Wham, Kablam, And Kerslam!

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog:https://youtu.be/hnQw71fHidU

Life with Ataxia, for me, can often seem to be a life lived in the middle of an anything-goes, let's-pick-on-the-little-guy, free-for-all, target practice....just like the ones that I experienced during my childhood. It was not uncommon to find myself being bombarded by pine-cones, water balloons, rocks, little green apples, handfuls of berries, dirt clods, dried cow pies, rubber bands, dirty underwear, golf balls, or shoes. A time when any one of these items, a combination of these, or any other fly-worthy object, would approach my innocent self at a high velocity (for I had done NOTHING to provoke this kind of response). I would just be walking along, COMPLETELY minding my own business, not bothering anyone, when suddenly wham! Something would fly out of the blue and dramatically collide with my person, often in a very painful way. Usually I would know better than to return fire because the outcome of trying to retaliate would only cause the rain of terror to increase in speed, volume, and accuracy. I spent a lot of time in my childhood playing Bob-n-Weave. It was not a game I found to be enjoyable. I even had a pitchfork thrown at me once, (read Once, I Was A Child, blog number 31, for the whole story).

I compare my life with Ataxia like to a game of Bob-n-Weave because there are times when I can see myself, placed right back in my younger days, with foreign objects flying at me from every which-way, seemingly from out of the blue. Only, now the items are not things from my childhood, like dodge-balls, or dirt-clods. These were objects that were thrown at me by someone else. Never once were my injuries from air-born foreign objects self-inflicted, nor do I remember ever being tempted for them to be. And even though I may not be tempted now.....no, let me rephrase that, I am definitely not tempted in any way, but my body apparently has different ideas. I might be sleeping peacefully, when out of nowhere, wham! A kamikaze leg cramp will decide that it is zero hour, and time to strike. I might be drinking my morning coffee, and suddenly, just like that, kablam! My throat decides to close up shop, puts up the sign that reads, "Be Back In Ten Minutes", and goes on a break. I know my throat doesn't smoke, so maybe it went to take a coffee break? Wouldn't THAT be ironic. Or, I might be walking on flat ground, when my legs will just decide that they have had enough of my feet, always having to lift them up. "We're tired of always being the ones to carry their weight, why can't they take care of themselves for a while?" (By the way, this really is how my legs talk, I heard them once....it was the same day I heard my money say goodbye). Anyway, because the legs do this, the feet will be left on their own to move, and since they can't pull themselves up by their own bootstraps, they are left to inch along the ground. The point being that, kerslam! I find myself shuffling, lurching, and finally falling.

Sometimes the current game of Ataxian Bob-n-weave reminds me of a time in College when a few friends and I found ourselves in a faculty member's garage. Don't worry, there was nothing nefarious going on. One of the guys that I was hanging out with that day was dating a girl whose parents lived in the house that we were messing around in. We actually spent a lot of time there, eating their food, and watching their television. They were like second parents to me and didn't mind us hanging out there at all. Fact was they encouraged us, as was evidenced by their frequent question of,  "Why do you guys always want to come here?". See what I mean? They wanted us there. So anyway, back to the story, one day a few of us found ourselves in their garage. One guy finds a loaded air rifle, pumps it ten or eleven times, and fires it at a metal shelf. At this point, you need to know that the kid that shot the gun was currently a 4.0 student and at College on a scholarship. Well, the rest of us quickly went into the universal Bob-n-weave stance, because the speeding BB had now ricocheted off the metal cabinet and was bouncing around, and none of us wanted to get hit, (apparently they all knew the game of Bob-n Weave too...they must have played as kids, also). We were in a single car garage so there really wasn't many places to hide. After the initial shock wore off, (two to three seconds), we laughed, decided it was fun, and did it again. It was either this, or do some homework, so....

I say that my present condition reminds me of that stupid kid back in that single car garage. It reminds me because.....well.....because that WAS me, and because not only do I still do a version of the Ol' Bob-n-weave, but I can now empathize with the BB that was spit out of the barrel of that gun, only to smack into a hard-metal shelf, and then to spend the rest of it's short travels bouncing, and pinging off other surfaces. The BB that never got to be a part of the decision making process concerning it's movements, (I would tell people that I have B-B-Ataxia, but then it would sound like I am stuttering). Whenever I stumble, and can't seem to stop the forward motion because there seems to be an unseen force of air pushing me, I see my old friend from College days, as he gleefully and methodically pumps that air rifle.

Another story from my childhood that reminds me of my current situation happened when I was somewhere around the age of four or five, and my two older brothers would have been eight and nine. I don't really remember where we were going to go as a family, but Mom had dressed us three boys in matching sailor's suits. She had gone to great lengths to clean us all up and dress us in the white outfits. All she asked of my brothers and I was that we stay clean while she finished getting ready, and we waited for my Dad to get home. So we promptly headed innocently outside to play, where an argument quickly ensued between my brothers. Things quickly escalated to the oldest brother throwing dried, (and some not so dried) , cow-pies at the other brother, who was returning throw-for-throw with dirt-clods. I somehow ended up on the brother's side who was getting hit with cow-dung, and even though I had a wood pole to stand behind for protection, managed to get hit numerous times. We were a complete mess by the time the fight was over. My brothers then decided, that since I was the youngest and couldn't resist their combined force of will, that I should be the one to calmly explain what happened to our Mom. I do remember walking into the house, seeing the look of sheer, unbridled delight in my Mom's face, and saying, "Bob and Jon did it."Beyond that I truly don't recall anymore details. Major trauma at that point may have something to do with this. I just can't imagine that my Dad was very pleased when he came home and Mom told him what his three darling little boys' latest adventure had brought about.

I relate this story to my Ataxia, in much the same way as I do the story of the Air Rifle. Things get thrown at me, and even though I may be an innocent bystander, Ataxia is always there to inflict it's force of will on me. BUT like I have said before, AND will say again...Ataxia does not dictate who I am, what I think, touch or dampen my Spirit. These are just snapshots of memories from a past that made me who I am today. I will never hand my disability the victory. I will never surrender. Ataxia may win a few battles, but will never win the war. Be strong, my friends.

No, Really....I Meant To Do That

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

I can remember quite vividly that there was a time when I did exactly what I meant to do. I know what you may be thinking at this point, but really, I am not making this up. I would make a decision to execute a certain task and actually get it done, most of the time it would even be done correctly. Now, stay with me here, because I know this next statement may seem to be stretching it just a little bit, BUT there were even times when I even acted without the need for any pre-meditation, or forethought, I guess you could say on pure reflex, or instinct. A-not-so-distant time when I could walk straight without appearing as if I were trying out for a position on the latest dance-related reality show, or to be an extra in a earthquake disaster movie. A time when I could chew and swallow without the need to update my Life Insurance Policy beforehand, when I could descend stairs or step off a curb without the need to first anchor a repelling rope, prior to my descent down the four or five inch sheer cement wall. And, yes, even a time when I could mix myself a simple tuna spread for lunch without first having the need to rent a small cement mixer to contain the mess made from mixing a 4 ounce can of fish with mayonnaise. There were so many simple things that I did in my life that I never had to think about, or that I ever needed to stop and contemplate beforehand.

BUT, these are just a few of the struggles, or challenges, that are known by most of us who are currently living within the reality of Ataxia, or another form of physical handicap. Examples, or the memories from the past that can quickly spiral down into negativity, if we allow ourselves to dwell on them. However, if you know me or read my blogs, you know that I try not to go negative.....and I really really try to stay away from any "spiraling" these days, emotionally OR physically! In fact the word spiraling reminds me of tossing around a football, which in turn reminds me of younger days spent playing football. I would either play one-on-one with my big brother, (but really for me this game was closer in resemblance to a game that should be called Cream-ball) ,with neighborhood kids at the summer picnics,( again, also known as Cream-ball, as all the older and bigger kids from the neighborhood always seemed to whined up on the same team and all the younger and weaker kids would make up the opposing team), or I'd play a game with friends at sleepovers and birthday parties. Now days the only spiraling I do is on a team of one as I fall into my easy chair, (which, sadly, at times can also be called Cream-ball).

I don't know who this guy was....Melissa was trying to get a picture of the little Windmill and he just wandered right in!

Now that I have been struggling with my SCA for several years, it occurs to me that, what "I mean to do", is currently my new " Of course I meant to do that". That it is no longer about those things that I used to do without thinking, back before my body pulled a Benedict Arnold and betrayed me. I now try to think of everyday occurrences as being things which I really had meant to do to begin with. I meant to waddle like a duck and bang my shin into the furniture. I meant to poke myself in the eye when I shampooed my hair. I meant to do a human impression of a pinball when I walked through the crowded store, and I certainly MEANT to slur my words and appear as if I am under the influence.

So, okay, I am not being completely serious. I mean, come on, who enjoys being referred to as having the waddle of a duck? Alright, alright, I'll be serious. I know how frustrating it can be, how hurtful it is to be misunderstood. Let's face it friends, most of the time the general public does not know or even begin to have a understanding of what it is like to be betrayed by your own body in this way. I had never heard of Ataxia before my diagnosis. We really need to change this, and I am reminding myself here just as much as any of you when I say that we need to stop allowing the past to depress us and live in the new normal. Everyday brings some kind of new challenge into my life, and it can be a struggle for me to not wish for the past. When life wasn't the constant avoidance of a life-altering injury or huge pain in the..... But it is a choice that I make. I choose the positive instead of the negative. I am a much happier person because I made that choice, and invite you to join me.

Plus, you have to admit," I meant to do that", is a great way to approach every day struggles and frustrations. I find that if I set out right from the beginning, and mean to drop a lid 4 or 5 times before actually getting it to go back on a bottle, than I feel better knowing that I've successfully accomplished another goal that I've set fr myself in my daily routine! Go ahead...try it.....dive right in, my friends.

A Multi-tasking Of One

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

I.... am....amazed.... I truly am. I am now, and have always been, perpetually astounded by women. More specifically I am continually awed, and impressed by my wife's ability to multi-task. WHERE she gets it from I will never know but she can run productive circles around me. A good example of this would be the blog that I am currently writing.  It really IS all that I can handle right now, and as I write my mind is focused on this one thing, and on this one thing only. I cannot be thinking about other things right now. But if Melissa was writing this blog? She would probably, more than likely, also be paying the bills, watching a favorite TV show, and washing the dogs, all at the same time. I am lucky if I can walk and form a cohesive thought simultaneously. Most of the time my idea of multi-tasking is to put a sock on each foot. Although, technically I guess, that couldn't really be defined as multi-tasking, since I usually do this one sock at a time. Come to think about it, it would seem that I have always been doing it this way, but sometimes the pressure of trying to decide which sock to pull on first is simply too much...IT FREAKS ME OUT!

But I digress, and over the years I have heard that women are just naturally better than men at handling multiple tasks concurrently. I don't know anything about that and I really don't want to stir up another war of the sexes because of something I might say in this blog. All I can tell you is that in my life and throughout personal experiences, Melissa is way better at handling multiple situations than am I.

I would love to be able to tell you that it is because of my neurological condition. I would love to blame the disease of Ataxia. But the truth is that I can't, because I have NEVER been good at trying to do more than one thing at a time. If I do, my usual G-rated demeanor is quickly transformed into a scenario that is R-rated because of excessive violence and language. I become very frustrated and enraged at myself. Which usually only serves to make things a whole lot worse because the harder I try, and the louder I become in my own slightly-altered version of positive self-talk, the bigger the mess becomes. No, I cannot in all honesty blame Ataxia as the root of the problem. However, I CAN say that my Ataxia amplifies the problem. My inability to do more than one thing at a time has been turned up to eleven, (if you saw the movie, This Is Spinal Tap, then you will understand that reference).

And so, you may be asking yourself right about now just exactly how I was able to make it through all my past employment, say, as a chef, without this skill? Well I am happy that you have chosen to ask such an astute question, and I would be more than happy to provide you with a very sensible, and insightful answer. And here it is..... I faked it, that's how. Now I know that you could argue that faking something while at the same time engaging in another activity is, in itself, a form of multi-tasking. First of all, I would like to thank you for your unwavering support, and albeit somewhat misguided, belief in me. And second of all....uh, well....actually that's it, there really is no second of all, I just thought that it saying that there was might add more legitimacy to the first, and only point. Kind of a cheap trick, I know, but I hope you don't mind.

Since I have already broached the subject of my past history of employment, namely the years that I spent in the kitchen, allow me to tell you a little bit about this. I learned to cook at a very young age when I started helping my mom in the kitchen. I always enjoyed being there, and it began to look as if I had a instinct, and a knack for it, so it seemed like a natural conclusion to head in the direction of making food a career. In 1986 I went to a Culinary Institute and then spent the next several years working in that profession. That is, until I came to the realization that I enjoyed cooking more as a hobby, making specialty and artistic meals for family and friends. Over the past few years that I have been dealing with the presence of Ataxia in my life, the delicate and fine art of cooking has begun to take on more of the appearance of a novice attempt at abstract art. The art form where someone is praised for haphazardly flinging paint onto a large canvas in some kind of seemingly weird chaotic statement. I think that really, the best way to describe my current process in the kitchen is to simply re-post a previous blog that I wrote on this subject.... And so here it is.... 

                             Care To Super-Size That Mess?


I've always, always made a rather large mess. Even before I was diagnosed with Spinocerebellar Ataxia, especially when it came to being in the kitchen. In 1986 I attended a Culinary Institute in Portland, Oregon and could spill, slop, and/or drop any food that I was preparing with the best of them. But post-diagnosis? Well, that puts me in a whole another class my friends, (think Edward Scissorhands meets the Swedish chef from the Muppets). To me, good tasting food has become synonymous with the need to do some serious clean-up. I have just accepted that things are going to get, um....interesting. Anyway, it seems like the harder I try to keep things tidy and the counters clean the worse it gets. So why fight it? I think I'll just go with it, and so......

I am seriously thinking of opening up a restaurant that I would name Che'SpaZtic's. The theme would be, "A place where friends are always welcome, and the food is always flying". Everything would be made and cooked in a big glass-encased room that would serve as the kitchen, and be in a central location that will be surrounded by the dining room so that everyone would have, and enjoy, a view of their food being lovingly hand tossed. This would serve a dual purpose. Watching food being prepared, and thrown around, by the cook staff would be an educational experience, but would also provide the night's entertainment. So, Che'SpaZtic's would, in every way possible, be like going to a dinner theater, and there would of course be a cover charge as such. All drinks would be personally shaken simply by default, not stirred, and the water glasses would be double the size of the normal water glass that you would receive at a regular sit down restaurant. That way, by the time the waitperson arrives at your table, and half the water has sloshed out while they walked, you will still receive a nice amount of ice water. There will not be a dress code, however since I will be there, the use of rubber clothing or bibs would be strongly encouraged and available for rent from a kiosk in the front foyer. And, of course, there would be a theme night. The most popular of which I predict would be food-fight night, although I can't figure out how to make that night any more distinguishable from the other nights at Che'SpaZtics.

The only question remaining that I have, is.....now that you know the hazards and potential perils of being around me.....would you spend an evening at that restaurant? Leave me a comment, I'd like to hear your thoughts.

Rediscovering What I Already Knew.

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjmCU7uW7xg

    I officially began my infamous life with Spinocerebellar Ataxia just a little over thirteen years ago. It was back in 2003 when I first received the news, and a span of thirteen years may or may not seem as if it were a long time ago...... it all depends on how you look at it, I suppose. The point is that during the thirty-eight years leading up to the diagnosis, I had been blissfully and totally unaware of exactly just what Ataxia is, and what it would eventually look like in my life.

    I wish that I could say I have picked up a huge stockpile of knowledge since that day.  The truth is that there really isn't a lot, and my secret has become a reality wherein I have become pretty good at faking it. But not EVERYTHING has become smoke and mirrors. Oh no...not everything.

    For example, I know now that not in every circumstance is muscle memory a good thing. The instant reflexes that I had possessed when I was younger, which had allowed me to snatch an item I had dropped out of the air before it hit the ground, are presently.... more often than not....  leading me to various injuries.

    Self inflicted wounds, such as eye gouging, and stomach punching, just too name a few. I am sure you will be able to imagine the others, but if further explanation is needed, just picture something falling towards the ground and that is somewhere, in it's travel, between my waist and my knees. And now picture me haphazardly throwing my open or closed hand at a high velocity towards that object. Sometimes I catch it, and sometimes I don't. Enough said.

    I know now that food packaging which claims to be, "easy-seal", is lying.  It is most definitely not truth in advertising.... at least for me it isn't.  I will waste somewhere between two minutes and a entire month just trying to get the two sides of the bag to line up and.... interlock, mesh, grab a hold of each other and form a bond....to do something, ANYTHING that will resemble that the two so-called self sealing sides are working together as a team!

    Sometimes I seriously have to wonder if herding one hundred feral cats in a straight line while being engaged in a heated potato sack race would be easier. And no sooner do I think that I've got the bag to successfully seal, and have taken the first step towards the freezer to put it away.... when the bag will open right up and spill half the contents out onto the floor, like it was really designed in the first place to empty it's contents onto a dirty floor at the earliest time possible. Seriously, it's like the ten pound bag of chicken nuggets is full of little paratroopers that can't wait to make their first dive.  I am NOT making this up, either, as this fun little scenario has happened to me twice, exactly as I've described it, within the last several days.

    I also now know that attempting to follow the first instructions that my brain.... in all it's wisdom.... sends out doesn't always work out well for me. My brain is still stubbornly looking at all the  normal tasks, and general problems that I encounter on a daily basis as obstacles that will be easily dealt with.

     I am discovering that my mind is,deceitfully...still living in the past and giving me bad advice. Telling me that I don't need to think about everyday situations first, but just jump in and do them.  That if I drop something, I should instantly bend over and retrieve it. That if I feel like breaking into a leisurely skip, jog, or interpretive dance, or possibly engage in a eating frenzy without chocking myself into a coma, that it will be okay and work out totally fine.... that I should just dive right in, and go for it. I have learned, through painstaking and extensive field testing, that this is VERY unreliable Intel.

    I also know that the first paper towel that I try to pull out of the dispenser in a public restroom will ALWAYS rip, and that by the time I am done drying my hands that the bathroom floor will be covered with pieces and little shards of paper towel. From exhaustive trials, I know that nothing will be accomplished after one try, like tying my shoes, or getting the cap to go on the toothpaste, (I have been known to brush my teeth).
 

    I know that closing my eyes and attempting to take more than one step forward in the shower to rinse my hair has the potential of becoming a life-altering event. I know that no matter how slow, or carefully I move, I will always spill water out of an open cup while walking. I know that laughter is the best way for me to strike back at my Ataxia, and I know that I don't plan to stop anytime soon.

    Over all this, I know that Ataxia is adding a little bit of a warped element to my life.

    Actually, now that I've really thought about it, I know more than I realized. I guess maybe I just needed to rediscover what I already knew!


.

These May Help.......

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: www.youtube.com/watch?v=gdq5MT_Kr7E


Over the span of my life, I have been many things. Now, some of these things were, admittedly suggested to me while being shouted vehemently by other people and cannot be repeated in this venue, or in any other polite conversation. In fact, I would be pleased if they were never mentioned again. However, when I think about my life, all the things that I have become and accomplished, a few truths about myself do become glaringly obvious. One of which is the sobering reality that I am NOT an inventor. Oh, I have had my share of ideas over the years. In fact, one of those light bulb moments happened when I was in my early twenties. Back in the late 80's, a friend and I had the brilliant idea of putting a pizza on the barbecue. We used barbecue sauce, and the cheese had a very rich smoky flavor. It was delicious, a true stroke of culinary genius. But a month later, as I was driving past a Take-N-Bake pizza restaurant, I saw a sign that invited people to take home one of their pizzas and try it on the barbecue. I couldn't believe what I was seeing! That was MY idea, and at that moment I saw the potential earnings balloon from a successful invention begin to deflate. I saw profits and company stock swirling down a rather large drain.  One thing I do know for sure, though, is that my wife is probably pretty sick of hearing the whine in my voice whenever I tell that story, although I am not sure why. I have only repeated that particular tale of great tragic woe several thousand times to family, friends, strangers, and even neighborhood dogs. Basically anyone or anything with two ears that I can hold captive for five minutes.

If you have been reading the blogs that I have been writing for the past two and a half years, then you are familiar with all the ideas and thoughts that I have had. Gadgets that I have dreamed up that would simplify my life, from the Pants-Put'er'onr to the Back-Exploding Parachute. I imagined a restaurant, named Che'SpaZtic's, to a form of Ataxia karate, named Attack-Cia Karate. In my everyday journey through life, with Ataxia along for the ride, I continue to see and imagine things that could be possible, in my thinking anyway, and that could be used to help me along the way. Here are several more that I have recently come up with:

The Venetian Stairs.- Stairways everywhere, in every part of the world, would be required to be fitted to have this capability. The idea would be that every stairway would have a rod at the top and one at the bottom that could be accessed by a handicapped person and twisted so that the stairs would fold flat, like window shades, and become a ramp. Not a bad idea, huh? There should be an official watch group set up to go around and identify all the public hazards that are caused by stairs. Maybe I should form a group, named, Be Aware, Don't Forget Ataxians Living Life, or B.A.D. F.A.L.L. for short.

Spray On Clothing.- It has been argued that life is becoming too simple as we lean more and more on technology that is being designed to make our busy lives easier. That we are actually becoming dumber, while our phones and various gadgets become smarter. But what I am talking about here is not just another gadget or convenience for the general public. It is for those of us who, to varying degrees, are handicapped and struggle with every day chores, like getting dressed. The idea would be that another setting would be placed on the existing shower head which would allow a person to select their clothing for the day from their wardrobe. Once finished with their shower, they could again stand or sit under the spray, twist the knob to the last setting, and have the desired clothing applied. I am also thinking of a hand-held unit for those quick changes on the go.

Skinless Food.- More and more with the unrelenting advancement of time I am finding that a choke-free eating experience is, like a lot of other things that were so easily taken for granted, going into hiding, (they have gotten really good at this too because no matter how hard I look I can't find them). It's getting so that I can't even enjoy a cup of coffee without occasionally going for the violent liquid-spewing record. Actually, I think that tacking on a Liquid Emissions Event to the Olympic Iron-man competition would be appropriate. Contestants would run four miles, bike uphill five miles, swim in a strong current for two miles, snipe targets at a thousand yards, and then blow a mouthful of liquid thirty yards. But I digress. My main desire in this category would be apples that are grown without that pesky skin. I'd love to be able to pick up an apple and take a worry-free bite, like I did when I was a kid.

Self-Made Beds.- I know they freak out and worry some people, but I personally love fully-automated stuff. I know that right now several companies are working on the self-driving car. This would be really cool, and of the many benefits to this, one big one would be traffic safety and a reduction of all sorts of wrecks and preventable accidents. The only way I can see it working though is if everyone adopts the concept, and these cars don't have to try and share the road with people that will insist on driving themselves. But I'm not thinking about what could benefit me in a few years. I'm thinking about what could benefit me RIGHT NOW! After having just laundered and spent time making the bed, I can, with complete conviction, (imagine at this point that I am looking you right in the eye), say that I would unabashedly love to throw clean sheets on the bed and have them stretch themselves out, and tuck themselves in.

Self-Driving Screw Tops.- I know that I have written about my battle with the screw lid before, but at the danger of repeating myself, I feel that this particular topic cannot be overstressed. The screw top invokes in me a reaction that is much like Superman's response to Kryptonite. My legs go weak,(weaker), my vision blurs,(blurrier), and I get shaky,(shakier). Seriously, it takes me so long to accomplish this task that I could start to put a lid on a bottle around Valentine's Day and walk into the living room after a victorious struggle, only to find my family decorating the Christmas Tree! Okay, so that's a bit of a slight exaggeration....I would more likely find the family putting up Thanksgiving decorations. Really, it's not just the placing of the cap onto the bottle, which is also a problem not to be overlooked, it's the screwing of the cap so that all the grooves line up and the lid is sitting straight. Not at some kind of forty-five-degree angle, which is what usually happens during the first dozen attempts. Whenever I remove the angled lid so that I can take another run at it, I will always lose my grip and drop it. The worst is when I've dropped it for the fourth time and it rolls under the hutch in my kitchen. Well, then I just have to prepare for an extended journey down to the floor to retrieve the cap. It is a huge process, and all I am saying is that it would be nice if I could just hold the lid several inches from the bottle, it would attach itself, and begin to rotate its own way down the neck. That's all I'm asking...would it be so hard for someone to invent this?

Speaking of automated items, that leads to the last item that I would like to mention:

The Self-Removed Tamper-Proof Seal.- I realize that these are used for public safety, and they do give us a piece of mind to see the seal and know that no one else has been using our items in any way. But come on, the struggle to remove one has become, for me, a time to reflect upon my life and come to terms with whether or not I really need this particular item in the first place. I usually end up using my teeth, and that doesn't help either because I end up just getting a nasty paper/foil taste in my mouth and I give up. Maybe if the manufacturers would make the safety seal taste like the product hidden behind the armored covering it would act as a motivator. I'd be like," Hey, that's pretty good, I'm gonna keep going!" I'd then be motivated to do whatever it takes to get past the security barrier, instead of moving on to easier pickings. The way I see this happening is to have all products with a safety seal tied to an internal locking mechanism. Only when the item has been purchased, the bar-code has been scanned, and the item has left the store will it finally unseal itself.

I could keep going because there are literately hundreds of banes to my existence. It's funny, but I never noticed all the things I encounter that were never a problem until.....well, until they became a problem. But like always I find the best therapy to get me through is my ability and willingness to keep laughing at these things, and my attempts to overcome them.

Zipper Wars And The Great Power Cord Rebellion

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rvq9xIe8iYA

There have always been skirmishes, conflicts, and battles, but THIS is a war. There is nothing as frustrating to me as a stubbornly entrenched zipper. On the surface it looks to be an easy ordeal to go from an open zipper to a closed zipper, but therein lies the problem.  For a person who doesn't have steady hands,  just successfully getting the two sides lined up together can be a major undertaking. After trying to get the little tine into the little receptacle five or six times, I look around for the hidden camera. I just hope I don't turn on the television one day and see some poor, sad little man comically struggling with his zipper, only to realize after laughing hysterically that the man on t.v., is in actuality, me!

Sometimes I wonder if the zipper was an invention that came from the mind of the person who invented the gag birthday candles that never go out no matter how many times you blow them. Just when you think you have them out they come back to life. As soon as I think I have the zipper beaten into submission and on it's knees it comes back to life and shows me that it still has some fight in it and a few tricks up it's sleeve to make my life difficult. This is usually shown by the two halves separating as fast as I can join them together because they were not lined up correctly, or the zipper will grab a piece of wayward fabric and shove it into the path of the closing teeth, much like the villain who ties the heroin to the train tracks, which will always result in the halt of any continuation of forward progress. I can almost hear the evil little zipper chuckling to its self, all the while twisting it's little black curly mustache, as I tug and pull to free the fabric so the forward momentum can continue.  Even after the zipper has been conquered and successfully taken all the way to the end, it still won't admit defeat and give up the fight, because zipping it up is only a partial victory. For example, I have a leather jacket, and all the zippers on it seem to think it's funny to twist the little pull handles so they are hanging in a direction that makes unzipping any of the pockets impossible. If I need to retrieve anything from these particular pockets I need to first excerpt myself and lose a pound of sweat before being allowed to gain entrance, because they've bound themselves into an impossible angle. It might be easier if I could just give a loud verbal command, like,"Open sesame"!

Now, before you suggest anything, let me just say that I know there are easier ways to go about this, and as much as possible I buy things with snaps, buttons, and/or velcro. But all of these, despite their levels of convenience, seem to always come with their own unique attitudes and special problems.

Cords are another thing that I have issues with.  If they are not jumping up off the floor to try and trip me as I am walking by, or stepping over them,  they are forever wrapping themselves around my ankles. I really don't understand their problem because I treat them nicely. I never harshly yank them out of the wall sockets or use them for a quick pick-up game of jump rope. I always keep them nice and straight and never twisted or allow them to become kinked. And I always wrap them up properly and store them with the equipment when I am done. But for some reason they have decided that this is not good enough and over the last several years they have begun to seriously miss-behave. I feel like I need to be a snake charmer just to vacuum my carpet. I'm not sure, but I think the problem may be that they overheard me talking about how nice it would be to have battery powered equipment. I think they feel their time is limited. And maybe it is.... but what do I know, it's just a theory!

Yes I know I could make my life a lot easier by just simply avoiding zippers and cords. But where is the adventure in that and where is the challenge, or fun?  Sure my poor coordination has made lots of things more challenging and hard to do, but to simply give up on everything because it has become difficult would mean to admit defeat and that I will never do. It just means that as my condition progresses I need to continually rethink the obstacles that lay before me, and draw up new battle plans.



























.

Should You Choose To Accept This Mission.

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog:www.youtube.com/watch?v=jg_jTJP9dBU

As I grew up and experienced the sometimes wonderful, and at other times completely baffling world of childhood, I quickly realized that I was not as physically skilled as the other kids. This is an area that I have already extensively covered in previous writings, so I will not re-visit the subject. However, one of the ways in which I DID resemble all the other children was in my love for television. I grew up spending three solid hours most Saturday mornings sitting in front of the tube in my pajamas, eating cold cereal, and watching Bugs Bunny elude Elmer Fudd, Scooby Doo solve mysteries as he cruised around in the Mystery Van, and Johnny Quest go on all sorts of adventures. Those were the days that were ruled by t.v. networks, and our available choices were limited to five channels. One of those was a public broadcasting station, which catered mostly to adults, so in my world there really were only four channels. That is until the day that I discovered that the public station showed Monty Python every Saturday night at 11 p.m. Then my world expanded and it was back to having FIVE viable channels.

Really though, the other four networks showed most of everything that my young mind could want. From The Wonderful World Of Disney, and Gilligan's Island, to The Six Million Dollar Man, and Mission Impossible. I loved Mission Impossible, and when I wasn't pretending to be Steve Austin, a man barely alive who was rebuilt and could now pull a cement-encrusted metal pole out of the ground and throw it like a paper javelin, I was accepting the newest mission from my superiors because my team and I were the only ones who could get the job done. I was always on the lookout for the next tape recorder, the one that would self destruct after a few seconds, or any other method that my boss would choose to relay my instructions. These things only ever existed in my make-believe world, and I never did receive the outside summons to embark on any clandestine missions, impossible or not.

I never received any external summons, but thirteen years ago at the age of thirty eight, I did accept delivery of an internal call to a version of Mission Impossible, named Ataxia Impossible. Actually, I didn't so much as accept the delivery as I had it thrust upon me, and over these last few years it has been like watching a movie. A movie where the main character will be pardoned and not sent back to prison if he will just successfully perform a task that seemingly only he can perform. You know the kind of story that I'm referring to. There is always lot's of action, and usually at least once or twice things will really look bleak for the main character, but in the end everything comes together in a neat little package and the hero gets his pardon and lives happily ever after. I accept the missions, but I never get the pardon.

An aspect of the Mission Impossible show that kept me enthralled as a kid were all the gadgets that the team got to use. My favorite would have to be the rubber masks that they made. When they put these disguises on, they transformed themselves into another person, and literally could, and would, fool anybody. Unfortunately, the missions I am called on to engage in do not require me to do, or perform, the same kind of visual trickery, but to just look like my boring self. I am a master at gaining weight, but sadly, this is not a skill that will help me complete a tough assignment. Tough ones, like the weekly cutting of my nails, shaping my beard with an electric trimmer and unstable hands, or brushing my teeth with a tool that could either be used to clean my teeth or continually prod and jab my gums are unfortunately not currently useful to anyone else but me. It's too bad, and it makes me feel like having a snack.....maybe even three.

I am considered to always be on active duty, and as such, can be presented with a mission at any time of the day or night. Usually my day is made up of dozens of operations, ranging from big to small. Just one example of a task that I have been internally called on to do in the past, and probably will be again in the future, is to jump up and answer the door. The mission is presented to me in a way, that should I accept,  may lead to a stubbed toe, a bruised shoulder or hip from walking into things, or a out-of-control dance followed by an epic fall. I could of course refuse to accept these missions that are presented to me throughout the day. But to do so would mean that I would absolutely do nothing. That's not an option. I just need to think about what I am doing, move slowly and with purpose, and modify how I do things while achieving the same results.

It's not Ataxia Impossible, it's Ataxia Possible, so never give up my friends. As always, I wish you all the best.