the forehead. Hiki means “pull” and mayu means “eyebrows.” -Wikipedia.org)

 

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SCI and Holes of Inadequacy

In the “Excuses” chapter of HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU, I told you the story of beginning a weeknight toddy habit with my mother, and how I was coerced into giving it up. It was after the fact that I realized its significance.

The initial teetotaler stage was hard; it got my attention. I wondered if I could have become an alcoholic if I hadn’t cut it out. I’d never been a “dependent” personality (even during my first couple of years of disability, I was working toward independence), but it made me ponder my feelings on the matter.

In order to get to my point…Some will say that I’m a little weird…maybe alotta’ weird, with what, when, how little, and how often I eat. I may eat lunch for breakfast then, lunch at 10:30am and again at 1:00 or 2:00pm, and even breakfast for dinner—which can be between 4:00 and 6:00pm.

I eat when I’m hungry which is pretty often; but I eat small portions because I feel satiated very quickly—another reason people think I’m weird: I don’t gorge. I detest that uncomfortable feeling!

The twain meet here. My toddy had to be around 4:00 or 5:00 while preparing dinner or waiting for its delivery. Once I eat, that’s it. Nada. Unless it’s water.

The significance of continuing our toddy habit after Mother passed away was my attempt to fill a social void. Mother was gone. After years of disability many friends have fallen by the wayside; those that have endured have families of their own and businesses to run. It was my “happy hour.”

The effect of SCI affects us differently. Whether it’s a loss of movement, a loss of freedom, or a loss of spontaneity, we’re dealing with the common denominator of loss.

Know this: the feeling of powerlessness can initiate addiction.

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In the moment you feel something is out of your control, what do you gravitate toward—think about, want to do, or physically need? That longing is an emotional, even physical, craving for worthiness. Subconsciously, we are trying to adjust to something that has slipped from our grasp.

Gary Zukav, The Seat of the Soul, says you can stop the cycle of addiction by feeling your pain, lack, or loss. Each time you challenge your inadequacy—own it, face up to it, readjust, seek help—you get your control back, little by little.

It doesn’t have to be SCI loss. It can be habits of gossip, jealousy, anger, sex, alcohol, drugs, pornography, shopping, gambling, loneliness…whatever. The situation you are trying to change may never change, but you can take control to change your thoughts and responses to them!

Be brave enough to ask yourself: When I…what hole of inadequacy am I trying to fill? What am I longing for?

Whatever unhealthy thing you’re doing to feel like you’re getting your power back is a smoke screen and a procrastination of truly taking back your control? Every temptation is an opportunity for a dress rehearsal for a life change OR a repeat of consequences. Make a responsible choice.

You’re worth it.

YOU CAN!

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SCI Grenades: Weapons of Mass Distraction

For you fellow SCIs, or other involved, animal lovers who have one trouble-making “alpha,” this is my harmless, but effective, ammunition for breaking up pet fights. (I was bullied into its invention because I can’t squeeze a spray bottle to interrupt unwanted behaviors.) Before I get to it, everyone else has to hear my short spiel:

Becoming a pet owner is a big responsibility, and research is tantamount before adopting.

I’m a proponent of adopting from shelters. Even though most are Heinz 57 varieties, you can identify a predominant breed characteristic. Thus said, breed types, temperaments, longevity, veterinary bills (annuals, neutering or spaying, health issues), must be taken into consideration. Too many pets are chosen on looks alone, then rejected because they’re destructive (meaning bored with no exercise), require too much attention, need veterinary care, and/or aren’t suited for the owner/family’s lifestyle.

Please, know that animals should be an integral part of your life, not a possession you tire of, ignore, or abuse. As He did us, God created them on the sixth day and saw that “…it is very good.”

Fred Astaire-the debonair
Fred Astaire-the debonair

Now, to my feline “boys,” Fred Astaire and Laptop. (I dedicated the chapter, “A Little Bit of Heaven,” in Views From My Chariot http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html  to my pets. You know they’re exceptional!)

Fred was a feral I tamed. Two years later, I saved Laptop from being euthanized. All went well until Laptop turned three or four; I can’t remember exactly.

Initially, the skirmishes were tame. They would start out as brotherly grooming—Laptop ministering to Fred. Things were copasetic for a time…until Laptop (a head taller and five pounds heavier) began exercising his alpha-ness.

Laptop begins lovingly grooming Fred’s head and ears then, atypically, body slams Fred to the floor, deceptively licking all the while.

Laptop's deceptive "come hither"
Laptop’s deceptive “come hither”

Fred’s a lover not a fighter, so he complies. But somehow, during the body slam, Laptop maneuvers into a tactical spooning position over Fred as he licks. Fred complains ever so slightly until…with all four paws embracing Fred in a body hold, Laptop goes for the jugular.

If you could feel it, Fred’s screeching would send chills up your spine! The aftermath of cat fur looks like evidence of a feather pillow fight.
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Here’s my SCI-approved device for interrupting an all-out fight, equivalent to the ding-ding-ding of the boxing round timer: an empty 16 oz. plastic water bottle loaded with 5-10 pennies.

Normally, a rigorous shake is enough to send them running in opposite directions. But, when the battle has reached a screeching fever pitch, it’s expedient to hurl the device into their midst.

Since I can’t hop out of bed to break up night skirmishes, I’m armed with three in my bed; otherwise, one is in my kitchen and one, in my office. There have also been surprise attacks when I have thrown whatever liquid was in my hand. Clean-ups suck!

I digress. This morning, Laptop had two of his “Submit!” demonstrations over Fred. I was semi-armed for the second.

The skirmish erupted in the kitchen at the east end of my six foot long table. I was at the opposite end without a grenade, but my vitamin bottles were out for my week’s daily dosages. I grabbed the nearest, shook it for all it was worth, like pulling the pin, and hurled it into the battlefield.

Well, this one wrought a triple whammy of distraction: the warning rattle, the explosive landing, and the shrapnel of 60 vitamins ricocheting everywhere.

It worked! But, instead of running for cover, they acted like drug-sniffing cats.

As penance for not screwing the cap on tightly, I picked up each capsule, one by one; and some, over and over and over. Sort of like writing on the blackboard: “I will tighten my vitamin bottle caps. I will tighten my vitamin bottle caps. I will tighten my vitamin bottle caps…”

I will not soon forget!

 

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Newsletter series: Recuperative Sleep Aids

I was born wired for health. I just simmered for a couple of decades before reaching the necessary boiling point, my SCI.

My first book, Views From My Chariot http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html is about my emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual journey since disability. My second, HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU http://booklocker.com/books/6811.html, is how I reached wholeness, and a cheat sheet for you to do the same.

Starting in September and running through December, my “Chariot Notes” newsletter will feature a series on health in the (uh-hum) bedroom…for restful sleep, that is.

I know that a lot of you use perfectly legal prescription drugs dealing with ramification of disability. That’s fine. But in addition, I’m going to suggest some natural alternatives to transform your bedroom, and mind, for healthful sleep; like how to relax, how to find balance, how to purify the air and de-stress the atmosphere, how to relieve worrisome thoughts and let them go. Your quality of life IS up to you!

Take it from this interior decorator: The most important room in your home for your health is…no, not the kitchen: your bedroom. Sadly, it’s usually the last room to be updated because of the attitude: no one sees it. Therefore, the den, living room, kitchen, and powder room receive aid first. First aid for you is disregarded in your bedroom.

Those living with pain from a disability or illness know experientially how sleep evades us. For a multitude of others, restful sleep is a sought-after luxury, as well. It provides many health benefits, but it requires an ambiance to induce such. Color, neatness and order, pictures of special people, and mementos from special occasions all attribute to a sense of well-being, the foundation for restorative sleep.

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For me, white represents purity, simplicity, and cleanliness. My bedroom’s white walls, white Matelasse bedspread, and white sheets are like an IV-injected anesthetic…Z-Z-Z.

Wrapping yourself in your favorite color is always a good idea. If they’re red or orange, as are mine, use them as secondary colors in accessories. For instance: using red in a rug, under or at the end of your bed, offers safety. “Hot” colors in a bedroom should always be used on an accent wall, wall hanging, upholstery, or accent pillows.

And, clutter is a definite NO-NO for peace and calm. Don’t use your bedroom as an office, an atelier or crafting area, for scrap booking or bookkeeping. Have a basket, drawer, or out-of-sight container designated for bills, mail, magazines, and catalogs. A cluttered room muddles the mind.

SIGN UP for my 2013 newsletter for some health-transforming hints for restful, recuperative sleep.

And, if you don’t let me know your druthers, 2014 will begin with natural anti-inflammatory fixes for those muscle aches, running nerve pains, even bruising OR metabolism boosters and kitchen gadgets for healthy snacks, even chips for you chipaholics!

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SCI Wish List: Helping Hands

It’s my birthday. It’s my birthday! Today!

As the Girl Scout motto encourages, “Always be prepared.” I used to always prepare a written or mental wish list of suggested gifts for my birthday and Christmas. Although I love giving gifts, to a fault, at this point in my life, I prefer no gifts. After our family tended to my mother’s things after her death, it gave me a whole new perspective on stuff.

First of all, what we surround ourselves with are our own personal preferences. They aren’t necessarily another’s taste. Who will want them after we’re gone?

Secondly, I have acquired all that I need. It’s time to begin passing on those things that I know my loved ones like. Why wait? I’ve enjoyed them. It’s their turn.

Now, when asked what I would like, it’s a service that I request. Living with a SCI, it’s usually something I can’t do for myself, like: planting flowers that brighten my yard and light-up my days, arrange a bouquet from those that already bloom, pull dastardly weeds, make a favorite dish, a ‘drop in’ for a visit, or a transport and accompaniment to an appointment or errand.

Daily, life presents its demanding schedules and impromptu requirements. Expediency takes precedence in our busy-ness. Quality time is at a premium and my greatest treasure. For my birthday this year, with my deceased mother in mind, I requested some of her favorite food fare and helping hands from my sister and youngest niece.

For our lunch, (control your gag reflex, or your appalled, “WHAT!” response) I asked for Mother’s garlic sandwiches, her cottage cheese side dish, Zoe’s pimento cheese, and tea.

Because my sister knows how I love flowers, she picked Zenias from her neighbor’s prolific garden. (She says Jan can “spit” on a seed and it produces an orchard.)

For Mother’s garlic sandwich recipe, she rolled de-crusted whole wheat bread flat, spread a thin layer of softened butter and freshly pressed garlic on each slice then, rolled them into “shotgun slugs.” MY FAVORITE! Mother used to bring me a dozen or so to keep frozen until I needed one…or two.

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For Mother’s cottage cheese side dish, she combined cottage cheese, onion, and cucumber with a generous portion of coarsely ground pepper. OMG!

On my “3-seeded” wheat bread, we spread Zoe’s cayenne pimento cheese, and sliced some plump, juicy vine-ripened tomatoes, also from Jan’s garden. YUM!

After lunch, Candace acted as my hands to help me place a very special symbolic collection of items into a shadowbox to hang in my bedroom. See!

Calling to my heart
Calling to my heart

Its contents are: a small Indian doll, I have kept since childhood, and an arrowhead. With hair braids, dressed in white leather, the doll represents my Native American Cherokee roots; an antique china picanniney baby with bushy hair plaits representing mixed children that I love and never got to adopt; a small map of Ethiopia, and a charcoal sketch of an Ethiopian woman sent to me from a ministry I support in Addis Ababa. I’ve had a heart for Ethiopia since my early teens after reading about Solomon and the Queen of Sheba; and a colorful silk embroidery of a Chinese woman dressed in the traditional Cheongsam, a piece of their currency, and a hand-carved wood elephant representing my love for Asia.

Happy Birthday, to me!

P.S. Don’t expect others to read your mind. When I told my sister what I wanted, she was totally surprised, but selflessly giving.

I hope your birthday is as special!

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No Compute-Grrr

Rarely am I silent, but last week was one of those times, for two reasons: I was without a computer, and I have been on bed rest to avoid a breakdown–SCI side effect: decubidus ulcer, that is. So, this will be short ‘n sweet, ‘cause I’m still on the mend.

I’ve been procrastinating the purchase of a new computer; not that my old one hasn’t given me grief. Let me tell you, “It has!” Especially when preparing my colorful, picturesque monthly newsletter, “Chariot Notes” for you. (I always include something to help simplify your life in “What’s New,” a joke or humorous incident in “Chariot Chuckles,” and a Note from me. I’m missing talking to you if you’re not on board!)

demented computer
demented computer

Anyway, I’m still learning to navigate this digital world, so my brilliant, gracious friend, Amanda, has been tutoring me long-distance. She’s acted as a VERY PATIENT computer instructor. But, on most of our telephone conversations/hands-on instructions, my screen acted like the demented evil identical twin—showing disturbing DISsimilarities to Amanda’s screen and displaying paranormal behaviors, like disappearing (timing out) before I could “save” my time-intensive works and grossly distorting what should be on my screen!

There were times that I was so bullied by my computer’s disruptions, compounded by my physical and mental disabilities, that I was forced to email my contents to Amanda for her to format it for me.

No longer! I bit the financial bullet and charged it. But, the evil twin possessed the new computer’s hard drive by transferring its dementia through the installer’s hands to fry it. I blessed the second computer; it escaped the evil one. Though it talks in a different language, I’m learning to translate!

As for my boring, but expedient, bed rest: you may see my body lying there, but I’m long gone in my imagination on one of my oft’ soul-soaring adventures

http://conversationswithcynthia.com/2012/09/14/soul-soaring-no-wheelchair-needed/    ‎

Let’s meet somewhere. Shall we? ‎

 

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Satisfied-In Spite of Disability-Still

Okay. I’m feeling proud and want to toot my own horn. It’s been over a year since I began my blog/website dedicated to SCI, one of the most fulfilling of my adventures, and surprisingly cathartic.

I scrolled down memory lane of that novice writer and after reading the first few posts thought, “Darn, that was good!” So today, I’m reposting my first article from April 22, 2012, in case you missed it.

There are a myriad of things from which we can find peace and satisfaction. Living with a disability, illness, or disease does not prevent us from experiencing joy and happiness either. The heart attitude of ingratitude does that. One of the most important ways in finding peace AND satisfaction is assuring that our friends and loved ones know we love and appreciate them. I know mine do because I show them by how I treat them, and because I tell them every day.

I believe Jewel’s song, “Satisfied,” reveals an anointed insight into our heart’s deepest desire—to love and to be loved, despite its redemptive value. “Satisfied” encourages us to not be timid, afraid of, or hold back words of love, especially important for us with disabilities (we’re physically limited in the many other ways of demonstrating affection). She expresses that the sorrow of regret is worse than any fear of rejection. (“Google” it and give it a listen.)

Growing up, I don’t remember my parents ever telling me that they loved me. It wasn’t until my late twenties or early thirties that I began telling them that I loved them. (I was a late bloomer in learning to express my emotions.) Talk about awkward—very for me, but more so for them.

My intent was to make sure they knew I loved them, not to change their behavior; nor to hear them tell me. Although they did in time, in the beginning there were nervous laughs, bowed head “uh-hums,” and “Okay, then…” at our good-byes.

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I could have lived my life without the expression of those three words, by me or from my parents. And, in a futile attempt to justify myself, I could have pointed my finger at them to divert attention away from my failing. But because of my disability, my eyes were opened to see the need in myself, my heart received a blessing.

How often are we found guilty of putting our best foot forward for mere acquaintances, church members, fellow employees, and our bosses, but are rude, inconsiderate, and disrespectful to members of our own families? Through my disability, I have realized how much I need others, especially my family. If I don’t tell them today how very special they are to me, I may not have another chance. I don’t want to live with that regret.

Every one of us drew the short straw for, at least, one admirable character quality. If you are clueless as to what one of your shortcomings might be, but truly want to be a better you, try this: Ask your closest friend to help. First, to tell you what quality they love the most about you; second, the most annoying. You will be blessed hearing what endears you to them and, in time, you will be a blessing to them by changing that character flaw.

Don’t expect yourself, or anyone else who may join in on this satisfaction search, to instantly change by just a twitch of the nose. Baby steps are slow, and there will be fall downs.

Get a good brush.

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It’s Summertime Summertime Sum-sum-summertime

This is one of my “Off the Wall” posts, and my August newsletter, “Chariot Notes” theme. There’s no SCI lesson. It’s just to make you smile.

Have you already summered at a crowded theme park, a quaint lakeside, a romantic seashore, relaxing beach, or have plans to do so? Either way, I associate summer with song, and friends and family. Whether at the annual Fourth of July family reunion, or grilling amidst competitive backyard activities of horseshoes, basketball, and badminton, relishing nature by fishing, camping, and nature walks, or just lazily luxuriating somewhere, it’s always under the sun.

pool n beach ball

In my youth, convertibles, ‎‎beach towel sunbathing on foot-scorching sands, swimming in Gulf Coast ocean waters, or lounge chair sunbathing at a friend’s over-chlorinated pool was the ultimate summer activity; but ALWAYS accompanied by music and dancing! (For mental vacations to waylay stress, check in here:  http://conversationswithcynthia.com/2012/09/14/soul-soaring-n…elchair-needed/  Yep! IT’S SUMMERTIME!

For you of my generation, these words will roll off your tongue. For you young whippersnappers, go take a listen to what you missed. WARNING: possible earworm infestation.

Here are the first few lines of three of my favorite ‘oldies,’ along with the links to their audio enjoyment.

I’ll begin with my favorite favorite: The Lovin Spoonful-1980’s “Summer in the City.” These are from the original lyrics, instead of its more common misheard lyrics (which I was also quilty of mishearing), “Hot town, summer in the city, back of my neck getting dirty and gritty. Been down, isn’t it a pity, doesn’t seem to be a shadow in the city. All around, people looking half dead walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head…” The Lovin’ Spoonful – Summer in the City – YouTube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sc0F-fw3tkY – 153k –

This one is my second favorite: Nat King Cole’s 1961 hit, “Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer.” “Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer, those days of soda, and pretzels, and beer. Roll out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer. You’ll wish that summer could always be here…” Nat King Cole-Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer – YouTube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkfVPceai0U – 247k –

You’ll get a kick out of this oldie. Oh, for the simplicity of yesteryear! It’s the Jamies’ 1958 single, “Summertime.” “It’s summertime, summertime, sum-sum-summertime, summertime, summertime, sum-sum-summertime, summertime, summertime, sum-sum-summertime, su-um-mer-ti-i-ime…” The Jamies – Summertime, Summertime – YouTube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xeNAgBFmJpM – 145k –

OR here’s a present day ‘summer song’, “Summertime,” by Kenny Chesney Kenny Chesney – Summertime – YouTube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWSn0JFRiPI – 168k –
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What’s your favorite memory or summertime activity?

BONUS: Summertime recipe

For a healthy summer evening cool down, enjoy one cup of lycopene-rich chilled watermelon for 46 calories, or two cups for under 100 calories.

OR, for a cool 100 calorie zinger, cut a cupful of watermelon into one-inch cubes, freeze, then drop into the blender with a shot of Vodka. (It’s also a mosquito repellant…sort of. Although they’ll be attracted to the sugar in your blood, you’ll be distracted by the sugar in your blood.)

P.S. Both my books have fun food fandango sections! Hint. Hint. Go HERE http://booklocker.com/books/6235.html Views From My Chariot http://booklocker.com/books/6811.html  HOW TO BE THE BEST YOU

 

 

 

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Ecological Footprint from a Wheelchair

Who we are has nothing to do with our mode of transportation (wheelchair, Volkswagen or Rolls Royce), designer clothes, profession, or annual income; but everything to do with our passion and positive contribution to the world.

One of my passions is nature and our earth’s preservation. They not only allow me the rapture of their beauty, but life-sustaining food and oxygen. Directly and indirectly, their quality is up to us.

As for my ecological footprint, I’m considered fanatical by some. Before I was sixteen, I remember turning the water off while brushing my teeth and washing my face or hands. It seemed such an unconscionable waste. Even now I wash both in cold water, and when waiting for the water to warm up for hand-washing dishes, I collect the cold in a watering container to bathe my flowers in-between showers. FYI: Rolling from a wheelchair requires no more from nature than walking. It’s not our physical capabilities or disabilities that determineapathy–lack of consciousness and appreciation–for life sustaining earth that . Are you?

I use only natural cleaning products and no chemicals on my yard or gardens. I have w-a-y too much wildlife to risk their health, although I do have pest control spray around my windows and doors every other month. Occasionally even then, during extended rainy seasons, industrious ants find their way inside.

My cat litter, WBCL (World’s Best Cat Litter), is recyclable, made from corn. What gets scooped, I scatter in my wood as fertilizer. The trees clap their branches and whisper their thanks.

Another reason trees thank me: I don’t buy paper towels, paper napkins, or paper products. I recycle paper bags as gift wrapping, as I do other’s gift wrappings to me. Although I use a set of washable, environmentally friendly bags for grocery shopping, when I run low on my large paper bags to contain my recyclable “mixed papers”, I request paper bags at my grocer.

I do not use plastic baggies, plastic utensils or plastic containers. I DO break a lot of my glass containers, but they’re recyclable!

Concerning carbon dioxide emissions, I plan errands around my (or my helper’s) location in town. Whatever I need (or think I need) from across town takes second fiddle—it waits. Fortunately, I live in a small town where everything lies in close proximity.

Within two-and-a-half miles of my home are my bank, dentist, doctor, gas station (Shell’s American gas, not exported; although gas mileage isn’t an issue. My office is only nineteen push wheels from my kitchen.), grocery, hospital, farmer’s market (locally grown), favorite fast food, favorite restaurant, and health food store (all three organic), office supply store where I purchase recycled paper and recycle it, recycling drop-off, and veterinarian. The cherry on top is: my hair stylist is within shouting distance—directly across the street!
In general, the study groups were levitra no prescription Source alienated in two groups.

As for methane, I own no cattle or swamps.

As for chlorofluorocarbons, out of necessity I do use one aerosol for the occasional lube job—to keep my wheelchair from locking up.

Yes, you could say that I live in a bubble. But, it allows me to breathe deeply, and guilt-free.

FYI: Rolling through life from a wheelchair requires no more from nature than walking. It’s not our physical capabilities or disabilities that determine the size of our “footprint.” It’s a mental disability of apathy (or honest ignorance): lack of consciousness and appreciation for our life-sustaining earth and her homies. Please educate yourself.

As Oprah quotes Maya Angelo, “When you know better, you do better.”

Might you consider changing one of your indulgencies, for the world’s sake?