Bohemian Crip on Choice...

Deep down, I suppose I knew the choice was never going to be mine. Even as I played house with little-boy schoolfriends and freaked them out by suggesting that maybe mothers do something besides make dinner and retrieve briefcases, through the family-tree assignment where I dutifully(and optimistically) left branches below mine

I’ve already raised my kids,” my mother said, darkly.(Not that I ever met anyone in real life that I wanted to combine features with, wanted to mix their big brown eyes with my pale skin, even as college me sparked to preposterous names that are thankfully lost in all the subsequent dramas and had a few relationships that never got to germinate. I never had a close call, where I was praying for my period with my brain, but my heart felt a little tug anyway.

Thankfully, a decision was never forced on me, either.  Maybe it could never have happened for me anyway, and my somewhat madcap quest for birth control in my late teens might have been a Macguffin, either because of my disability or because of some inherited physical condition…I’ll never be sure now and “ never” is kind of a hard word to face, even about something you weren’t ever sure was something you cared about.  The window was always small, and now it’s drawing closed.  Sometimes I feel sad about that, but also kind of grateful that I’m not a born nurturer, that little tennis shoes in the store never feel like more than “Aw…”

I did not get the usual cultural messages about childbearing, being sort of, you know, a cautionary tale that writes letters to the newspaper.  From the time I was eighteen till I was about 30, I got notices from my health plan about tying my tubes or other permanent birth-control methods on at least a quarterly basis. Even if you’re not truly looking to spawn, it’s hard not to take the idea that the very thought of your roving ovaries(note to ignorant-ass legislators: they don’t really do that. I’m kidding.  Just thought maybe  some of you might take that seriously. And, you know, don’t.) fill some bureaucracy with horror of little system cheats personally, hard not to feel that it says something more unsavory about you than you need an attendant.  My fight for reproductive justice might have been very different than yours.

I don’t want other “nevers” for other women, though.             I want them to do everything(and everyone) they can if it doesn’t hurt people. I know what it is to have your choices taken away.

What Really Matters, Tech Edition....

Almost didn't realize how much I'd written over the years(and how many fits and starts I'd had) until I changed my back-up system for files. Of course, for now, the novel stays, even though it's like the opposite of a blockbuster, and the collection I'm assembling now, just in case, but some of the other decisions are murkier. So far, my query letters haven't worked...should I keep them, hoping for some revision lightning bolt, or be hopeful that one day I won't have to bring my failings as an elevator pitchwoman along with me when the worst happens? A lot of the fanfiction is archived, but it also feels like an artifact from a much more cheerful civilization...is that an argument for rescue, or a gentle disappearance besides my quarterly Kudos? What about that one page beginning that seemed like It in 2012, but something happened and I never reclaimed that burning passion?  I've saved it a bunch of times thinking "One day..." but am I kidding myself? There is probably space for all of it, but unlike my previous system, I have to make active selections.
I'm not that used to choices anymore. Which may be why I'm not a better writer by this point, really.

Stuck for an ending...

for one of my fiction pieces so I'll do a prompt this week. Best case, maybe I'll write a flash...worst case something will germinate while I play with this, which I got from this site, Self-publishing School
#4 – Your main character has been living a very sheltered, very dangerous life. After the death of their overbearing father, they’re thrust into the real world – only to realize just how different their life really is from those around them.

Here's what I wrote...from this, you can see that "A Patch Of Blue" is one of my favorite movies...see it if you haven't.
 

Though the hospital wasn’t exactly quiet, compared to the bustle of a burger joint during lunch rush, it seemed like it. It smelled better, though, with a welcoming hint of onions. Nora moved forward on her crutches, and felt nervous as she watched two teenaged boys play-fighting in line in front of her.(At least, she hoped it was play-fighting, because she’d be in a bad position if it wasn’t) She felt like everyone in the restaurant was watching her, not because she was paranoid, but because she’d been holed up with her family for days, since she got the call about Dad. They weren’t understanding all the time, far from it, but they had known what she looked like since birth. She dreaded it when strangers looked at her like it was sad when she was out on her own, but her sister said she made it up. Kate was perfect, though, they didn’t have the same problems.

As her time came up in line,  Nora wished she could have faced another hospital-cafeteria pudding cup. Everyone’s order, once it’s laid out, is bigger than she expected…three orders of fries, large, but just the fries, as if everyone agreed a full greasy meal would be unseemly, Kate’s apple pie…she can’t remember who wanted the fish sandwich, her own chicken tenders…and there was something else she couldn’t remember.   The pause stretches out and her cheeks flush…people behind her start getting restless, when it mercifully jumped in her mind. “Um, can I get a vanilla shake?” She sounded so awkward, like she was ordering porn, or gunpowder.

“You sure about that?” the guy behind the counter said. He had dark skin and eyes and even she could tell he was just teasing. He had a little bit of accent, too.  She smiled, feeling lighter for a moment not being the crippled lady whose dad was probably dying, and sat while he put some vanilla stuff into a cup.”yeah, great…”

“Fucking finally…is the telethon over yet? Because some of us have jobs to get back to…” A harsh male voice behind her blurted out.

Meanwhile, she looked at the big unwieldy bag, and her two hands filled with crutches…even without the shake in there, resting in its holder, she wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking. Just that her dad liked it when she handled things by herself…tears swam in her eyes.

Is Progress Making Your Life Less Accessible?

 

Could Progress Make Your Life Less Accessible?

Americans tend to be an optimistic people, especially about the power of technology to bring positive change. 59%  of people surveyed in 2014 believed that technology is a force for progress and positive change. I’m not sure if anyone they asked had disabilities, but as a PWD myself, I might have gone along with the sentiment until recently, but I’ve noticed that a lot of the one-touch technology meant for smartphone users on the go has made a lot of things harder for me, including using the phone itself. 

There is no point debating life without a landline if your fingers can barely dial without buttons, as I found out recently. For now, it was easy enough to bring the handset back so I was able to continue my volunteerism uninterrupted, but what happens in a few years? While we all have to live with some uncertainty, I’d hate to see progress put up more roadblocks for people who already face a lot of systemic barriers.

For gamer Grant Stoner, who runs the “Gamer For Granted” blog about access to video games, a glimpse of that future is already here. In an e-mail interview, Stoner describes previous Pokemon games as “easy to play,” adding that he could play some of them with one finger, but in the interest of “innovating a 20-year-old franchise” the latest game involves a controller set-up that even able-bodied people find needlessly complicated, and that Stoner himself can’t use due to lack of mobility.

Access had been improving in the video game world recently, but, he says “developers often incorrectly assume adding accessibility features will slow down production and affect the release date,”making it  harder for games to enter a crowded marketplace, but Stoner believes greater access would open up a wider market.

People with orthopedic disabilities aren’t the only ones that need to fear the encroachment of some innovations.  Writer and editor Chris Kuell, who is blind, has  faced that frustration close to home. 

Raised buttons and knobs are easier for him to use, but to find a stove with one, he “had to hunt.”

“When I’m cooking,” he added, via e-mail from his home in Connecticut, “everything goes in at 350(he has a sticker on that temperature with raised dots so he can find it) and Alexa is my timer.”

While it’s true that people with disabilities are a comparatively small market(and sometimes, a modification that opens a door for one puts up a roadblock for someone else,) my hope for the future is that, much like the ramps and curb cuts that have gone before, accessibility features for household goods expand access for disabled people while also enhancing lives that of people who didn’t realize they needed these enhancements.