Taxi Travails

Disability has a myriad of lessons to teach us impatient types, most of which were totally unimaginable in those halcyon days when freedom of movement was a normality.   who could ever imagine that something as mundane as hopping onto a bus could become as appealing, and unattainable, as a five star world cruise.   i wonder if knowing we faced a housebound future would have made us more accommodating to those for whom it was already a reality. it seems to be an aspect of humanity that we don't grasp the value of something until it's no longer ours for the taking.   

A dentist visit brought home to me the precarity of having to rely on others in order to access life's necessities.  it was flu season and poor, stressed Jim The Dentist had staff members off sick so was running an hour late.  no problem, i was armed with The Guardian and the waiting room was snug and comfy.   a simple phone call to rearrange taxi to take me home and all should have been well.... HA  !!!....  

"Could i change my taxi to 3 p.m. please?"

"No.... it's the school run so we'll have no cars"

"OK what time could i have one please?"

"You can't.   no cars till after rush hour, about 7 p.m."

"Ummm i'm at the dentist, they close at 6"

"Not my problem love.... do you want one at 7?"

My little market town home has six taxi firms, i phoned them one after the other and eventually the last on the list was able to send a car for 5.30 so i settled down to read paper and crave coffee.

5.30 came.... and went

5.40 came.... and went, along with the last patient.

5.50 came.... and went, the receptionists starting turning computers off.

5.55 came.... and went, the receptionists started putting coats on.

5.58 came.... the taxi firm, when contacted, had no record of my booking and no cars till 8 p.m.... PANIC !!!  there's a very good reason dental receptionists have a reputation for being dragons, boy oh boy did she breath fire down that phone !!!  a supposedly non-existent car was miraculously dispatched on the wings of the storm arriving moments later, a tyred Valkyrie tearing up the tarmac.

The scariest part of the adventure was the utter helplessness. if the taxi company had insisted they had no car, there would have been no car, and no magic wand or fairy godmother could have summoned up a coachly pumpkin to take Cinderjeni home.  

It's 20 years since the Disability Discrimination Act came into being yet, until this month, taxi drivers could refuse to pick up wheelchair users or they could charge extra for taking the chair. finally, thankfully, this is an inequality that has  been addressed....  or has it ?

http://www.disabilitynewsservice.com/wheelchair-taxi-rules-will-finally-come-into-force-after-20-years/

That desperate dentist day isn't the only time taxis have failed to materialise and, suspiciously, every time it's happened i've been accompanied by my trusty, pink, boa festooned chariot.     the law may state illegality if a legless lady is refused a ride but how to prove it wasn't purely a case of forgetfulness  or poor record keeping?   non disclosure isn't an option as i discovered when a car with a  small back seat and the boot full of the driver's weight lifting equipment turned up, the only place for the chair would have been on the luggage rack.

The ultimate answer, of course, is to live long enough for driverless cars to be the norm.   a car can't discriminate or be impatient when it's passenger moves at the pace of a geriatric tortoise.   it is totally democratic and nonjudgmental.    it might even remember to turn up.   

Like Father Like Son

I imagine we've all fallen back on those old tropes when seeing a newborn.... "she looks just like her mum.... he has your family's nose.... oh my goodness doesn't he look like his great uncle Bert's second nephew on your mother's side,"  when in truth the swaddled, snuggled creature you are beholding more closely resembles the solitary, wrinkly grape that always seems to be cowering in the bottom of any fruit bowl in its attempt to evade the hordes of ravening vampire satsumas lusting after its juice.  

Years later when the grape has grown into an equally unappealing adolescent sultana we regurgitate  yet more aphorisms and declaim "that lass of yours she's a chip off the old block.... like father like son,"   especially when addressing unwelcome behaviour, as if all undesirable traits must be the fault of at least one parent rather than the inevitable outcome of being human.

Of course these sayings are passed down the generations because they hold a germ of truth.   we are a genetic mish-mash of our antecedents, their strengths, their weaknesses, their ailments, all swilling around the building blocks of our DNA ready to make a break for freedom and alter the course of our lives in a heartbeat.  many of the illnesses and disabilities that afflict mankind can be traced back along this long line of glitchy genes to our forefathers and foremothers.

When youth was on my side, friends would gather to contemplate the vagaries of life.  during  late night/early morning rambling debates we would question which of our many abilities it would be the most devastating to lose. sight seemed to top the list and knowing glaucoma has trickled down the branches of my family tree i always assumed loss of  vision would be one of the first fatalities age would throw my way.   how wrong can a girl be?   the eyes are fine but the brain has decided to steal my words.   

For many years i have made a joke of my lost mobility by laughingly exclaiming "the only parts of me that work are my mouth and my brain", lately though they too have openly rebelled and instigated industrial action, pending all out strike.   what's most infuriating is that the words are intact INSIDE my mind,  they come to fruition through my fingertips on a keyboard without difficulty, but when they are ready to be spoken, at the in-drawing of breath.... they get stuck !!!   the ability to maintain a reasoned argument has stuttered to a stop, the witty retort to criticism has turned into wordless gaping worthy of a goldfish, quick off the mark speech has stalled in a traffic-jam sequence of red lights. everyday chatting is fine but when a cogent line of thought comes into play communication leaves for the playground.

My parents and grandparents stayed fluent in grand old age so i can't lay the blame at their feet.  it could be the absence of young people in my universe since moving to supported housing.   it could simply be a tired brain.   whatever the cause may i apologise in advance if in the midst of discussion a vacant stare overcomes me.   it's not the fairies come to take me away or terminal boredom with your company, it's more likely that synapses are firing in overdrive, snapping at the heels of stray vowels and consonants, herding them back into line before i completely lose track of ....   ummm what was i saying ???

April Showers Bring May Flowers

I woke on wednesday morning to warmth on my back and face.   the first was soft, furry and purring, the second was.... SUNSHINE !!!   rejoice oh my soul it's spring, pack away the winter woollies, discard the leg warmers, shake out the shorts, plant the pansies.... then i extended a leg from under the duvet, oh my goodness it was cold.

A typical April day followed.   between 6.30 a.m. and 6.30 p.m. we had sunshine, rain, hail, more sunshine, wind and snow.... SNOW !!   the central heating and my cardigan have been dancing the foxtrot, slow-slow-quick-quick-slow, on-on-off-off-on, and the poor cat can't decide if he wants in-in-out-out-in.

My mother used to say i should have been named April as i was "changeable as the weather."    we sanguine's flit from one enthusiasm to another, endowing every new experience with one hundred percent commitment, dedicating our total attention to it.... until the next new interesting thing crosses our path and off we go in an entirely different direction equally dedicated, equally committed.   it must be infuriating for those who have to share the universe with such flighty, butterfly brained beings who know a little about a lot but become good at nothing, full of useless information that we can't resist randomly throwing into conversations.  what's that old saying "Jack of all trades but master of none" ?

As we travel this adventure called life the only constant we can guarantee is that we change.   when i think of the many iterations of the jeni universe it feels as though a succession of personalities decided to take up residence in this body and live vicariously through my consciousness, sharing headspace for a while then moving on when a new inhabitant gazumped the tenancy.     looking back some of these tenants feel like total strangers to me and, to be honest, there are one or two i intensely dislike and am mightily relieved they didn't decide to stay as house guests permanently.

Of course if you exchange the word changeability for adaptability a negative trait becomes a survival mechanism,  an evolutionary advantage.   as Darwin didn't say but should have, apparently it's one of the internet's most widespread misattributions....

           "It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most                                intelligent.  it is the one most adaptable to change."  

That's ok then.... i'll live till i'm a hundred !!!

                       

Mightily Moulting Moggie

A sign... !!!  I've received a sign that it's definitely spring.  

No... not the nodding daffodils, though they are always a most welcome sight at the end of the Deep Dark.   not the surprising number of bees busily buzzing amongst the heather edging my path... is it my imagination or are they early this year, and BIG ?  neither the bright mornings heralded by the  song of the dawn chorus, nor the late dusk prompting almost daily alterations to the timer on my fairy lights.   none of these usual cheerful harbingers are definitive in the jeni universe, for me it all comes down to  H A I R !!!

It would be unfair to lay all responsibility at the feet of Mister Cat but he does like to share his sheddings.... on the sofa, on the bed, on chairs, on my clothes, my quilt, the stairs, floor, everywhere his little body touches actually.    as he moves a cloud of loose hair creates a mobile halo worthy of the most holy saint, floating around him in his very own hirsute miasma.   a long haired cat may look beautiful but trust me, an unpredictable, ex-feral, long haired cat with a propensity for the occasional supping of human blood isn't a candidate for grooming.   

Before suggesting perseverance, or telling me tales of a rescue cat you heard of that loved his tummy vacuumed understand that this beast has a towering personality deficit.   he's a Norwegian Forest Cat and they are genetically closer to their wild brethren than our beloved, placid, British Shorthair.  if you add to that his early months of living wild in the inner city lanes of Newcastle where he was persecuted and tormented by the bully boys of Geordie Land, well.... you end up with a creature that has a thin layer of civility and a deep chasm of animosity.

Having laid the blame for my hairy dilemma firmly at the feet of one who has plenty of vitriol but no voice i feel compelled to confess that i'm not off the hook in the saga of the moult.

This terrifying incident occurred in the middle one of THOSE nights when sleep is a distant dream despite all the cocoa, reading, music, toast, and deep breathing relaxation exercises... isn't that an oxymoron? 

Mumbling and stumbling bleary eyed towards the kitchen in the soft glow of a low light a nightmare incarnate loomed out of the shadows.   the size of a half grown wolf it had yellow fangs dripping venom, eyes that glowed kryptonite green emanating a millennia of malice, eight legs the thickness of ancient redwood, its agenda being tasty human for a late supper was beyond any doubt.   the palpitations and sweats that accompany a sleepless night are usually precipitated by the fear of a future as a disabled adult in a land governed by a party that despises the sick and the poor with an ideological zeal.   better a quick end in the jaws of this monster than a long slow descent into poverty, hunger and cold at their hands ?   a vision of my much loved children and granddaughters spurred me to action, drawing my Valerian Steel sword i smote the creature and rent it asunder, sulphurous brimstone filled the air as my armoured and spurred boot dealt the death blow.

Yeah right !!!  panic averted.   giant spider squashed.   until a closer inspection in the full glare of morning  revealed not arachnoid but a clump of my hair, probably discarded from a morning's combing.   foolish felt i !!!

Of course, there are winners in every negative and in this tale it's the birds .   wherever i've lived with Mister Cat the local Rightmove have increased their supply of "des res" nests.   every day a handful of fluff, fur, hair and feathers from the mattress topper get tucked into the ears of a log reindeer left over from Christmas and every evening it will have disappeared, garnered by grateful blue tits and sparrows, sometimes flying off with beaks stuffed full to overflowing weighing them down and creating blind spots in their rear view mirrors.   once when, i lived on Lindisfarne, i found a discarded nest that was 99% Mister Cat 1% twig.   obviously the childhood home of a privileged, Eton bound baby bird of the upper orders.   

So, as i diligently run yet another lint roller over hairy clothes i comfort myself with the knowledge that our feathered friends may never win the war between feline and avian but in the spring, at least, they definitely gain from the battle of the moult.

  

Resurrection Morning

At a time when nation seems to be at war with nation, governments are in conflict with their citizens, creed condemns creed, anger and antagonism are the common languages in the media, in Parliaments and among families, Easter Sunday seems to be a good day to remember that it doesn't have to be like this.

No matter what  you do or don't believe, at the root of all our main religions is the human heart's cry for reconciliation and forgiveness.   it's man who over the centuries has taken what begins as a force for good and peace and twisted it into a dogmatic, didactic, doctrine and it's man who in response has turned his ignorance and anger against those who believe differently.


We can be better than that, you can be better than that, i can be better than that.   peace begins with each one of us putting forgiveness into practise, recognising that difference enhances humanity, understanding that how we live is as important as what we believe or whether we believe.

We are all in need of redemption because our humanity is flawed.  we have inherited the weaknesses and insecurities of our parents and passed them on to our children and they in turn to theirs, "the sins of the fathers" as it used to be phrased. We can't remedy the past, either that of our predecessors or our own, but we can in humility take responsibility for our attitudes, harsh words, misdeeds and attempt to make amends, ask forgiveness, work towards changing our less than noble traits, aspire to be more humane.

That's the core message of Easter, there is always hope,  we can start again, we can  be the change we need in our world, it begins with you, it begins with me.   change happens one person at a time.... a positive pyramid scheme.
Resurrection Morning a good time to be human.

Chinese Whispers

WOW.... what a  roller coaster week for the disabled.   we went to bed to the dulcet tones of  George Osborne's budget cutting the disability funding P.I.P. and woke to a resignation and, FINALLY, the fine residents of Britain realising that persecution is alive and well in their supposedly enlightened land.   OK it's taken a LONG time to sink in that the demonisation  of the disabled is an ongoing project instigated by government, fuelled by the  media, and fed by an unthinking population in a manner that makes the  Salem Witch Trials a spring picnic, but maybe.... just maybe the populace have experienced a falling of scales from eyes and have recognised the injustice of removing mobility cars, rationing incontinence care, restricting bathing and loading indignity upon indignity until tragedy is the inevitable outcome.

What i've found fascinating during this debate is the number of people who have heard of somebody, who was related to someone, who was known to be "working the system", "a dodgy dealer", "ripping off the benefits", but NONE knew the supposed felon's name, where he/she lived,  the details of their illness, or who to ask for the full story.

http://www.theguardian.com/society/2016/feb/27/false-benefit-fraud-allegations

Did you know that over 5 years, 85% of allegations phoned in to the Benefits Fraud Hot Line were false....? EIGHTY FIVE PERCENT !!! don't believe me? click the link above and read it for yourself.   that's a whole lot of suspicious people acting on what they feel rather than what they know.  

Let me tell you a funny story.   not second hand, not hearsay but something i experienced personally some months ago. a lady i know well informed me that her daughter's wealthy friend had rewritten her will and was leaving all her estate to the local cat and dog shelter instead of to her long suffering husband after a disagreement. apparently  she preferred canine company over the human and was carrying this preference to the extreme.   there followed a vociferous denunciation of the wife for her thoughtless, outrageous, selfish, misanthropic behaviour from my scandalised friend.   when asked if this information came first hand from the wife herself i was angrily informed that the daughter knew all about it and wouldn't have got it wrong and my suggestion, that the tale could have been mangled in the telling therefore perhaps it would be wise before spreading misinformation  to verify the facts, wasn't well received.  last  week the wealthy friend died and guess what ??? yep... the puss cats will have to manage without their inheritance.  no upcoming upgrade to Gourmet, Tesco cat food remains on the menu as the husband has been named recipient of her largess and is taking his entire family, parents, grandparents, children, cousins, second cousins three times removed to Disneyland USA.  honestly... i kid ye not... this is a true telling of the sorry story... it's too good to fabricate isn't it?

It takes me back to when we moved onto a  middle class estate when i was a young mum still dressed in full hippie garb, driving a beat up fourth hand estate, and living on poverty wages.   a throw away comment making a joke about our lack of gardening skills led to a petition being passed around the street by perturbed neighbours worried about the goats we were getting to keep the grass cropped !!! southern irony didn't play well in 1980's Newcastle.

Chinese whispers make entertaining stories and might be of no consequence to the parties involved, who may never hear how their privacy has been invaded and their character assassinated by careless chatter. but there is a darker side to this propensity to judge on appearance without a full understanding, or knowledge, of the other. think of the stress and fear inflicted on the 85% who woke to a knock on the front door from the Fraud Squad falsely accused by a neighbour who only sees the strong persona presented to a watching world.   they will have lost their only source of income until proven innocent and be interviewed under police caution.   imagine how that could impact on a person's mental and physical health.  so... check your information before speaking, take pains to learn the story behind the outward show, don't encourage unfounded gossip by listening to the gossiper... and ask yourself how you would feel if you had to exhibit all your weaknesses for the world to see before getting a fair hearing !!!

                                           

Gratitude Jar

OH YAY the grey wagtails have returned from their winter wonderlands. a flash of greeny, yellowy, grey caught a ray of sunlight over the beck at the back of our flats and there they were, a handsome couple, bob bob bobbing along.  a feathery augur of spring.   add to that sightings of a hover fly sucking up to the heather, bickering blackbirds, bonking pigeons a buzzing bumble bee and all i need is the bats to believe the Big Cold is over.

Can you believe we are almost a quarter of the way through the year already?  it feels as though my life is dribbling away like a magical charge crackling  from the finger tips of a cosmic magician prior to being hurled into the void.   With winter on the wane it seems a propitious time to review January's New Year's Resolutions.   Did you make any?   did you keep any?   

Confession time.... every year i cheat !!   working on probability theory i make several on the basis that the more i have to work with the higher the chance of sticking with at least one of them.   hey.... i'm honest about my duplicity

Did i keep them ???  nope... not one !!!   B U T in my 30th December blog post, where those rash promises were made in the heat of good intentions, i reminisced about a Happiness Jar my sons had kept years ago.   at the end of each day we decided on one good thing to be thankful for, wrote it on a slip of paper and popped it in the jar.   throughout the year if things got tough, or we needed booted backsides, the jar would be tipped onto the dining table and all those positive memories read and smiled over helping to chase the darkness into the shadows.   since writing about it i've heard of several people who do the same.... see my friend Juliet's classy jar in the photo above.... and it inspired me to start one for 2016


"Why go to the bother of putting pen to paper"? some ask, assuming you can FIND a pen.  "all you have to do is remember the good things".   but we don't, do we? It seems to be intrinsic to human nature that for every cheerful event stored in the memory vault we allow a dozen gloom and doom scenarios take precedence.   for each kindness shown a mountain of slights and oversights throw their malignant shadows across  the vista to poison our attitude.   every successful action is subsumed in the inevitable failures life throws our way. we in the west have so much to be grateful for, yet we tend to see the storm rather than the breaking of the dawn.


Gratitude is like a muscle, if you don't use it atrophy will set in, then weakness and a disinclination to exercise at all.  like all good keep fit regimes if it's to be effective, it takes hard work, dedication and single mindedness.

Taking time at the end of the day to look for a patch of brightness means that no matter how difficult life may be we have an imperative to find something infused with hope, no matter how small or insignificant.  some of my offerings since December include pancakes, central heating, cats, family, chocolate, Ebay, friends, sunshine, postmen, movies, grey wagtails. 

After one particular day of great pain in which even getting out of bed seemed a task only achievable to a world class super hero, my soul rebelled and cried to the closed heavens "it's been a crap day, and i hurt like hell, what have i got to be thankful for"? a still, small voice, conscience? subconscious?  common sense?  karma?  God? spoke into my soul....

"are you going to bed hungry?  cold?  naked?   in danger? imprisoned?  persecuted? exiled?  homeless?   No.... and you ask why you should be thankful" ?