Discrepancies And Time Displacements

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog:www.youtube.com/watch?v=B06DfQXOHf8

There is a phenomenon that happens to all of us as we get older.  We discover that the giants of this world and the things that we perceived, when we were younger, to be larger than life were in fact of normal size or even a little on the small side. Remember the hamburger when you were seven that was of epic proportions, the one that you could never finish, and that has now reached legendary status? Present day? You can easily eat that exact same hamburger in two or three bites, during which you are contemplating ordering another. That huge dessert at that one famous restaurant you went to as a kid,  you know....the one that you would always brag about to all of your friends? You go back to that very restaurant years later only to discover that what you thought was the mega-sized ultimate chocolate dessert was really just a 2 ounce dish of ice cream off the kid's menu. This situation also happens in the realm of my Ataxia, only in reverse. As a kid there were things that I could easily do....things that have now grown to epic proportions. I could, with assurance, step off a four inch curb without the aid of some major mountain climbing equipment or the need for repelling rope. I could run up and down stairs, sometimes even taking two or three at a time, without the need to reassure myself that I have a life insurance policy in case the whole thing goes south on me.

There is, however, also a second way this whole time displacement, or size discrepancy thing works in my life. In 2012 I was let go from my full time job because of the advancement of my condition. The job was physically demanding on me and took a toll, but it kept me active and the concern became that I would degenerate faster if I didn't find a way to exercise my muscles and keep them engaged. Sitting around all day and watching television just wasn't going to cut it, even if I was repetitively lifting a fork from a plate of cake to my mouth, (I even tried a second piece of cake, but it still was not enough, if you can believe that)!  So, I decided to begin a walking routine and started out by walking a distance of 5 to 7 miles a day. That was just two summers ago, and currently I'm lucky to walk 3 miles a day.  Oh, I know that it's good that I'm still moving, but it really doesn't work very well to remember the good ol' days when really the good ol' days were just 2 years ago! The older I get and the longer I walk with Ataxia,(the pun  was intended), the shorter, it seems, become the spaces in the time displacements.

I have been faced with the reality of my physical limitations for several years now, and as odd or funny as this may seem, I still have moments when my mind will assess an obstacle or problem in front of me, such as a set of stairs, and thinks that it will be of no consequence. Probably 99.90 percent of the time I am fully aware of my stellar lack of any balance, but it's that .10 percent of my mind that just won't play nice. Just the other day Melissa and I were walking through a park that was surrounded by a golf course, and I found myself thinking that it wouldn't be such a difficult thing to fluidly swing a club again like I did when I was 17. In my fantasy world I could even see it.....the young kid hitting a beautiful shot straight down the fairway. After approximately 2 seconds the .10 percent of fantasy-brain was pushed aside by the other 99.90 percent of my thinking-in-the-real-world-brain, and I now clearly see the 51-year old man who would never make it to even hitting the ball because halfway through the swing he would lose his balance, do a new dance called the S.S.D, or Spastic Salsa Dance, and follow it up by throwing himself in a heap to the ground. Or there have been times when I will get the sudden impression that I can run, or at least jog slowly. I used to be a runner, it shouldn't be to hard, my leg muscles should remember this and know what to do, right? Uh, yeah, there like, "What's this thing called.....running? Nope, sorry, don't believe we've ever heard of it before or ever had the pleasure."

Some of you reading this will understand the phenomenon, or discrepancies that I write about, but I will attempt to describe it another way. About a year before I was officially diagnosed I was working at a large shop that made cabinet doors. I worked on a shaper and in a accident had about half an inch taken off my right middle finger. It was very strange, but my mind kept telling me to use my right hand like I had always done in the past. This was not going to work though because an important part of the finger was now gone. Never before had I realized or even thought about how important the tip of my finger was. I had been relying on it to feel, balance, and help grip things. Just a half inch! That's all, and now I had to re-train my brain to function without it. So it goes with balance, I never really stopped to consider all the things that were possible because of it, until it was gone.

So, it would seem that there will always be discrepancies and struggles with time displacement, but that just means that now I will have to always be on the lookout for new ways to approach life's little challenges.

This and all the pictures that have been a part of the blog, My Life-With Ataxia Along For The Ride have been taken by, and used with compliments, from Melissa Wolfer.

Christmas Statistics That Lead Us.......

It's that time of year again...a time for me to remember the fact that when it comes to sending out cards, that I am a very proficient slacker. This fact becomes abundantly crisper in focus the closer I approach the Holidays. The Christmas card for me has begun to resemble the daydreaming sequence that is seen in movies where the main character is lost in thought while driving at night. He or she will always have drifted into the opposite lane, and fail to notice the semi-truck headlights as they approach and quickly grow brighter and brighter. In my world, there is always a collision at the end of this scene. Mine is not a collision with another vehicle however, but with Christmas, right before I wake up from my fantasy-induced coma. Time seems to be moving so fast that often it seems like I have just rolled into bed with a belly full of Thanksgiving Turkey,and ALL the trimmings,and the next thing I know I am shaking cobwebs out of my head, and palming sleep from my eyes on Christmas morning.

I have noticed over the years that there are five different categories of people when it comes to the subject of the Christmas card.
#1. The Super Early Bird....This is the person who purchases several boxes of cards on sale right after the previous Christmas, and mails them out sometime between The Fourth Of July and Labor Day. On an intensity scale of 1 to 10, this would score about a 12.5,(the only way to gain a higher mark would be to fill out said cards on New Year's Eve, thinking this to be a totally sane way to welcome in the new year).
#2. The Early Bird....These are the people who use the sugar-rush brought on by the Halloween candy mania to motivate themselves to get all two hundred cards hand-written, sealed and addressed, stamped, and mailed just moments after their kids have returned from trick-or-treating. Both the first and second kind of person will also hand deliver cards the week before Thanksgiving. I know they mean well, but whenever I receive one of these cards, it is as if they are saying,"I'm sorry you haven't done your cards yet....poor dear....I wish there were more I could do for you, but you will just have to keep struggling along the best you can".
#3. The, Yeah I've Still Got Time....These people are typically more of the," Eventually I'll get to it", type of people, and I don't want to judge here, but tend also to be a little more balanced. They usually get their cards out within the first or second week of December, and the cards will always arrive to their intended destinations well before all the spiked eggnog is gone.
#4. The Motivated By Guilt....These people are typically very overwhelmed, have multiple fires burning at any one time, and they do not feel that they have any say about sending cards, because the guilt of receiving, and possibly not reciprocating, is just too heavy. There also may, or may not, be a little touch of the Grinch within. Usually it is at about the moment of decision to mail, or not to mail, that the person will hear their mother whispering in their ear about the shamefulness of doing nothing...."It is Christmas after all, and your friends went to so much effort and trouble to send you this nice card! Wouldn't you be embarrassed to NOT send cards?"
#5 The, What, I Missed It Again?....These are the people who will put on a good show, coming up with all sorts of reasons and excuses for their negligence,(shoot, I forgot to buy cards, envelopes, and stamps, again!), but who never really intended to send out ANY cards in the first place. And it very well may be because they have chosen to make other worthy things in their lives a priority. Or, it just simply might be that they are very lazy and struggle with procrastination.

photo taken by and courtesy of Melissa Wolfer

There are also four kinds of greetings that are sent out.
#1. The Card Only....This is a nice greeting card only, or a one sheet post card in an envelope. The idea here is that there is only one item being received. This method is simple, clean, and in many cases, totally sufficient.
#2.The Card AND Picture....This is a well thought out greeting card, which is also accompanied by a nice picture, usually a nice photo that was taken in the Fall when it was dry and there were a lot of nice colors. These kind of greetings take planning and forethought, and will potentially account for about half of the cards that are received.
#3. The Card AND Holiday Newsletter....Again, this is a nice card, but this time it is accompanied by a one to two page newsletter. This seems to be a rather popular choice, and also an opportunity to share with all your friends and loved ones just how many international vacations you went on, and usually a lot of this type is seen as well.
#4. The Perfect Trifecta....This greeting wonder consists of the card, picture, AND a newsletter. Yes, it is a bit of an over-achievement, and although rare, does happen. During the few times that I have received this artful greeting I felt like Charlie Bucket finding the last golden ticket, as I ripped my way eagerly into the envelope.

Anyway, the day always seems to sneak up on me, but not this time.....oh no, not this time. I have included the Wolfer Christmas letter for all of you, my friends, who are reading this.

THIS year, I volunteered to write the Christmas letter ....just moments after Melissa told me that I was. Actually, we discussed what to do and looked at several options. We even thought about recycling last year's letter and sending it out again. I mean, come on.... be honest, would you really have noticed? I can just imagine what some of the people who will be reading this letter will be thinking. You all will be admonishing Melissa and I for ever thinking of doing something as bad, and clearly criminal, as sending out a year old Christmas letter and trying to pass it off as a new one. Well, I must confess, thereby hopefully saving Melissa from any of the controversy surrounding the potential Christmas letter fraud, and admit that I used the word, "we", rather liberally. It was only myself who came up with the letter-recycling idea.  But now that I know that you know what I was thinking, and know that it won't work, I will proceed with a normally, and somewhat brief, letter of our past year.

In January, Melissa and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary by going to Maui, Hawaii for the first time. We loved it, at least I think we did, because we are having a hard time remembering if we actually went or just talked about it. This past year has gone by so fast that most things feel like they happened yesterday. Except for our 7-day vacation. It seems like a distant memory that lies right on the edge of consciousness, but that remains elusive. Thankfully Melissa took a lot of pictures that we can remind ourselves with. A return trip is most definitely called for.

We are in that time of life when there is a movement by our children to begin to abandon us....uh, I mean...stretch themselves and be on their own. The time seems to have come way too quickly, but Melissa and I are excited to see what the future has in store for them:

Kameron moved into an apartment with a friend from High School. He very successfully finished 2 years at Chemeketa, a community College in Salem Oregon, for which he had received a scholarship, and after taking 1 year off, decided to take classes at Western Oregon University. He is determined to not incur debt, and to move slowly by only taking at any one time what he can immediately pay for. He is also working hard at the same time and his Mother and I are very proud to see the kind of man that he is becoming. This year he turned 22.

Megan also started out at Chemeketa after also having received a scholarship. She spent her 1st year taking prerequisites, and then stumbled into what she hopes to be a promising career. She is heavily involved in ASL,(American Sign Language), and transferred to Western Oregon University half way through her sophomore year, is currently in her 3rd year, living in the dorms, and enjoying her time there and doing very well. She continues to work at her job at the Woodburn Outlet Mall one weekend a month so that she keep her standing there which will insure a full-time job in the summer. She stays with us, much to our enjoyment, on those weekends but returns to school in time for Monday classes. She is very active, and her Mother and I are very pleased to see the direction that she has clearly chosen. This year she turned 20.

And then there's Jessica who will be turning 18 in just a few months. She is a High School Senior, and has recently become our favorite teenager. From an early age Jessica established herself as the family entertainer and keeps us laughing with her various antics, impressions, and song parodies. She was chosen by the teachers and faculty at the school she attends to be in a small group of students from her class who will be in the Doernbecher Pageant. It is a annual event that raises money for the Children's Hospital, located in Portland Oregon. Gervais High School is one of the leading schools in Oregon for giving financially to this Institution, and Melissa and I are very excited for her as this is a great opportunity and a very fulfilling experience.

Well, that wraps it up from the Wolfer household, except to say that we wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! I hope you all have a very warm, an enjoyable Holiday Season, and that you have all been good this last year!

Soapbox....Preaching To The Choir

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqBwCzRWmzo

Okay, that's it, I am going to have to climb up onto my soapbox, and anybody with a Neurological condition will understand why. This ranting, or observation...to put it more politely, is for everyone else that we encounter in our everyday lives out there in the general public. And before I go any further, I will point out that it is not a literal soapbox that I am climbing onto. To do that I would have to install grab bars first so that I could pull myself up, and once I got up there, I would need to have railings erected all the way around the soapbox so that I wouldn't fall off. The whole ordeal is really simply just to exhausting to even contemplate, so I am going to have to ask you, my readers, and listeners, (and those who are currently not doing either....figure that one out), to use your imagination and just simply envision that I am standing on a platform, when in reality I am really comfortably, and safely sitting in front of my computer.

The very subject of falling off a soapbox, when others who have a fully functioning Cerebellum and muscular system would be able to step right up without a problem, is the subject of this writing. Because, short of hiring a twelve-piece minstrel ensemble that includes a flute and a tambourine to march before me, announcing me with a little musical ditty, I'm really not sure of what else to do. By the way, that little musical number that I just mentioned? I envision it to go something like this:
                                 Herest doth come an Ataxian man-
                                           you really doth need be as polite ast thou can.......
                                 I know what yer thinkin-
                                           that this boy has been drinkin......
                                 That there's a reason he slurs-
                                           and that his sight doth blurs......
                                 But we are here as his defender-
                                           the lad is not on a bender....
                                 He simply has a condition-
                                           that should not raise your suspicion.....
                                 If you would take care of yourself-
                                           and not always assume the worst...
                                 If you would pay attention-
                                           and mind your affairs first....
                                 you would see no problem-
                                           indeed no need to fret......
                                 you could go on with your day-
                                           there would be no need to sweat!


It is frustrating to me, because most people will see someone miss step, or lose their balance, or act in any way that is outside  the perception of normal and just assume that they are drunk or under the influence of a drug. Since I have begun to struggle physically, I find that I do not immediately assume this to be the explanation when I see someone who is having a difficult time. I also know that probably eighty-five to ninety percent of the time that the cause for erratic behavior IS alcohol or drug related. In fact, public intoxication is a frequent happening, and most of the time people are correct in assuming that someone is behaving under the influence. Just the other night a woman was driving on the wrong side of the freeway close to where I live. She was drunk, and she ended up hitting and killing another driver.  Unfortunately a high percentage of the time, alcohol is a reasonable or feasible explanation, but certainly not in EVERY circumstance.

I know that my little blog is going to do nothing to change the public perception, but for those of us who are affected, or are physically compromised in some way, I would urge you to give people the benefit of the doubt because you know what it's like. Enough said, I am going to step down from my figurative soapbox now. Be safe everyone, and again, thank you to all....your support and friendship is very appreciated.

,

Leftovers, No Matter How They're Reheated.

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog:www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pd5LfzyikFM

It was just a little bit over a year ago when I decided to begin writing a blog about my life. I have to say that of all the things that I have tried over the years, writing about my daily walk with Ataxia,(along for the ride.....I just can't seem to give it the slip), has really helped me to change my view of the everyday events in my life. I am forever looking at daily happenings and common,(for me), occurrences and thinking that they could be potential blogs. A lot of writings were started, and a few of those ideas did not make it all the way to a finished product. For one reason or another, I would have a thought or concept spark in my mind, and some initial thoughts were put down, but they were never finished. Either it was because I got distracted, or moved on to something else. Several times it was because I would write something in the development of a particular thought, only to realize that if I kept what I had just written down, that it would completely change where I thought I would go with that blog. I would then start a whole new writing based on what I had just come up with, and I would never get back to the original thought. Anyway, I have dug some of them out, and considered developing them into something more. Instead, I decided to leave them as is and submit several of them to you in much the same way that you would clean out your refrigerator,(I am hoping that you do this more than once a year), and have leftover-night. I am crossing my fingers that I have reheated something that you will like.......

1. But, Then Again......

There are still days when it really doesn't seem that it was that long ago, twelve years, when I was blissfully unaware of what Ataxia was. But, then again, there are still days when I am blissfully unaware, period. There are also still days when I can't believe that I have been able to come as far as I have, but, then again, I can't believe that I eventually passed my driver's exam, or that I can shuffle into a dark bathroom in the middle of the night without doing serious injury to myself or without making so much noise that I wake all up the neighborhood dogs. It seems that in a blink of an eye time has taken a large step forward, and suddenly I find myself standing, (or falling) , in a place that I never saw coming or ever imagined that I would be in. But, then again, if I had, I would have been in possession of insider knowledge, and possibly would have placed, and won, some very large bets.

2. Bent Out Of Shape.

It always happens...it just ALWAYS seems to be the case! I am forever snagging, and/or snaring my pants pockets on cabinet door handles, which results in the knobs being completely bent into shapes that any artist who makes balloon animals would be proud of. I will be standing at the sink or counter and think of something I need to do. I will begin to move, but be snapped back into my original position because I have attached myself to the cabinet via the knob, and my now slightly ripped pants. Or the other thing that I do, thanks to my newly compromised Cerebellum, is totally misjudge the opening that the car door provides. This will usually result in getting my pants pockets hooked by the protruding latch in the door frame and ripping them when I fall into the driver's seat. I have torn several pairs of pants in exactly this manner, and I am still waiting to find any humor in it whatsoever.

3. Left Feeling Ripped Off.

Like with any other event, or traumatic experience that happens in life, my diagnosis and prognosis took awhile for me to process. There were several stages that I went through, and although a lot of the specifics of what I went through were kind of happening at the same time, I do remember some of my thoughts at that time. I remember thinking that it felt like I was being penalized for something that I really have no control over. As if I had chosen this. I was let go from my full-time job in May of 2012, not because I didn't want to work anymore. It wasn't because I wanted to sit at home, collect Social Security, and eat chocolate Bon-Bons all day. It was simply because my body was betraying me and I couldn't do what I had currently been doing. I also remember feeling embarrassed and somewhat awkward when I would meet someone for the first time.  I just knew that the inevitable question of what I did for a living would come up. I never knew exactly what to say, and I certainly did NOT want to launch into an explanation about my condition to just anybody. However, it felt weird to me not to give some kind of explanation as to why I was no longer working. There were occasions when I wanted to say something like, "because of the horrendous nature of my past crimes my parole states that I can have only limited exposure to public and this is the first time that I have been allowed back into the public, and it is on an experimental basis. But I have never actually said this and I still occasionally feel awkward and struggle in these situations.

4. A Life Lived On The Edge.

Well, I'll say one thing about having Ataxia, life is never dull. It means constant vigilance, and always watching out for tripping hazards, such as the flat ground. Or potential choking items, such as the air I breathe. I feel like I am in a constant training session, just like the scene in the first Batman movie starring Christian Bale, where he is told by his instructor to, "Always mind your surroundings".  This is actually pretty good advice, because my enemies are everywhere and are always ready to trip me at a moments notice. One of the problems that I face while walking is that I constantly drift. When I say drift I am not referring to the cool kind, like they do in cars in the movies, but a slow and methodical shuffle towards pending disaster. Usually, as my wife and I are out walking the dogs, she will have to remind me several times to stay away from the curb. When she and I walk side-by-side, I am constantly giving her the shoulder as I continue to slide sideways.

Well, those were just a few of the leftovers that I had in my writer's vault. If you would like to hear more via another reheating of leftovers let me know and I will revisit this format again in the future.

Sometimes, It's Just About The Small Things.

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: www.youtube.com/watch?v=N9c0jYC2i2c


Ever since the official diagnosis of my physical disability, I feel as if I have been engaged in a huge wrestling match. A contest where I face a huge opponent, and I am seriously and woefully ill prepared, out-matched, and generally viewed as the under-dog's under-dog. And it is not like I can avoid this menacing adversary, because as luck sometimes will have it, I will be confronted two or three times a day, randomly, as I go about my own business. Whenever these chance meetings do happen though, I am forced to stop whatever I may be doing at the moment, and grapple for a while. The struggle may take two minutes, or it may take ten, but the point is that I am always engaged in the conflict. At this point, I cannot be sure that I am alone in this battle, but suspect that I am not, and so will call out my opponent so that you can possibly identify with me. He, or she, depending on how you look at it, and also accounting for individual tastes, is of course, the mini-candy bar. Or to be more precise, the wrapper that acts as a bullet and bomb-proof bunker, which hides and protects the sweetness within. I have been fighting in this war for awhile now, and although I haven't found the magic bullet yet, I continue the struggle.

I have found the mini candy bar to be an incredibly frustrating and deceptive creature. They lay in a bowl or sack with that perpetually innocent look about them. Always singing their seductive Siren's song as I walk by, as if to say, "Really, we mean you no harm".  But therein lies the trouble, because if I fall for their wiles,(and let's face it, I do every time because I have a sweet tooth, am a sucker for chocolate, and they just look so inviting), then there will just be another chapter added to the story of the epic battle that has been fought so, so many times in the past. I suppose, though, that I should be looking for a positive in all of this. I would have to say that within the difficulty, and by engaging the struggle to free the candy from it's wrapper, I am able to burn beforehand some of the calories that lay within, patiently waiting to ambush the unsuspecting. These are the same calories that I will soon be giving permission to come aboard, and join the other fat cells that are already in storage and feeling quite at home. Once I am finally able, that is, to tear the wrapper open and claim the prize within.

And it is within those moments of triumph that I resemble the person who has been engaged in a long, grueling game of Capture The Flag. After planning and strategizing for hours, and having finally gotten their hands on their opponent's flag, they wave it around in excitement, and in a showing of complete victory.

I have finally captured and freed the chocolate goodness from the clutches of the wrapper! But then.....the disappointment sets in, and I realize that I've been had. That I have fallen for the same trick, again. You see, these miniature candies are sneaky and they know that if they can get me to eat just one, I will not be satisfied with the postage-stamp sized chocolate. They also know that I will spend the next ten minutes engaged in a skirmish to unwrap enough minis to get a decent mouthful. Sometimes I think that maybe I should just write to the makers of M&Ms and see if they would ship me a fifty pound feed bag. I'm just saying that it sounds like it might be easier. The least that they could do, it would seem to me, is make a handicapped-accessible wrapper.

Fumbling And Bumbling.....A True Triathlon Story.

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iGlsWCPMFs

I never was one who was into sports in a big way. In any kind of way, actually. Okay, sure, so I played little league baseball, flag football in sixth grade, and grade school basketball for one year. Mostly, though, I played for other reasons than because I found enjoyment in competition. That's all behind me now, and all that I can really do at this point is look back and imagine that, had I liked sports and competition, I would have lived, breathed, and practiced the craft until I became truly proficient. Of course, I can currently only speculate, but the reality is, that if I HAD become some kind of sports phenom, that by this point, I would already be retired and done. I guess that is kind of like saying that if Elvis were alive today, he'd be dead by now. Anyway, it would have been a career that was cut short by the ceaseless ravages of Ataxia. However, all would not be lost, because on the plus side I could then become the famous face of this Neurological disease, and be the spokesman to bring public attention, and awareness, that so many are striving for.

I am, however, in endless competition with myself, and as such, wondered what it would be like to execute simple household chores while being timed. I could then strive to break my own record, while enthusiastic sports commentators would be delivering a blow by blow account of the frenzied action. And when I say, "frenzied action," think half-frozen molasses being poured through a pin hole. So, with that thought in mind, I set my sights on three everyday activities that I engage in. They are:

1. The Beverage Lid Screw-ON....I have mentioned this one before, that I seem to have great difficulty putting screw type lids back on containers without dropping the cap multiple times and becoming very frustrated. This particular competition will encompass the retrieval of the beverage from the refrigerator, the removal of the cap, the successful pouring of the chosen drink into a glass, (I say successful because something usually gets spilled, although I am not convinced this is entirely my fault because the glass always seems to be moving, and dodging about), and finally the re-twisting of the cap. My personal best in this event is just under three minutes, that is if I don't become disqualified for spilling. I will be working hard to beat that score and hold the record in this competition for one. I keep confetti in my pocket so that at anytime I can whoop and holler in unbridled joy because I never know when that moment may arrive. When it does come, I will also have to cup my hands around my mouth, clap, and make sounds like a large crowd of spectators. In the picture below, I am preparing to train for this event.

2.  The PB And J....I enjoy a healthy nutritious lunch which usually involves the regular peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Also, the sandwich is the usual staple of my lunch because I am lazy and it has become a habit that has been carried over from my childhood. Those were the days when I could slap one of these delicious cuisines together it about 15 seconds. I think it takes me twice that long now just to get the two pieces of bread out of their heavily fortified plastic bag. And so, in the coming days I will be training hard, ( at least once a day, roughly between twelve p.m. and twelve-thirty p.m.). Since I am my own competition and do not need to keep my training regime a secret, I will let you have a peek into my training, as seen below:

3. The Mouse Trap....Perhaps the most physically challenging of the Triathlon. This rewarding, but sometimes brutal discipline, can alternate between triumph, or tears. It is definitely not for the weak, and should not be attempted without the proper training or supervision. Lives have been lost. I have been doing this for a number of years now, and it never gets easier, in fact, it is becoming more challenging, and I have included it in the Triathlon Event because it demands dexterity and a high level of concentration. The idea will be to try and set a trap in under two and a half minutes. I think that if I focus than just maybe....... And as long as there are mice that want to come into my house, I will continue. Pay attention mice, the No Vacancy light is on. My training pictures are below:

All the activities that I just mentioned were, in a very simplified way, letting you all know that I have not given up. My encouragement to you is that you would not quit on yourself either. That you would continue to fight and to attempt those things that are in your everyday life that used to be so simple. So many things were taken for granted, and I know, my friends, that it is a struggle. One that can be very disheartening, frustrating, and painful at times. The key I believe is to focus on what you can still do. You can bring support to someone else who might currently be having a tougher time than you. You can bring wisdom and experience to those who have newly received a diagnosis and are scared or confused. You can bring inspiration to many by sharing your stories of triumph, victory, or even times when it didn't go so well. You all have touched me and inspired me in one way or another, and I just want to say, "Thank-you," and encourage you all to keep on keepin on!

Always There.....If You Wait Long Enough.

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: www.youtube.com/watch?v=anhoSkjJNhI

Let me be totally honest,( I say that for my own benefit, because, let's be completely up front, if I weren't, then you would be left without knowing what you could believe). The experience with the Social Security Administration that I recently had on the phone was the perfect end to what has been a two-and-a-half year pleasant journey.  The years were enjoyable, much in the same way that being pushed over a cliff is enjoyable. I swear to you that I must have struck every rock and tree root on the hillside as I pick up speed while hurtling head-over-heels towards the bottom. After picking myself up off the ground, and dusting myself off, I had a few questions, so I made a phone call. What I experienced was pretty close to the same, I imagine, as having a paramedic present at the bottom of the fore-mentioned hill as I came tumbling down. He doesn't so much as rush to my aid, however. Instead, he stares, and continually reminds me, that although my visible lacerations, bruises, and broken bones are important to him, he is very sorry that I am experiencing a long wait time and, he assures me, he will be with me just as soon as possible.

I waited and waited for assistance, but when the wait time became too long, I opted to leave my call back number so that the next available paramedic could tend to my wounds. After an hour, in which I almost bled out, I finally received a callback. Unfortunately, my pure rapture at the immediate thought that the wait was over was short lived. I had been misled into believing that I could simply answer the phone and begin talking to, and have a polite and helpful conversation with a human. Oh no, that would be expecting too much, because what actually happened at this point was very reminiscent of a situation that I have found myself in often when I have gone to see my doctor. I am sure that this is a universal experience, one in which finds me sitting in the main waiting room while dodging numerous air-born virus clouds, flying phlegm, and at the same time, leafing through germ infested old issues of Field and Stream and People magazines. I do this for what feels like at least an hour, but in reality, has really only been fifty-seven minutes and forty-five seconds. Then the moment arrives. The nurse calls out my name. I have never heard anything sweeter. I am having visions in my head and remembering all the times I scoffed and made fun of the overly exuberant people on The Price Is Right. The ones who would shoot out of their seats, begin jumping up and down, screaming, and waving their arms as they ran down the aisle much in the same way as I would imagine a lunatic to do. Because it just so happens that at that exact moment I feel like joining them and becoming one of those lunatics. This, of course, is all done in my head, but one of these days, after an unusually long wait, I am going to do this. When my name is called I will spring straight up, begin waving my hands above my head in a frantic pattern, and alternate between shouting gibberish, laughing and crying.  Because who among us isn't more deserving of witnessing a spectacle or to enjoy a truly good laugh, like your ex-former doctor's office detainees.

I am, at this moment, very excited because the nurse has finally picked me, and I fall in behind her as she leads me towards my important meeting with the Doctor. The first item on her agenda, though? I have to take my shoes off and step on a scale so she can record my weight and height. I can only imagine that this is done in the eventuality that a prize fight breaks out in the office. I mean, if this does happen then they will need to first announce my qualifications and stats over the loud speaker. And so, just like when I received the call back from Social Security, I assumed that my waiting was over and that my next encounter was only moments away. This, of course, was wrong as all that actually happened was that I was shown into the next little waiting room. But I draw your attention back to my present situation.

Finally, upon receiving the return phone call from the Social Security Department, I am greeted by a second automated voice that needs to confirm who I am, if I am currently available, and would I mind waiting while the next available agent is located? I want to scream that, yes, actually I would mind! Why can't you wait to call me until you ACTUALLY have someone first that is ready to talk to me? However, since I had invested so much time already, and as arguing with an automated attendant has not been posted on my agenda for that day, I put the call on speakerphone and began to enjoy the soft rhythms of hold music. Within a few short minutes, I was greeted by a very charming voice, that produced in me an instant flashback to my childhood and my father starting up his old chainsaw. All my questions did eventually get answered, however, and afterward, I had such a feeling of warmth and caring.

Shoot, I just remembered that I didn't ask for the lady's name so that when I call again I can ask for her. Oh well, I guess I can just ask for chainsaw girl.

Well....It's Not ALL Good.....

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog:www.youtube.com/watch?v=LviWvJIYurU 

After a lifetime of research, and an acute attention to detail, I am now ready to state my astounding, but true observation. What I have discovered over the years is that not everybody likes to be surprised. Do you find that surprising? I remember the first time I came to this realization, just like it was yesterday, (actually it was last week). I remember thinking to myself that this certainly is a shocker, (you thought I was going to say surprise didn't you? You think you have me figured out, and in fact, I'd be surprised if you didn't think I'd say that). The thing is that there are different kinds of surprises, and it really doesn't take any stretch of the imagination to realize that the vast majority of us do not like a bad or unexpected and unwelcome surprise. My official diagnosis of Cerebellar Ataxia in two-thousand and three comes to mind as a particularly unpleasant surprise, for example.

On the flip side of the bad, or nasty surprise, is a pleasant surprise. Events that spring into your life that bring vast amounts of joy, feelings of warmth, friendship or love.  When, twenty-five years ago, my then-girlfriend said yes, or a few years later when I first learned that we were starting a family, I was overwhelmed. These were a few of the good surprises in my life, and are among other past events that I will always cherish.

Sometimes, however, the surprises start out as one type, but quickly fade into the other, say from good to bad. Such was the case a week ago when our van broke down as we were passing through the Oregon Coast Mountain Range, on our way home from the beach. The Highway we were traveling on was a very narrow, winding, and busy road, with only a few places that one can safely pull their vehicle off. Luckily, as soon as our car started to act up, we came upon a long and wide spot to pull over. The next problem we faced was that we were on a stretch of road through the mountains where there is absolutely no cell phone coverage, so we were entirely dependent on a passing motorist to stop and offer us some assistance. We turned on the emergency flashers and sent the universal message out to our fellow drivers that our car was broken down, by raising the hood. We also showed that we were desperate by walking around and waving our phones, in an attempt to obviously display that, "I don't have a signal over here, do you have one over there...ten feet away?".  What appeared to be a pleasant surprise came about five minutes after we broke down. A car began to signal that it was going to pull off the road next to us and offer help. With a feeling of relief, I walked towards the car that had indeed started to pull over. But when the car stopped thirty yards away, it became evident that they were not stopping for us, but for another reason, which had become apparent when a young man and woman came hurtling out of the car. The bikini-clad woman ran into the trees for privacy while she made her contribution to nature, but the man had no fancies for anonymity. He only ran a few feet, stopped where all the passing cars could see, and......well, it was not a pleasant surprise. They sped off afterward. On reflection, I don't know if they even realized that we were there. The funny thing was that they had just passed a rest stop about a mile back.

In my third blog, named Reflections On Reflexes, I talked about my cat-like reflexes. One year later, although I still have cat-like reflexes, the rest of the story is that, sure, they continue to be cat-like....but it's a cat that has gotten into some fermented catnip, has already burned through eight of its nine lives, and is halfway through the last one. It doesn't take much to make me jump, and I have been trying to anticipate and limit surprises in my life. You might also remember from one of my early blogs that motion activated paper towel dispensers in public restrooms, and I usually don't mix. I never know if I'm expected to dance in front of it to get the quality paper towel to come out? Is that why there is music being pumped into the bathroom? Well, anyway, the reason I mentioned my reflexes, and paper towel dispensers, is because of what recently happened to me. While at a restaurant, I went to use the facilities and found myself in a small narrow room with only a sink and a toilet. I didn't notice the towel dispenser on the wall between the sink and the toilet, until on my approach to the bowl, my passing shoulder activated it, resulting in a loud grinding sound. I jumped but was afraid to turn around lest I hear laughing and see a drill bit menacingly approach as it twisting through the door. I soon realized what was going on and all was good....that is until I washed my hands and tried to activate the dispersal of a towel. No amount of hand waving would make the box give up its paper prize, and so I had to resort to bobbing back and forth in front of the blessed machine so that my shoulder would activate it. Maybe if they would have had music being piped in?

But, despite my best efforts to eliminate the everyday surprises in my life, with ataxia along for the ride, most of the time the best that I can do is grab a railing with each hand and hang on.

Faced With An Empty Roll

Recently I wrote a blog, titled, Literally.....There Is More Than One Way,  in which I shared the thought that there are multiple ways to approach and execute, everyday tasks. Along with this is the idea that there are also certain subjects that deserve to be added to, or expanded upon. I believe that the discussion surrounding the topic of creativity and the adoption of everyday tasks, faced by those with a handicap, to be just such a subject. It also came to my attention, through the response from a reader of the last blog, that there are several other methods of writing that they are currently using. They are ones that I also find very helpful, and which I would like to share with you. I often use these other methods, thereby successfully avoiding the need to clutch a pen in a death-grip, while trying to scribble anything remotely legible. Something that minutely resembles having come from modern day civilization, and not what appears to be the crude etchings on a cave wall that could either be a massive group buffalo hunt, or the depiction of an Amway Convention.

However, before I continue with the various methods of writing that I will......write about, I would like to share with you an alternative way that I have learned to button my shirt. Like tying my shoes, some days are worse than others when it comes to trying to maintain my grip on a little button. It can take me three or seven tries sometimes because just before I push the little guy through the hole, he will slip out of my fingers. The hardest part of the whole process is just simply trying to maintain my grip long enough to shove the button through to the other side because the one thing that experience has shown to me is that once he's successfully through the hole and settled on the other side, he's not getting back. Not unless that button breaks the multiple loops of thread that are holding him down, or I grab him and shove him backward through the hole, which I am not going to do until the day is over.

Anyway, the button-tying method is called The Paperclip. The first step of this particular method is to select a paperclip. This is where your creativity can really shine as there are quite a few size and color possibilities and I have included a picture as an example of some of your options.

Lot's of options. Somehow a safety pin got in the picture....another option, sure....but not one that I would recommend.

After you have made your selection and chosen a paperclip that fits your style, the next step is to figure out how you would like to control it. By that, I mean that it is up to your wild imagination to either choose to mount it onto a handle or just bend it and use it in its natural state. Again, I have provided a picture as a guide. You will notice that one of the mounting suggestions is a Popsicle stick. This is my particular favorite, as the stick had to be obtained by first consuming the Popsicle that was wrapped around it. In this case, it was a Mixed Berry Fruit Pop. 

I will now proceed to show you the Paperclip Method with a series of four pictures to illustrate:

Step 1.  While holding the button with one hand, use the other hand to insert the paperclip of your choosing into the button hole and bring it close to the button.

Step 2.  Insert the button into the paperclip.

Step 3.  Pull the button back through the button hole while you gently but firmly guide it with your thumb. The pressure is now off of you to maintain your grip on the slippery little plastic disc, and you can breathe easier. One more step and you're done.

Step 4.  Lay the button flat and release the paperclip. Congratulations, you successfully buttoned a button, and there are only five or six more to go. Refer to step 1 if you need a reminder.

Like many small details in life, writing is a skill and a useful tool that most people don't think about. When they need it, the process just needs to be there, without forethought or effort. Writing is a lot like toilet paper in the regard that you really don't give it much thought. Variations of toilet paper do not consume your day, but when you need it, that paper had better be there. I find the need to write to be much the same as reaching out, only to find an empty paper tube. The skill is just not there when I call on it, and it can be very frustrating.

Once in awhile, I have a need to write a note. Usually, it is something along the lines of instructions, or a form of information that I want to leave for my kids. Since I do not have any large stone slabs lying around, or a chisel, or even the necessary skills needed to avoid self-inflicted blunt force head trauma as I attempt to hammer out a message, I use a type and print method. I open a blank Word document, type whatever I want to say, and print it out. That method of communication is handy but becoming used less as I have been able to send a text message. Which is the subject of the next method. I am able to do a lot of what I need through the use of my phone. I already mentioned that I can text, but what is really helpful is that I can speak my messages, which I do almost all of the time. I have found this method of talking into my phone very useful for creating lists as well, from grocery lists to simply things I would like to accomplish or remember, throughout the day.

The last method I want to mention is one that I had written a blog about several months ago, but one that bares repeating. The blog was titled, Enter The Dragon...So To Speak, and was about my first experiences and impressions of the voice recognition software, Dragon. I find it to be a very useful tool, and when I use it to write a blog, one that cuts my writing time by more than half.

Through practicing the various methods of writing that I have outlined in this, and the previous blog, I have been able to eliminate a significant portion of the need to write. Certainly not all, and I still face the empty roll now and again. I just do the best I can, and let the rest worry about itself.  

Literally.....There Is More Than One Way.

There is an old saying, proposing that there is more than one way to skin a cat.  Like many other bold declarations that are commonly, or casually, used in everyday conversation, in this instance skinning a cat is not a specific reference. However, it was a phrase that successfully mislead my young and impressionable mind, and soon I was imagining that everyone, including all my friends,(who apparently were practicing Taxidermy in secret), were actually skinning cats. It was only upon looking around me that I finally noticed that cat-skinning hadn't become a raging new epidemic. In fact, it appeared that all the surrounding cats were fine, and it was at that exact moment when I began to put two and two together. I realized that what the saying was actually referring to was the idea that there are usually several ways to accomplish the same task, and that what works for one person may not work for another, but that the end results are the same.

As the years have gone by since my initial diagnosis of Cerebellar Ataxia I have had to adapt and learn new ways of doing things. I say this so easily, like all of this was a breeze, and came naturally. Like adjusting my life to fit this disease was as simple as literally falling off a log. Another quaint little saying that would seem to fit nicely here is the one about teaching an old dog new tricks because I am finding that I am in a constant battle with my second nature. That if I continue to bounce from moment to moment like I used to do, I will just continue to injure and frustrate myself. Most of the simple things that a lot of people don't even have to think about, like writing, tying your shoes, and descending stairs, have become obstacles for me that require thought and effort. I have had to slow way down and learn new ways to accomplish simple tasks.

I have learned new methods for dealing with challenges. In this blog, I will deal with the three that I just mentioned. These particular methods will not work for everyone and are only being shared with you as possible alternatives. The first one that I will show you concerns the subject of writing and centers on the issue that I have of being able to write legibly, clear enough so that even I can read it. Most of the time I can decipher what I have written, but there are those times when I find a note that I've scribbled down and I will have no clue what it says. It could be a grocery list, an idea for a blog, or a ransom note. It could be a note to my wife, saying that a friend called, or it could be an abstract cosmic drawing of the Milky Way.

This method is new to me and will take some practice. It is known as the two-handed method, and I have included pictures of my one-handed writing and pictures of the two-handed writing. The idea, as you will see, is the use the index finger of the opposite hand to help guide and direct the writing hand. This will result in more of a flow and smoother process. It works for me, and with some practice, it might actually help, but again, it will not be for everyone.

One-hand, very shaky

Somewhat smoother....but will take some practice.

The next subject that I will tackle,(not literally), will be the issue of stairs. I have shared in several of my blogs just exactly how I feel about stairs. Refer to my last blog, Metaphorically Running From A Bully if you have somehow been misinformed and are under the current impression that I love the challenge that stairs afford and look forward with deep anticipation to the next time that we will meet again. There are three ways in which I approach my carport stairs. Actually, there are four methods that I use to descend my stairs, but as one of the methods involves tripping, falling, and pain, I will skip that one. Besides, you can probably figure that one out for yourself. I also decided that I don't need to illustrate these methods like I did the writing example because these are all pretty straight forward. One method has to do with walking backward. I use this approach very successfully on my carport steps but don't think that it would work for me on a long staircase. However, I have heard others say that this method works well for them. I think the idea behind,(no pun intended....no really.... .....okay fine, believe what you want), descending backwards is that gravity makes us lean forward and topple easier, but,(no comment), if we lean forward facing the stairs we won't fall, or at least as far. My problem with this method is that I lose sight of my feet, and begin to panic. Until I remember that my feet are fine, they are still there, I just can't see them at the moment. All joking aside, though, this method actually does not work for me on long staircases, but I mention it as a possibility.

Another method that I use,(with varying success), is the traditional approach.....straight forward. Only, I hang on to anything stable and move very slowly, which unfortunately is still not enough sometimes to keep me from stumbling. During these times I have begun to use the next method, which is to turn sideways to descend. I still have to hang on to something, but it seems to really help when I am going down my carport steps.

The last subject of tying my shoes I will illustrate. As a kid, I learned to tie my shoes a certain way but was always having problems. Somehow I was continually tying knots in the individual shoe strings and ruining them. I couldn't tighten my laces because the knots that I had created would not fit through the eye holes in the shoes. It also made tying my shoes more difficult as the knots would get in the way of pulling the bow tight. So I came up with my own style of tying my shoes and have used that method ever since. I still tie my own shoes, and even though it has become frustrating, continue and will keep doing so for as long as I can. I have recently learned another method, which I read about, and is a way that a Kindergarten teacher came up with and uses to teach her students. I have not used it very much, but on days when I find that I am getting very frustrated with my usual way of tying, will switch over to this method. 

There is more than one way....and you might need to become creative to come up with a method, or way of doing a task, that works for you. It's good to try a particular way of doing something that others may claim is the best way, but if it doesn't work for you, then that's alright. The key is to keep trying, my friends. Do not let yourself quit because it has become difficult or frustrating.

Metaphorically Running From Bullies

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M74KuRyvHT0

     I really can't imagine that I am paranoid, nor can I imagine that it has anything to do with my imagination,( I never actually imagined that it did). Although, I do have to say that I have never been an individual who has the gift of long-range vision, or been able to dream about future possibilities constructively. When I was a freshman in High School and running from the latest bully in my life, I never conceived, nor did I ever have a notion that one day as an adult I would still be running. Oh, it may be a mere fantasy of actually running, but the desired result is always to try and avoid a bully.

     Inanimate objects appear to have me in their crosshairs, and I am getting the sense that they are somehow communicating and working together. Stairs are continually trying to trip me, and it has become more than just an isolated incident. I am not a conspiracy theorist by any definition, nor am I currently under any disillusions, or taking any active hallucinogenic drugs,( prescription, of course ). I strongly suspect, however. that there is a flow of communication here that is being cleverly concealed...and that the vast majority of us remain unaware. No matter where I go, the stairs that are in that place seem to know I'm coming and appear to have worked out a strategy beforehand to foil any attempt on my part to descend them with any amount of grace or dignity. No one has ever actually witnessed tiny hands reaching out of the stairs and grabbing my ankles while I am going down, or that are pushing up on the bottoms of my feet, causing me to fall forward, but that's got to be the explanation. The stairs are the original, and remain to be, the grand masters of the slight of hand trick. No matter how much I concentrate and look for the deception, they seem to have anticipated my level of attention to detail. Somehow they get me even if I am holding a rail in one hand, and someone's hand, walking stick, or the opposite rail with the other hand. Sigh....I'll probably never have a clear understanding of how the trick is done. The best that I can do is to avoid them whenever possible and to give all my up and down business to their direct competition (that would be an elevator or ramp). Or better yet, maybe I should just sit on a log in front of the ocean.

     I also have become convinced that the floors in my home somehow just know when I am going to stand up from a piece of furniture, walk down the hallway, or move from room to room. They begin to pitch and roll, and I start to feel like the little steel ball in the Labyrinth Game that is being bounced around while the player of the game manipulates the board and tries to avoid the holes. I see the holes now as bullies, and my life has now become one of avoidance. The funny thing about this is that no one else in my family seems to notice the floor angling and yawning as I am aggressively, and violently, tossed about like a rowboat in the midst of a Hurricane. Everything appears to them as normal, except for the fact that I seem to have an endless supply of ants in my pants.

     I used to play a game when I was a kid where I would pretend that the floor was covered with hot lava. Death was immediate if you touched the floor, so I would jump from one piece of furniture to the next, walk across end tables, or make my way across the window sill if it connected me to the next piece of furniture. I went through all this, not only because it was fun, or the fact that I wasn't the one who had bought the furniture that I was ruining by jumping all over it, but also because I didn't want to get burned up. Back then it seems like the furniture and I had an understanding. Apparently, they could touch the molten rock and not be burned up, and they were only too happy to let me pounce all over them, and they would keep me safe. That sentiment has changed. They are now working in unison with the floor, giving me a false sense of security and relaxation, and then pushing me out whenever the floor signals,( subtle vibration, a slight wink), and another Labyrinth Game begins.

     The doorways in my house either have a way to sense my approach,  actually see me coming, or the floor is passing on a message that I am heading their way because the openings always shrink a split second before I walk through. They do this so that I am sure to step into the frame. As I have already stated, I am not delusional, but I can hear a faint snicker of laughter in the instant immediately following, or at least have had a vague impression that I heard laughter. All my furniture in the house has begun to do the same thing, expanding by a fraction so I will be sure to stub my toe, bang my knee or drive my shoulder into a sharp corner. It then will quickly shrink back to normal so that it appears as if I'M the one with the problem.

     Whenever I leave the house, I get the same impression that you get when you are facing another person, talking and exchanging pleasantries. All the while, there is a person behind your back who is signaling frantically and waving at the person with whom you are speaking. The person behind you wants to convey a message to the one you are conversing with that there is a secret they should not divulge. Of course, all this happens without your knowledge, and you go on your way none the wiser. I suspect this happens to me every day, except it is my house that is alerting the sidewalks that I am on the move again. No, I can't actually prove anything because if I turn around, the house will just be sitting there with an innocent look. But, as the sidewalks seem to know of my approach beforehand, this would appear to be the obvious answer as to how this is possible. And it is the reason why I carry a big stick, to hold down the sidewalks when they get unruly.....well, that and the whole balance thing.

     Writing has become an issue, but I don't believe that it is my fault. I think my penmanship is perfect and that I am a victim of a systematic plot to make me look incompetent. I believe that all pens and pencils have small identification sensors in them that allow them to know precisely who has picked them up and is trying to use them. They then have the power, through internal programming, to write illegibly. I mean, how else would you explain the fact that my brain is telling my hand, in exact detail, what to write or draw and it just can't seem to do it?

     I realize that a few of these things may be pretty far out there, even for simple speculation (whose ever heard of using a big stick for balance!). But as life with Ataxia goes on,  I will continue, to the best of my wavering ability, to run from the bullies. And while I'm doing that, could I ask you a favor? If you ever see the stairs reaching for someone's ankle could you try to catch it on film and send it to me? Thanks.