...And Yet, Another Winter's Battle In The Cold War

    Here is the link to the audio version of my latest blog: https://youtu.be/APWPCRe3FSI

     With Ataxia, there exists nothing that will knock me off my feet quicker than an ill-timed wrenching cough.....which is better know as the dreaded kamikaze-cough. The diabolical little enemy will swoop in silently, in an attempt to try and catch me totally unaware. If I am not able to reach out and grasp something solid to anchor myself to in about a nano-second, then all is lost. The surprise coughing raid was a success, and as the coughing spree flees the battlefield and the latest devastation that it has reeked upon me, I am left crumpled on the ground in a burning heap. Sometimes, during a severe cold, the ruthless little enemy will circle around and hit me again with another round of racking coughs before I have even had time to assess the damage done from the first wave. Talk about taking advantage of a situation and hitting a man when he is already down...

     The common cold doesn't just limit itself to only one weapon, though. It will also use the sneeze, often with excessive frequency, trying to knock me down and keep me off my feet. Although another favored attack in the cold war, the sneeze-maneuver is considered to be slightly less efficient in the realm of sneak attacks because it will pre-announce its impending arrival. Often the warning will be only half a second, but almost always, this advance notice will provide me with just enough time to batten down the hatches. Of course, the sneeze makes up for the slight shortfall in sneakiness, with its sheer ferocity, and the multiple attacks of its delivery.

     Being rather unstable on my feet anyway (thanks, Ataxia)... what I would find to be helpful in these situations would be a backpack that held a heavy metal anchor...one that could be instantly released onto the ground via a door on the bottom of the pack. The weight would be attached to a thick steel chain (the chain would also be very rusty...therefore making it more realistic). This system might actually serve a dual purpose...the extra bulk may help my balance, and it would also allow me to "drop anchor" at any time, thereby stabilizing myself, and significantly reducing the damage done by coughing or sneezing attacks.

     As if being constantly vigilant for sneak attacks by coughing, and frequent sneezing wasn't enough, the cold war comes with some other goodies....like the ever popular nasal congestion. The endless need to blow my nose is bad enough, but the continual necessity to be seated, or to hold on to something first, is really putting a limit on what I can do. It has been said before that some people find it challenging to walk and chew gum at the same time. Well...I am hard pressed to be able to blow my nose and walk at the same time! Between waves of coughing, sneezing, and frequent nose blowing.....I spend most of my time in my recliner.

     For someone who already slurs his words (I find it continually challenging to portray my deep sense of overwhelming debt to Ataxia)...I find the cold to bring with it a further impediment to clear and precise speech. Because of the congestion, my cursive speech will now have noticeably more of a dramatic flair to all the loops, swirls, and overall general flow (refer to the last blog for a definition of cursive speech).

     The cold will soon have run its course though, and I will once again be free from the germ warfare of the cold war for a while....that is, until next winter's campaign.

And Then I Went On To Say....

   After posting my last blog, which was a compilation of some previous quotes and pictures from previous writings, I decided to do a follow up. This blog contains more samples of things that I wrote in previous blogs, and again, I am including some pictures that I had used in some of those past writings. Hope you enjoy......

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   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 too hard, my leg muscles should remember this and know what to do, right? Uh, yeah, they're like, "What's this thing called.....running? Nope, sorry, don't believe we've ever heard of it before or ever had the pleasure."

     I suppose it is a good thing that I never aspired to run off with the circus as a kid, although I probably could have had a lucrative career as Clumsy The Clown, where everything I try ends up in an epic comedic disaster.

     For example, is it so crazy to want to simply get out of bed at three a.m. to check the plumbing in the bathroom without the drama of shaky legs, and feeling like I am trying to stay on my feet in a ninety-mile an hour cross wind? 

     Apparently, there is a smaller office behind the main mind's office that is a control room of sorts. The way it was explained to me is that the job of this little office is to translate orders from the main office, and then to send them out as mandates to the other departments. The problem that has developed is that the person in charge of the little office and ensuring that it runs smoothly has become unstable and highly unreliable. He calls in sick half the time, and when he does show up....well, he's not all there if you know what I mean. The lights are on but nobody's home. And I can't fire him. Believe me, I've looked into it but he 's got some kind of iron-clad contract. I don't know, it all seems like internal politics to me. 

    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.   

     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. 

     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.

     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!

.....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 an 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 by 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.


     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.)

     I start the day off, in a very similar fashion I suspect that most of you do, by waking up. Right away I start my day off on a positive note, as I have already accomplished the first goal that I have set for myself. 

.....in the present, I DO think of Dominoes every time I reach into a cupboard, attempt to put something away or reach into the refrigerator. I am not making this up when I say that sometimes, what should have taken me seconds, now takes me minutes because of all the things that tumble out of the cupboard or that fall off of the counter when I reach for something else.

.....there is a large benefit that has come into my life because of my current Neurological situation. Hand-holding. Lot's of hand-holding, and other forms of physical contact. 

     I would also find it immensely helpful if my SCA would put just a little more effort into working with me. I mean, really, how hard could this be? It seems like such a small request to me. It's already there, re-shaping my Cerebellum and adding a bunch of weird side effects. It seems to me that it would be a small thing if it could throw in a helpful symptom once in awhile.

    The panic would first take a firm grip on my young mind when I heard from the adult authority in my classroom that the test would require the use of a number two pencil. This statement was said with such surety, and in a commanding voice, that I was utterly convinced that if I had anything but the required number two, say even a pencil that was a two-point-one, that I would fail in every aspect of life from this point on.

    Lately I have begun to envision that there is a highly contagious, and rampant neurological disease spreading around the globe that has been tagged as the Upright-Bug. Symptoms manifested by the infected are perfect balance, clear speech, and the ability to eat without spilling or choking. There are several different manifestations, and groups, that are resistant to the virus, and these people have come to be known as handicapped, or uniquely gifted.

    Just once I would like to walk to my recliner or the bathroom at night without Ataxia tagging along. But it really doesn't matter how silent I am, (or think I am), Because the second I even open my eyes, there he is, staring at me like he has been watching me sleep, just waiting for me to wake up, and is now ready for anything. "What are you doing? Where are you going? I better come with you....." Ugggggghh, I can't make him stop! GPS units have nothing on Ataxia, he is the ultimate stalker.  

    However, lately, I have come to refer to "it" as a "him". This is because in my last blog, giving him his own persona is how I associated with my handicap. It struck me the other day that even the vilest of criminals and villains have names, and so it only seemed appropriate for my personal Neurological-thorn to have one too. And once that was decided, I really took the task seriously. I pondered, I paced, I meditated, I wanted a name that would perfectly sum up his persona in one simple phrase. I enumerated, struggled mentally, and reached for a perfect name...and then, three seconds later I landed on the name Brutus the Crippler or The Crip for short. He really hates when I call him that, but it seemed fitting. The guy's an animal, a brute with absolutely no compassion.

    An example of this kind of system would be, to only order, say, the Guacamole Burger when I am wearing a green shirt. This way I can walk out of the establishment with my head held high, and not resemble someone who has just spent a month engaged in a high-intensity food fight. 

   I don't know much, but one thing I do know is that over the years I haven't always done the best job with being able to immediately handle the changes that have come barging rather rudely into my life.  I usually land somewhere in the middle of a sliding scale comprised of kicking-and-screaming on one end, and an epic temper tantrum on the other.  

    I really don't want to brag, but it only took me thirteen years to discover that I can't just jump up out of my seat and rush somewhere when any old thought or mood strikes me. Those days are also long gone, and now I need to stand up slowly, while holding on to something, (something other than myself, because that just wouldn't be of any help), and just stand...frozen until I am confident enough to step forward, being sure that my legs will stand-up in their duty to support me.

    I am finding that there seems to be a connection between my diagnosis of SCA and my struggled attempts to find any kind of synchronized rhythms or patterns. The mere act of bringing my two hands together more than twice in a coordinated clap is proving to be a real challenge. Often it appears more to be the swatting away of imaginary spider webs.

....at a party, I wouldn't introduce the obvious elephant in the room as,"a close and personal friend of mine". He showed up at my door one day, (Ataxia), thirteen years ago.....just like that, not even a phone call, a text, a letter, a fax, a tweet, or even a smoke signal first to announce his impending arrival, and decided that he liked it so much here that he has no plans to ever leave my side......lucky me".

    I even use more effort than necessary when sliding the shower curtain closed. If it was possible to make a loud crashing sound when a plastic shower curtain was being closed, then I would most definitely be the one to make it happen! Luckily for me, my shower curtain doesn't shatter like glass, or we might be having a different conversation right now, probably something along the lines of being more.....uh, medical in nature, if you follow me.

    I have considered before trying to sell him at a yard sale....but even with a drastically reduced price (in which I don't come close to breaking even but actually losing money), I'd still wind up being stuck with him for the remainder of this life. Even a good ol'fashioned unsuspecting buyer wouldn't be able to see themselves owning an SCA.

    Do you think that if I requested The Police's Don't Stand So Close To Me, that Ataxia would get the idea that I need some personal space?

    I walk around my house all day feeling like I am trapped within a giant Pinball venue, and all that is missing is the large scoreboard that tallies the growing score, with the sound of the constant beeps and whistles.

    Either one type of day will be dominate and be the only one to show...like dropping EVERYTHING, constantly stumbling, and continually walking into objects. Or the other reality will present itself...where I fall, stumble, and walk into stuff only HALF the time...which is also known as a good day.

    While laying on my back in the driveway, having just finished a grand fall backward, I realized that I don't know my neighbors very well. They seem to be good people, but at that moment I realized they are not anything like the good people at State Farm....who, by the way, were not there. ( Take a second, it will come to you.) 

But, This Is What I Said....

    As I’ve said before, I prefer to think of my Neurological Disease, regarding how it has affected my life, in positive ways rather than negative. For example, through NO effort on my part, I am now bilingual. What I have referred to in the past as, "Cursive-Speech," may not be a dialect that is currently recognized the world over as an official language. Nor is it one that is tied to any particular ethnic group. However, the fact remains that with each passing day, I am becoming more and more fluent.

I was thinking the other day about all of the different ways, and the inventions over the last 3 and a half years that I have written about in the blog known as, My Life- A Journey, With Ataxia Along For The Ride. With this in mind, I thought that I would go back to those previous writings and pull a few quotes out for your enjoyment, along with a few prior pictures as well. This will in some ways be like the greatest hits...but in no way will it include everything, just a few of my favorites...beginning with the above reference to an Ataxia dialect....
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.....Could slurred speech please be recognized as a second language? Maybe it could be called Cursive-Speech, you know, since Cursive's brief association with that whole writing stint appears to be done now. No one even uses it anymore....and the ancient art of Cursive writing is just sitting there...up on the shelf! It is only gathering dust...so why can't we reassign it to the area of speech and make it usefull again? That way I could be bilingual, as Ataxia already seems to come equipped with this ability.....Unless I hear that there are any objections, (and I can't hear anyone speaking up right now), then I am going to go ahead and refer to slurring as Cursive-speech. It just sounds more sophisticated than slurring, which is something you do when you're drunk. I'm not.

.....When I was diagnosed with Ataxia at 38, the old half-burned-out light bulb that is my memories, flickered and sputtered...and then came fully on. Why? Because this explained so much, my whole childhood raced glaringly through my mind’s eye, and I took a long walk,( or stumbling shuffle ), down memory lane.

.....Another example of the new tendency towards a life of constant upheaval was my unwavering attraction between anything harder than the surface of my eye and my eye. The one physical ability that has proved the test of time is my talent for poking myself. Like a 2-year-old who is always putting things in his mouth and/or inserting objects into the outlets, I am constantly prodding, poking and inserting things that were never intended to go into my eyes. The only difference is that the young child does these things out of a sense of exploration or curiosity. I already know what my middle knuckle feels like when I use my eye to stop it as it travels at warp speed. I don’t need to explore the possibilities, thank-you.

....Crowds are another serious obstacle for me. I use the word "serious" because most things are one or the other, a challenge or an obstacle. Crowds are both, an extreme overachiever

....  So, what’s the bottom line, you ask? The bottom line is that I don’t recall ever ASKING for my life to go this way. What’s it like? It’s a lot like answering your front door to find the Publisher’s Clearing House Prize Team. Through streamers, confetti, and general fanfare, they declare in a very enthusiastic shout that it is your lucky day, your ship has finally come in. You, of course, are a little excited, but at the same time, a bit nervous as well and wondering if this is indeed happening. You are then informed that, although your ship has indeed arrived, it is a patched up rubber raft.

.....One of the problems I am facing right now is that the brain is responding to situations instantly and sending signals that it expects to be obeyed without pause, time for reflection, or regard to reason. 

.....I used to enjoy being able to sneak into the kitchen and get a snack without alerting everyone in the house or the next door neighbors. In and out without a trace, and I could enjoy that second or eighth cookie without tripping the alarm. Now I bang into everything, drop most stuff multiple times, and generally cause such a calamity that it would have been quieter to shout, "I'm going to be a pig and have a second bowl of ice cream"!

.....Ataxia showed up in my life like a loud, obnoxious party crasher. It barged its way in, interrupting the peaceful proceedings, appearing to be already half drunk like it was just gracing my festivities after having previously been at a different event.

.....Through the vision of fantasy I approach a problem as confidently as James Bond, but through the haze of reality I fumble and flap around like PeeWee Herman.

.....I am seriously thinking of opening up a restaurant that I would name Che'SpaZtic's. The theme would be, Where friends are always welcome, and the food is always flying!

.....I'm thinking of opening my own gym, after the highly successful restaurant that I wrote about in a previous blog, Che'SpaZtics, is up and running of course. There I would teach a form of Martial Arts that I will call Attack-Cia Karate. I would practice this form out in public, and I can imagine that the comments may be heard as something like this, "Daddy, look at that funny man, it appears as if he's having a seizure as he walks down the sidewalk." "No son I heard about this, I think he's practicing a new form of handicapped Karate."

.....Sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes my Ataxia can feel like an annoying acquaintance who is constantly bumming something off me. If I go anywhere, it is always there to ask if I would mind giving it a ride? " Hey can you swing me by....?, or,"Would you mind....? Honestly, I feel like shouting, " YES I WOULD MIND, WOULD YOU PLEASE,  PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S DEAR, JUST FOR ONCE, LEAVE ME ALONE"!?

.....It seems to me that if one of these fast food chains wanted to really make a great happy meal that they should include a new Cerebellum with each order instead of a toy. At least make it an option!

.....Going in to see a Neurologist is, in a lot of ways, like taking your car to the mechanics. You can't just give the mechanic your car key and say, "The car won't go." They need specifics, something along the lines of, "I'm starting to backfire and stutter....uh, I mean the car's exhaust is starting to backfire and stutter when I creep along or go slower than 5 miles an hour....

.....There are a few things in my life, I have come to realize, that are incredibly consistent. One of which is the invitations to do bodily harm that I receive from gravity.  I keep trying my best to ignore its hospitality, but it never seems to be discouraged, relentlessly sending out invites every day.

.....At least, as of the current date, I haven't located any little portholes, like behind my ear, that I can stick a bent paper clip into and have my balance put back to factory specifications. Nor have I yet to discover any combination of movements or body manipulations, like sticking out my tongue while squeezing my nose, that will enable me to speak clearly.

.....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 exactly 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.

.....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.

.....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.

.....Ever since the official diagnosis of my physical disability, I feel as if I have been engaged in a massive 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 underdog's underdog.


.....I'm really not sure how this keeps happening, but my working theory is that something, or somebody, is adding minute amounts of weight to my shoes every night. I have been noticing over the course of the last year or so that it is becoming more and more difficult to lift my feet when walking, and this causes a shuffling, which brings about a falling.

.....If at first, you don't succeed.....and if you have Ataxia you probably won't. At least that seems to be the case with me. In fact, I was, and have been thinking, that it would be nice if I could simply skip the first, second, third, and most likely the fourth attempt and go straight to the final act of accomplishment.

     Well, there you go.....just a few of the things that have been part of my writings over the last three to four years. There are much more...and who knows...I may submit another blog like this one. Let me know what you think.

That's What They Say, Anyway.

  Here is the audio version of this blog: www.youtube.com/watch?v=n02BNlJF-Qc   

     As I tripped and fell the other day, for perhaps what could be the thousandth time, I had a moment to reflect before I hit the ground. In that brief second, three things occurred to me. For one, I realized that I was, at this exact moment, currently engaged in what could very well be a spectacular anniversary of falling. The second thing to quickly present itself was that if this fall is indeed an anniversary fall, then maybe I should be celebrating the milestone in one way or another. My third reflection surrounded the notion that falling seems to be coming much more naturally for me, and now seems to obtain a certain graceful fluidity to it... while other people seem to really have to work at it. As I fell, I also began to have all of the catchy little advertising phrases, helpful limericks, and musical jingles that we hear, cycle through my mind.

     I am not the kind of man that feels comfortable wearing pink.... nor do I see myself bearing any resemblance to the Energizer Bunny. Maybe, I thought, if the bunny was wearing a Timex Watch...and this leads me to think about the familiar slogan.... where the little bunny would now be able to take a licking and yet continue to go on ticking. In my mind, this familiar little jingle was changed to a saying that would better fit my Ataxia. One that would instead go something like this, ".....takes a licking and keeps on bounce'n.....off walls.... floors.... the ground, etc... etc."

    While laying on my back in the driveway, having just finished a grand fall backward, I realized that I don't know my neighbors very well. They seem to be good people, but at that moment I realized they are not anything like the good people at State Farm....who, by the way, were not there. ( Take a second, it will come to you.) But, lest you think that I am only going to pick on the good neighborly people at State Farm, I should also mention that the good hands of Allstate were also not anywhere to be found. Of course, this could entirely be a reflection of the fact that I do not have a current policy with them. Nonetheless, the jingle that I have heard since infancy was not enough to keep me from striking my unattended target.

     My journey with Ataxia has also significantly reversed the order of how some things now progress throughout the day. An example of this kind of event lays within the saying which states that what goes up, must come down. For me, this statement has become, what goes down must once again get back up. I suppose, though, that one could argue the validity of this. Because in order for me to fall down I had to first stand up, which would prove the original statement as true. However, it can also be argued that in order for me to stand up I would first need to fall down....or else, what would I be standing up from? I'd already be standing, wouldn't I? It's a bit of the whole chicken and the egg thing. Best to not think about it too much, but just accept it on faith.

     While I am on the subject of the chicken and the egg, and which one came first...my days are filled with similar questions. Only I am plagued with questions like, which came first; the stumbling or the spill? The good intentions that I had, or the huge mess that I left in my wake? The misstep, or the Ataxia river dance? I suppose that the answers to these questions of mine don't really matter...as the prequel and the main event seem to always go together, and appear at times to even be interchangeable.

     I could keep going with making correlations between many more quaint little sayings and quips that we all know. Instead, I am going to leave you with my thoughts on just one more. The saying goes that all that begins well, ends well. Physically? For me? Uhhhh....no, this would NOT be the case. However, I do not think that this phrase is referring to the physical alone. Mostly, I believe that it is referring to an attitude....more specifically, my mental and spiritual outlook and state of being. Yes, I experience physical trials, disasters, and frustrations throughout my day...but I have learned that these things have absolutely no control over my will. My ability to love, laugh, enjoy loved ones, and to share myself with others is not, or will it ever be, tainted by Ataxia.

   Like the reflections on the river that I am standing next to, the outlook that we have, and the attitude of our heart, is a reflection of us. Ataxia is only a physical symptom...do not let it become a reflection of who you really are.

And....That's The Magic Of....

 Here is the audio version of this blog: www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OYyqQgOufk 

    As I look back on my younger days, it is amazing to me to realize and see just how many things are related directly, (shockingly, I realize that I'm still the same person now physically, as I was then.... as a child....figure that one out), to my onset of Ataxia in my adult years. If you have been reading my blogs, you know that I have been able to connect quite a few events from my childhood to my current life.

     Having these events in my life makes it all seem to be very convenient... like I am making it up just to prove a point, and to give myself something to write about. I assure you though that this is not the case. You are, dear reader, getting the truth and nothing but the truth.

     A couple of days ago I wrote a Facebook post about the wonderful world of magic that Ataxia is. I had just made a laundry bottle cap disappear right before my very eyes, (if I hadn't been there I probably wouldn't have believed it). This was easily accomplished, by fumbling it, eventually flipping the screw top behind the dryer, where it promptly rolled underneath, to never be seen again....unless of course, I moved the dryer, but that would reveal how the trick was done. Anyway, this thought opened up another previously uncorrelated memory from my childhood....because on the Christmas of my ninth year, I received a beginner's magic set.

     One of my favorite things to do, however, was not learned from the beginner's box of tricks. I used to really enjoy performing for friends and family the fifty-two-card-pick-up trick, which I guess wasn't much of a trick at all. Basically what you did was fling a deck of cards all over the floor and then yell out for them to now pick them up. Unfortunately, this was a one time trick...as most of my audience understood how this particular trick was done...and there almost never seemed to be a particular eagerness expressed for a repeated performance.

     The fifty-two-card-pick-up trick was an easy enough feat to master, required no practice beforehand, nor did you need to spend any energy in forethought. You basically just grabbed a deck of cards in one hand, bent them like you meant to shuffle them, and instead shot them all over the floor. This is much the same concept as my Ataxia. It needs no forethought, planning, or skills.....and quite often when I grab something with one hand, it may look like I mean to do something else...but in the end, there is just a big pile on the floor that has to be picked up. Ataxia is also a trick that I am not eager to repeat.

     One of the tricks that DID come from the box, though, was performed with what looked to be an ordinary deck of playing cards. In reality, only half the cards were a mix of standard cards...the other half were all the same card...which, in my case, was the five of hearts. The idea was to fan quickly through the deck before an utterly awestruck individual and have the complete deck appear to be entirely normal. The card deck would then be placed face down, tapped a few times with a finger, and fanned quickly again before the person for who the trick was being done. However, this time the entire deck would appear to contain a vast number of the same card....which again, in my case, was the five of hearts.

     Even though this was a simple trick, done forty-three years ago, I still feel bound by the magician's code to not reveal the secret behind this dazzlingly impressive card trick, (it was a rigged deck...where the two different types of cards were of differing lengths. So depending on how you held them and fanned them out, one or the other face-type would be dominant and the only one to show...but you didn't hear that from me).

     In a lot of ways, that old card trick resembles my Ataxia.... which is to say that, depending on how I hold onto things, and shuffle them throughout the day, this will have a significant determination on how it will go for me. Either one type of day will be dominate and be the only one to show...like dropping EVERYTHING, constantly stumbling, and continually walking into objects. Or the other reality will present itself...where I fall, stumble, and walk into stuff only HALF the time...which is also known as a good day.

     Ataxia has provided me with the skills and natural abilities to pull off some pretty spectacular tricks. Like a good magician, however, I will not be persuaded to give away the secret behind the trick. Anyway, the truth is that no one actually even asks me how my particular Ataxia tricks are done....they only want to know why they were done. This state of affairs has always been a mystery to me...as no one ever asked Houdini, or other well-known magicians exactly WHY they did a particular trick. People were only obsessed with knowing how they did a certain trick. This seems to be extremely backward to me, as no one has of yet identified and come to truly appreciate the magic that Ataxia is.

     There were, of course, other tricks in the box that I received in my youth, the details of which  I can't exactly recall....but the common theme behind all of them was based on illusion. This just so happens to be another way in which my Ataxia is tied into my nine-year-old magician's skills. What appears to be normal....is not always that way. Of course, the more time I spend with SCA, the more I realize that I have to downplay any illusion of looking normal. You know, like walking straight, poking myself in the eyes and other vital organs, etc, etc. I'd never be able to get anything done if I didn't, because people would constantly be stopping me and wanting me to perform some sort of Ataxia-based-illusion for them. I don't have that kind of time.

     And before anyone asks me...no, I cannot take on an apprentice. I don't know exactly why I have these skills, but it can not be taught. Believe me...if I could open up a school to the general public, and teach them Beginning Ataxia, I would...because I'm sure I could make millions...or maybe just thousands...hundreds? It would be more than I have right now, anyway. Maybe I could contribute to the popular How-To series, by writing an Ataxia Magic And Illusions For Dummies Handbook. It's actually not that hard...all you need is to own an official copy of Ataxia...the rest will come naturally.

     I'm kidding, of course, and if you have read my writings, then you know that I do this. I also can be serious, and very sober,....but I joke about Ataxia in my life in an effort to lighten the mood. Yes, Ataxia is serious...and yes, there is plenty to be frustrated about. I believe, though, that we need to experience some balance in our lives. Life with any form, or kind of Ataxia, can be challenging...and depressing...but it can also be incredibly ironic, and funny. It is a matter of how you look at it...and I, for one, will continue to find the humor in my situation...so that Ataxia will not try to highlight, and bring out the negative....as it has a way of managing to do if we let it.

     Almost three years ago I wrote a blog entitled, Seriously?, in which I went into depth on my feelings about Ataxia. I have included the link to that writing if you would like to read it again...or for the first time.

http://jasonwolfer.blogspot.com/2014/01/seriously.html

It's A Pinball Kind Of Thing.

 Here is the audio version: www.youtube.com/watch?v=YLrzz-HOKUE 

    There is a phenomenon that continues to happen in my life.... and I am pretty sure that the blame, all the shout-outs, and a significant amount of the credit should go to Ataxia. Well...that and the fact that while attending College, I spent a portion of my study time repeatedly sending a little steel ball (that had done nothing wrong, mind you) shooting and bouncing around inside a lighted arena..... an electronic game board that was full of numerous and varied chances for the ball to become shot around ....violently and seemingly without end.

     Two friends and I would go, at least once a week, to a 24-hour restaurant that was located at an all-night truck stop. During our spurts of studying....(which, really, could be defined more as long sessions of eating pie, french fries, milkshakes, and/or drinking gallons of coffee)....we would take rejuvenation breaks, in which we would visit the game room in the back of the establishment and play copious amounts of Pinball.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=4AKbUm8GrbM

     Never once, while vigorously and rather enthusiastically batting the ball back into active service with the button-activated flippers, did I stop to ponder, reflect, or even consider the possibility that there was a day coming shortly when the spirit of the little steel balls everywhere would exact their revenge. I didn't think this way 32 years ago, but I do now. I reflect on my likeness to that steel ball from yester-year, every time I ram my shoulder into something and I am sent springing into another object. I either bounce back and forth between these two items, or I am sent into a third obstacle. I walk around my house all day feeling like I am trapped within a giant Pinball venue, and all that is missing is the large scoreboard that tallies the growing score, with the sound of the constant beeps and whistles.

     Ataxia is not easy...nor is it a good time....but I have always tried to find the positive side, and dwell on these things in my dealings with my Neurological sidekick. Being like a ball in a pinball game is not always easy...or fun either....but it does require movement, and keeps me on my feet. Even though it becomes increasingly challenging to navigate and move around sometimes, I believe strongly in the motto that says, " If you don't use it, you'll lose it".

     The ball is also producing some positive results....as it flies around and racks up points. I'm not saying that I fly around....but at the end of the day I can look back and see that I have at least tried to be productive.

      Ataxia has brought back certain aspects of bounciness, and large amounts of springing and ricocheting into my life, and I just keep trying to beat my own top score!

And, This Next Request Goes Out To...........

 This is audio version: www.youtube.com/watch?v=WqAA06ypj88

  During the 1970's, when I was...uh, a wee bit younger....life's activities revolved almost entirely, in one fashion or another, around music. My older brothers always seemed to have either, the radio playing or they were spinning one of their favorite 45s on our little one-speaker record player. In those days I also owned a little red transistor radio that accompanied me on my journeys and adventures around the little farm that we lived on, and into the woods behind our house.

     In the school year of 72-73, I was in the 3rd grade and launched into the musical journey that would influence the rest of my life. Everything started for me when I picked up an alto saxophone and set my sights on joining the 5th-grade band, which really, was my first opportunity to play a role in and to be a part of any form of organized group. And so, with this goal in my sights, practicing began in earnest....by my quick attempts at laying down some seriously smooth saxophone licks....but which unfortunately came out more like the shrieks and screeches of two desperate alley cats fighting over one tiny scrap of food. Whenever I saw someone playing a sax in a nightclub scene on television, they had made it look so easy. It appeared as if all you had to do was pick one of the things up, and blow into it. Apparently...it was going to be slightly more challenging than that depiction.

    So...I practiced...and practiced...and I did very well, ending up playing 1st Sax in the 5th and 6th-grade band, (by-the-way, the 5th and 6th-grade band members were viewed as being on the professional level as those who perform before a sold-out crowd at Carnegie Hall). I was at the height of my musical career. Eventually, I finished the 6th-grade and moved up to the 7th and 8th-grade band. I continued to flourish at this level as well, and to this day wish that I would have stayed with the saxophone.

    Alas though, halfway through my 7th-grade year I was seduced by the call of the rock band...and, well...I traded in my sax for an electric bass guitar and an amplifier. I had two friends that were very gifted as well....one played the electric guitar, and one had a rather large drum set that he knew his way around quite proficiently....and so, it seemed only natural at this point that we would form a band. We would get together every Friday night to jam. We would stay up all night....wildly, enthusiastically, and loudly playing through cover after cover of our favorite rock tunes. The 3-piece band carried on this way for two years, until we decided to write a six-minute instrumental that would be entered into a local contest.....a song that we hoped would make the final cut, and be a part of an album that would showcase various local bands.

Above is a picture that is roughly a representation from my beginning years as a bass player.

     We stayed up all night writing and recording a track that was felt to be a perfect submission for the album. During that evening, however, some things within the band changed, and that next morning it was decided that we needed to split up. The track that we had worked so hard on never saw the light of day. I have no idea what happened to the recording, and I never heard the song again from that day forward.

     I entered High School around that same time, and I joined the school's jazz band. I was a part of the rhythm section of the band, which consisted of an electric guitar player, a drummer, and a keyboard player. We accompanied 30 brass instruments and served as the structural backbone for the big band. During those days, the intricacies and demands of playing jazz bass helped to stretch me and sharpen my playing skills.

      At the same time, my oldest brother acquired a beautiful seven-piece drum kit. He assembled the drum set in the basement of our house, and with a friend of his on six string, and myself on bass...we formed another band. For quite awhile we stuck to doing covers of songs, from bands like The Eagles, Joe Walsh, and Bad Company...but eventually, we were engaged to play at a party at the house of the guitar player's brother. It had a particular theme that we wanted to fit into....so we changed the name of the band, and I set about writing several songs that were a good match for the situation in which we would play.

Pictured above was the band with my older brother who played drums. I did not get a picture with him, but I really wish that I had. This was the last band I played in.

     We continued to play, and have fun together until I went away to College. I was gone for several years, and within that time priorities changed. My brother met a girl, and when they became serious he had less and less desire to play. He eventually sold his drums, and a similar thing happened with the guitarist as well. I came home from College with different ideas and desires, and we never played together again. I continued to play once in a while, but without a musical group to be a part of, I quickly became bored and over the course of time discontinued playing entirely.

     However, to this day, I continue to have a deep-seated connection with music....and I gave you a brief overview of my musical background, not because I think you need to know it...or maybe even want to know it...but so that I can say this......

     It is approximately thirty+plus years later, and I find myself wondering if music is a force that could influence or shape my Neurological partner-for-life, Ataxia. Or better yet, maybe I should just cut to the chase and inquire whether or not Ataxia takes requests.

     Do you think that if I requested The Police's Don't Stand So Close To Me, that Ataxia would get the idea that I need some personal space? Or, if I were to request Don Henley's You Don't Know Me At All, do you think Ataxia would realize that it is not the one in charge, and stop acting all haughty and superior? Would my SCA get the idea that I am done with him, and it is time to leave if I played Eddie Money's Get A Move On?

     Unfortunately, my Ataxia would not be affected in this way, ( for he is very stubborn). Through the course of my life, however, I have learned that music is a gift, and can lift my soul to places that go far beyond myself. Through music, I can easily lift my focus and thoughts from daily struggles and the trials, and turn them to see the bigger picture of life all around me. It helps me center my thoughts, marvel at the Creation.... to realize that life is so, so much bigger than me, and does not revolve around my Ataxia.

The above picture is who I am now...and the bass guitar from the two previous photos has now been replaced with a walking stick.

     Once again, my friends, I want to encourage you not to be saddened by what used to be....I know it can be difficult and frustrating not to be able to do the things that we used to do. I understand the thought...I really do, but I implore you not to stay in that place. Realize that past experiences helped to shape us into who we are today. Take the time to look around, and see that life is bigger than your....or my Ataxia. Life is full of blessings, we just have to be willing to look for them, and then let them in.