Disabilities

To those who question disabled people about their disability so you can understand. It is not our job or responsibility to educate you. Don’t expect us to answer your insensitive questions. All your questions are insensitive. We don’t need to justify our disabilities to you. It is challenging to live with a disability. It is also challenging for us to understand. We figure it out day by day, learning to accept our challenges and limits and celebrate successes. If you want to be helpful, accept that we know what we need. Accept that we know our abilities and limitations. Do not question us until you understand why we may refuse an invitation. There are books, magazines, and websites you can access to get basic knowledge of our disabilities. You will not become an authority. You will not learn as much as we know. You will not know all about our disabilities. And lastly, we are all individuals. So, even if we may share the same condition, our challenges are very different.

Summer

My summer was amazing! For the first time in 14 years, I was not depressed. A result of a brain injury is depression. I have also been in indescribable pain between headaches (not migraines) and my knee. Add to that the loss of my career ,which was much of my identity, losing my house, and so much more. I lost me. I was an indigo blue. This summer so much changed. I settled into a comfortable routine. Up in the morning. Feed my dogs then myself. (Yes in that order.) Next curled up in bed and read for about an hour. Dressed, walked the dogs by the river where we greet the river people. Ran any errands. For lunch I’d walk to the senior center for a tasty meal that I didn’t have to cook. The dogs and I took a nice nap. While they continued to sleep, I’d read and do crafts. That was my day. One loss for me was reading. I was always a ferocious reader. In high school I complained about reading assignments because they interfered with what I was reading. The books I read were far superior to the assigned books. With my brain injury concentration was difficult and I forgot what I was reading as soon as I read it. When I closed the book it was gone as well as the title. Frustrated, I gave up. This summer I had a wonderful visit with my artist friend in Sequim. She loaned me I Am Your Man. Leonard Cohen’s biography. The book sat on a shelf for a couple weeks before I anxiously picked it up. I wanted to know about Cohen’s life but worried about forgetting each page as I read it. Once I started reading I couldn’t put it down. I read like the old Nancy, lost in a world I’ve never seen. Just another page. I’ll just finish this chapter. Nancy, you have to go to sleep. Put the book down. I remembered most of what I’d read! Next I read Jim Hanson’s biography, Gil Scott-Heron, and Zelda Fitzgerald. I am in heaven. Walking by the river with Gina and Charlie was a highlight of the day. We’d see the same people everyday and even the same dogs. Of course there were new people out for lunch or taking a slow walk in the sunshine. We greet each other with a soft smile and a hello. Once in a while we’d talk for a few minutes, mostly about Gina and Charlie. Small children ran from the playground to pet them. Their smiles were always so bright and real. This summer I was almost me and I felt great.

Finally

At long last I finished all the crafts for the craft shows. Of course I would have finished a couple months ago if I hadn’t procrastinated so much. Seven tubs are packed in the closet with 20 different crafts. Now that I am not working on five or six projects at once, I can clean off the tables, shelves, and counters. My next project is making felt dolls. This doesn’t take up a lot of room. Doll making is my first love. This should be fun!

Sipping once. Sipping twice. Sipping chicken soup with rice.

A Life of Black Hair

I have been aware of my hair all my life. As a child, each morning I sat on the floor between my mother’s knees as she calmly oiled and plaited my hair until I learned to do the ancient skill myself. In junior high school I wore my hair tightly pulled back into a short pony tail. During humid days the pony tail was a puff. In high school, during the age of Aquarius and Black Power, my father would not allow me to wear an Afro. He never gave a reason. After graduation I wore my Afro large and proud. As a teenager with “good hair,” I wasn’t allowed to use the hot comb on my hair as my older sisters did. I would sit in the kitchen watching the hot comb sizzle through their hair as they laughed and talked. As an adult I went to the hairdresser to have a burning lye mixture applied to straighten my hair. My father raved about the results. My mother’s face was fixed in a scorn. I was confused. During my second visit to the hairdresser my scalp was burned so badly I developed weeping sores. I had to cut my hair off. My mother lectured me about using chemicals on my hair as she put healing ointment on my scalp each day. I returned to my afro. During the Disco years I cut my hair to half an inch in length. The sweat and smoke from dancing every night meant my hair needed to be washed daily. This was too difficult with longer hair. I continued to wear my hair short for most of my life despite feeling guilty as a black woman about cutting it. During the times I let my hair grow out I relaxed it myself. I didn’t trust a hairdresser to do it after my earlier experience. I also didn’t want all the blackness taken out of my hair. Straightening my hair made me feel uncomfortable, as if I am trying to not be black. I thought I should keep it natural. I believed then as I do now that when I become comfortable with my choice for my hair, I would be at peace with myself as a black woman. Now I am growing my hair out because it is so thin in places. If I cut it short I look like an almost bald headed old man. I grow it out to hide the baldness. When brushing my hair I remember sitting with my mother as she brushed my hair. It’s a lovely memory.

Old Age Life

Am one of the younger residents at this senior housing building. Lately I’ve been watching some of the other residents. Some sit in the common area talking most of the day. Others sit outside smoking when weather permits. They seem to stay here all day with no company other than the other residents. What happened to making plans, studying, going somewhere? What happened to dreaming? Is this what old age is for them, just waiting to die? When I reach my 80’s I’ll still have a long list of living to do. I’m going out of here kicking and screaming. There is too much yet to accomplish and experience. Every step of life is for living and I plan to live it until the last second.

Women's wear and children's hair

I fail to understand the attacks on the burqini. It is acceptable for men and women to go to the beaches almost naked but there is a problem for women who want to cover up. Explain this to me. While you are at it, explain why men are concerned with women’s clothing. What do they have to do with what women wear? I would prefer to wear the burqini, though not for religious reasons. I don’t want to walk around with everything showing. Men need to mind their own business. This brings up another issue. Why are Black school children being attacked about their hair? Schools are coming up with the most ridiculous rules about how they may and may not wear their hair. It is an attack on blackness. I read a post on facebook about a boy being told he has to get his hair cut before going to school despite the fact that he wore it the same way last year. His hair is very nicely and modestly styled, I don’t see a problem. What are people so worked up about? What happened to acceptance of all cultures? I tried to figure it but got a headache. It’s all too stupid.