You need a little background information for this piece, and it comes in the form of the BBC’s sit-com "Coupling", in the episode entitled ”The Girl with One Heart” from 2002. In it Susan re-decorates, and removes the lock on their apartments’ toilet door, whereupon the rather eccentric Welshman Jeff reminds us of one of the most important attributes of a toilet, namely "You need to be enclosed. Secure on all sides. Otherwise you can't de-clench". Steve confirms it further by adding "De-clenching is out of the question without a lock on the toilet door”, and then goes on to praise that such a toilet is “Modern man's version of a cave of last retreat”.
And so I sat there, on that proverbial throne, early in the morning, perched above a forest, with rain angling in towards my bare feet, being driven by a stiff 10degC wind, trying to de-clench . . .
I came to realise the truth in Jeff and Steve’s words and to see them in a new light, no longer as insecure sit-com characters, but men imbued with a wisdom which carries well beyond the television screen.
It was one of those moments when you asked yourself how you managed to get to that point? As I begin to lose contact with my increasingly wet and frozen feet I come to the realisation that it is a combination of factors, primarily driven by a misguided sense of adventure, and questionable wheelchair access design. The year was drawing to a close and we wanted, nay needed, to get away for a week or so. The Garden Route beckoned and I recall weighing up where to stay on our second night out of Cape Town. The choice was between a typically characterless 1970’s design accessible cottage located nowhere in particular and overlooking nothing in particular, or a potentially far more exciting treetop accommodation overlooking a forest. That was where common sense, and my normally impeccable research, failed me, as I opted for the latter.
As with most things, misadventures happen in threes, and with the first one now in place, the scene was set for the second to make its appearance, and it came from above. On the road up from Cape Town we passed numerous huge billboards proclaiming the region to be in the grip of a drought, which indeed it was, and for everyone to be water wise. Our arrival was therefore the perfect queue for the heavens to open and make every effort to assuage the lands’ thirst in as short a time as possible. The rain lashed down so hard we were forced to travel at 50km/h on the N2.
The ingredients were now in place for the third misadventure, on our arrival. The design of the wheelchair accessible treetop could perhaps best be described as “the sum of the parts do not make a whole”, or more accurately, not a cohesive whole anyway. The path led to the patio deck, which had no view, it in turn led to the living room, which overlooked the bedroom, which overlooked the bathroom, which overlooked the view. The best seat in the house was in the bath. More importantly, the only seat in the house, the toilet, positioned one with your back to the view, and in a stroke of creative design was open on two sides. Not a window, or a door, in the entire “out” house. It was almost certainly draftier than Steve’s “cave of last retreat”.
And that, dear readers, is how I came to gain respect for Jeff, and Steve, and find myself perched atop a forest, well and truly clenched. On a fine summers morn, with careful planning and mental preparation, one could perhaps have performed the daily ritual successfully, but with the rain hammering down, and the wind howling through, the weather Gods had not only found the bathroom door to be unlocked, but completely missing, and had decided to join me!
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Kurling up with a Kindle
I have to confess to being slightly envious of my wife. She is an avid reader, and enjoys nothing more than curling in on the sofa in our lounge, with the afternoon sun filtering through the window, and engrossing herself in a novel. She looks so relaxed, content and comfortable, proven by the fact that sometimes wild horses would fail to move her. Her reading habits can be termed “old school”, although she might take offence at the term “old”, in that she prefers books, real books, with covers and pages, and printing. The marketing spin-meisters of Apple’s internationally desirable iPad, Amazon’s Kindle, or Barnes & Noble’s Nook have had no impact on her choice of reading medium whatsoever.
I have touched on the subject of eBooks in a previous column and discussed their convenience and power. The ability to hold the contents of over 1000 books in a device the size of a novel and the thickness of a cell phone is not to be dismissed lightly. We have seen an explosion of new eBook reader brands and models, with more than 45 different models now available. Recent price wars have led to the prices of Kindle’s dropping to less than R950, and other, lesser known brands, to even less. This has opened the market to even more potential readers than ever before, remembering that much like the cell phone industry, the money to be made lies not in the eBook itself, but in the steady stream of book and magazine subscriptions owners subscribe to. The days are not far off when eBooks will be offered free, in exchange for packaged contracts providing a range of weekly electronic newspapers and magazines.
The eBook topic comes up more often these days around dinner tables as more and more people buy into these devices and share their experiences with family, friends, and anyone else they wish to brag to. It came up the other night over a rather delicious meal with friends, but this time, instead of the conversation heading down the usual technology track, it swung to a more interesting one dealing with reading habits. This of course delighted my wife as it fuelled her argument for the tangibility of paper books versus the coolness of an electronic device. There was both heated and extremely humorous discussion as to reading habits, the skipping chapters, methods of selective reading and how this can, or cannot be achieved on an eBook. At times the banter swayed between the jibes about the old school and their tried and tested ways, versus the new technology driven generation, although on the none too small topic of cost both found agreement in the lower prices of the digital versions of books. These days conservative economics trumps all!
These exchanges, aided by the good company and red wine, got me thinking again of how they might impact disabled readers. I am currently playing the fence sitter on this subject, not a position which comes naturally to me. I see the benefits of a compact eBook, capable of holding a number of publications, with a flat, clearly legible screen. I also see the drawbacks of paper books, with their bulk and weight, and pages which refuse to lie flat, all factors which I know hold me back from reading more. So why the awkward position on the fence? Is the decision not clear?
Well, no, it is not, because there is another factor, one which is not easily defined. Perhaps I should call it the “sofa factor”, or in my case the “chair factor”. The wheelchair is a wonderful thing. It is a seat, mobility and access all rolled into one, but one thing a wheelchair is not is a sofa. You cannot flop into a wheelchair. You cannot immerse yourself in a wheelchair. You cannot lounge in a wheelchair, well, not comfortably anyway. And therein lays my dilemma. To really enjoy a good read one needs to be completely relaxed, comfortable, and cushioned all around, much like my wife on one of those lazy Sunday afternoons. For me to read an eBook I would need to be sitting in the wheelchair at a table, and that feels more like studying than relaxing. The scene, in my mind’s eye, just does not seem “right”, similar to one of those photographs where they ask “What is wrong with this picture?”. Perhaps I am missing a piece of the electronic reading puzzle, but until I find it my jury is still out with regard to eBooks, as it weighs up the case of software versus sofa.
I have touched on the subject of eBooks in a previous column and discussed their convenience and power. The ability to hold the contents of over 1000 books in a device the size of a novel and the thickness of a cell phone is not to be dismissed lightly. We have seen an explosion of new eBook reader brands and models, with more than 45 different models now available. Recent price wars have led to the prices of Kindle’s dropping to less than R950, and other, lesser known brands, to even less. This has opened the market to even more potential readers than ever before, remembering that much like the cell phone industry, the money to be made lies not in the eBook itself, but in the steady stream of book and magazine subscriptions owners subscribe to. The days are not far off when eBooks will be offered free, in exchange for packaged contracts providing a range of weekly electronic newspapers and magazines.
The eBook topic comes up more often these days around dinner tables as more and more people buy into these devices and share their experiences with family, friends, and anyone else they wish to brag to. It came up the other night over a rather delicious meal with friends, but this time, instead of the conversation heading down the usual technology track, it swung to a more interesting one dealing with reading habits. This of course delighted my wife as it fuelled her argument for the tangibility of paper books versus the coolness of an electronic device. There was both heated and extremely humorous discussion as to reading habits, the skipping chapters, methods of selective reading and how this can, or cannot be achieved on an eBook. At times the banter swayed between the jibes about the old school and their tried and tested ways, versus the new technology driven generation, although on the none too small topic of cost both found agreement in the lower prices of the digital versions of books. These days conservative economics trumps all!
These exchanges, aided by the good company and red wine, got me thinking again of how they might impact disabled readers. I am currently playing the fence sitter on this subject, not a position which comes naturally to me. I see the benefits of a compact eBook, capable of holding a number of publications, with a flat, clearly legible screen. I also see the drawbacks of paper books, with their bulk and weight, and pages which refuse to lie flat, all factors which I know hold me back from reading more. So why the awkward position on the fence? Is the decision not clear?
Well, no, it is not, because there is another factor, one which is not easily defined. Perhaps I should call it the “sofa factor”, or in my case the “chair factor”. The wheelchair is a wonderful thing. It is a seat, mobility and access all rolled into one, but one thing a wheelchair is not is a sofa. You cannot flop into a wheelchair. You cannot immerse yourself in a wheelchair. You cannot lounge in a wheelchair, well, not comfortably anyway. And therein lays my dilemma. To really enjoy a good read one needs to be completely relaxed, comfortable, and cushioned all around, much like my wife on one of those lazy Sunday afternoons. For me to read an eBook I would need to be sitting in the wheelchair at a table, and that feels more like studying than relaxing. The scene, in my mind’s eye, just does not seem “right”, similar to one of those photographs where they ask “What is wrong with this picture?”. Perhaps I am missing a piece of the electronic reading puzzle, but until I find it my jury is still out with regard to eBooks, as it weighs up the case of software versus sofa.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
WHEELIE GOOD WINES
My wife and I have enjoyed taking in the Robertson Wine Valley since the early 1990's when many of the farms began breaking away from the co-ops and "going it alone". Neighbours who a year before were merely fellow grape growers now were direct competitors. The concept of attracting customers to the farms was completely new, as was marketing, tasting and sales. It was a fresh start for wine tasters, the wines were good, the prices ridiculously low. Exciting times, a new experience for all. For a disabled wine enthusiast it was also a challenge, with so little thought having been given to how to attract able-bodied clients there was consequently no disabled access. But that was more than 15 years ago, and much has changed.
The Robertson Wine Valley, an organisation managing the marketing and public relations for all the regions wine farms has been actively encouraging owners to provide disabled access. The manager of RWV, Elizma Spangenberg, has made the increase of access levels a priority.
Last year I was asked to do a personal evaluation of every one of the 48 wine farms open to the public in the Robertson and McGregor Valleys. In doing so I must have established something of a record, 48 wine farm visits without drinking a drop! Can't mix business with pleasure, at least not if one wants to get any work done!
My access report to the RWV culminated in a one-page spreadsheet of farms cross-linked with facilities, and an indicator of which were accessable, or not. It allows visitors to determine where they can go and what they can expect, at a glance, without any surprises.
We took in the "full wine valley experience", from the rows of enormous 230 000 litre tanks at Van Loveren to the "garagiste" operation of John Hargreaves and his garden vineyard yielding just 300 bottles a year. The farms vary a great deal in size and appearance. Many have restaurants, function rooms, shops and cellar tours.
We were impressed with the overall levels of access throughout the valley, but when I analysed my feedback more closely I was even happier. At least a third of all the farms are what I would refer to as "fully accessable", i.e. a wheelchair bound visitor, travelling alone, could access the parking area, paths, tasting area, and toilets. That's more than can be said of many brand spanking new office developments being erected in Cape Town in 2008! (but that's another story).
A further third of the farms are accessable with assistance from a friend, husband, wife, etc, or might have a toilet which is too small for a wheelchair. Less than a quarter of the farms are technically in-accessable, although, having said that, I visited each and every one of them in my wheelchair, albeit with help. For those who can stand, or take a couple of steps, the access levels are very good indeed.
Special mention must be made of Graham Beck, Cloverfield, Arabella, Bon Courage, Robertson Cellars, and Rooiberg who all offer excellent accessable facilities that are both welcoming and scenic, and their wine's are not bad either! It was also a pleasant surprise to see Bon Cap offering wine with Braille embossing on the label. I reinforced my belief that where there the will there is a way.
It should also be noted that visitors wishing to extend their stay in Robertson have a couple of choices of wheelchair accessable accommodation. Goedemoed Guest House is superbly setup for wheelchairs, Little France is ramped with a spacious bathroom, Bon Cap offers a simple but fully accessable room, and Wederom offers an accessable cottage. All in all a good excuse to linger longer in the valley.
Those interested in finding out more can logon to www.robertsonwinevalley.co.za or call 023 6263167.
The Robertson Wine Valley, an organisation managing the marketing and public relations for all the regions wine farms has been actively encouraging owners to provide disabled access. The manager of RWV, Elizma Spangenberg, has made the increase of access levels a priority.
Last year I was asked to do a personal evaluation of every one of the 48 wine farms open to the public in the Robertson and McGregor Valleys. In doing so I must have established something of a record, 48 wine farm visits without drinking a drop! Can't mix business with pleasure, at least not if one wants to get any work done!
My access report to the RWV culminated in a one-page spreadsheet of farms cross-linked with facilities, and an indicator of which were accessable, or not. It allows visitors to determine where they can go and what they can expect, at a glance, without any surprises.
We took in the "full wine valley experience", from the rows of enormous 230 000 litre tanks at Van Loveren to the "garagiste" operation of John Hargreaves and his garden vineyard yielding just 300 bottles a year. The farms vary a great deal in size and appearance. Many have restaurants, function rooms, shops and cellar tours.
We were impressed with the overall levels of access throughout the valley, but when I analysed my feedback more closely I was even happier. At least a third of all the farms are what I would refer to as "fully accessable", i.e. a wheelchair bound visitor, travelling alone, could access the parking area, paths, tasting area, and toilets. That's more than can be said of many brand spanking new office developments being erected in Cape Town in 2008! (but that's another story).
A further third of the farms are accessable with assistance from a friend, husband, wife, etc, or might have a toilet which is too small for a wheelchair. Less than a quarter of the farms are technically in-accessable, although, having said that, I visited each and every one of them in my wheelchair, albeit with help. For those who can stand, or take a couple of steps, the access levels are very good indeed.
Special mention must be made of Graham Beck, Cloverfield, Arabella, Bon Courage, Robertson Cellars, and Rooiberg who all offer excellent accessable facilities that are both welcoming and scenic, and their wine's are not bad either! It was also a pleasant surprise to see Bon Cap offering wine with Braille embossing on the label. I reinforced my belief that where there the will there is a way.
It should also be noted that visitors wishing to extend their stay in Robertson have a couple of choices of wheelchair accessable accommodation. Goedemoed Guest House is superbly setup for wheelchairs, Little France is ramped with a spacious bathroom, Bon Cap offers a simple but fully accessable room, and Wederom offers an accessable cottage. All in all a good excuse to linger longer in the valley.
Those interested in finding out more can logon to www.robertsonwinevalley.co.za or call 023 6263167.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Le Tour De Invalides
Two, or more, cyclists will always cycle faster than one. That is the golden rule of road cycling, and goes a long way to explaining the tactics adopted by riders and teams. No cyclist, no matter how good they are, can win a road race without the co-operation and support of his team. They call them "domestiques", and like domestic servants, they literally work around their man, making his life in the saddle easier by riding in front so that he can slipstream and conserve energy, keeping him supplied with food and drink, and disrupting attacks from other teams.
I have never ridden a bicycle in my life, but for some reason I enjoy watching cycling. Each year we take my powerchair up the base of "Chappies" and watch the annual Cape Argus Tour. It's the largest timed cycle race in the world with over 35000 starters. We pack a picnic basket, and in between munching on sarmies and coffee, shout and scream encouragement to thousands of sweating humanoids in funny helmets and skin suits who puff and pant their way past us. Those coming through in the morning have the energy to shout back and exchange banter, those coming through in the afternoon have lost their sense of humour altogether!
The pre-race Expo at a local exhibition centre is a showcase of cycling technology and hardware, albeit a frustrating one for us technophiles. Even the most expensive racing bicycle is half the price of an average powerchair, yet the wheelchair is a dinosaur by comparison. The bicycles make use of the very latest design, combined with the highest tech materials. My powerchair has the design sense of a brick, and is made entirely from the crudest and cheapest of old world materials. It's enough to make one weep.
But back to the topic at hand. We also enjoy tuning in to the Tour de France in July, for three weeks and 3500+km of French countryside, sore bums and legs. Watching the world's finest cyclists saddle up for daily races which on their own are huge, but strung together for 21 days are monumental, it is little wonder that doping has been an issue in the race. Despite what many people believe, doping is not a modern phenomenon, and as long ago as 1928 the Tour organisers announced that they would no longer be provide drugs as the competitors were expected to do so themselves. The race places such huge demands on the human body that no mere mortal can finish it un-aided. We've watched it for years, and have come to appreciate the subtleties of the sport, and the enormity of the challenge.
Despite all the organisation, and planning, and skill, and knowledge and experience people get caught out, accidents happen, conditions change, favourites drop out, and unknowns become winners. It really is a condensed view of our lives, the literal ups and downs, trials and tribulations, successes and failures that make up a lifetime. Thirty or sixty years squeezed down into three weeks.
This all sounds somewhat corny, but there are real lessons to be learned from the comparison of the cycle race to our lives, particularly for those of us suffering from muscular dystrophy. Our physical well being varies, and sometimes we feel as if we are cycling uphill and we need to throttle back to regain our strength. Other days the road is more level and we can surge ahead. We're never sure what it round the next bend in the road, or over the crest of the hill. Our race also places huge demands on our bodies, often calling for some "chemical assistance", but most importantly, we cannot meet the challenge without the help of our fellow cyclists, be they family, friends, or domestiques!
I have never ridden a bicycle in my life, but for some reason I enjoy watching cycling. Each year we take my powerchair up the base of "Chappies" and watch the annual Cape Argus Tour. It's the largest timed cycle race in the world with over 35000 starters. We pack a picnic basket, and in between munching on sarmies and coffee, shout and scream encouragement to thousands of sweating humanoids in funny helmets and skin suits who puff and pant their way past us. Those coming through in the morning have the energy to shout back and exchange banter, those coming through in the afternoon have lost their sense of humour altogether!
The pre-race Expo at a local exhibition centre is a showcase of cycling technology and hardware, albeit a frustrating one for us technophiles. Even the most expensive racing bicycle is half the price of an average powerchair, yet the wheelchair is a dinosaur by comparison. The bicycles make use of the very latest design, combined with the highest tech materials. My powerchair has the design sense of a brick, and is made entirely from the crudest and cheapest of old world materials. It's enough to make one weep.
But back to the topic at hand. We also enjoy tuning in to the Tour de France in July, for three weeks and 3500+km of French countryside, sore bums and legs. Watching the world's finest cyclists saddle up for daily races which on their own are huge, but strung together for 21 days are monumental, it is little wonder that doping has been an issue in the race. Despite what many people believe, doping is not a modern phenomenon, and as long ago as 1928 the Tour organisers announced that they would no longer be provide drugs as the competitors were expected to do so themselves. The race places such huge demands on the human body that no mere mortal can finish it un-aided. We've watched it for years, and have come to appreciate the subtleties of the sport, and the enormity of the challenge.
Despite all the organisation, and planning, and skill, and knowledge and experience people get caught out, accidents happen, conditions change, favourites drop out, and unknowns become winners. It really is a condensed view of our lives, the literal ups and downs, trials and tribulations, successes and failures that make up a lifetime. Thirty or sixty years squeezed down into three weeks.
This all sounds somewhat corny, but there are real lessons to be learned from the comparison of the cycle race to our lives, particularly for those of us suffering from muscular dystrophy. Our physical well being varies, and sometimes we feel as if we are cycling uphill and we need to throttle back to regain our strength. Other days the road is more level and we can surge ahead. We're never sure what it round the next bend in the road, or over the crest of the hill. Our race also places huge demands on our bodies, often calling for some "chemical assistance", but most importantly, we cannot meet the challenge without the help of our fellow cyclists, be they family, friends, or domestiques!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
DOING THE FAN WALK ROLL
For the benefit of those who have been hibernating for the last month, or who have been off visiting other planets in our galaxy, we here in Cape Town have been exposed to, and infected by, the phenomenon known as the “fan walk”.
I am not sure how the concept of a fan walk came into being, although my research indicates that it pre-dates our 2010 Soccer World Cup. I cannot help feel that even though it might have been created elsewhere, it was used as a cunning ploy by our city fathers to get around the serious transport problem of getting 65 000 people to a stadium which has no rail link and bans all motor vehicles within two kilometres of the ground on match days. They got the fans to walk the 3km from the city centre to the stadium, made a fuss about it, thereby turning it into an event. It reminded me of the story of telling someone where to go in such a way that they look forward to the journey. Regardless, it became an public relations success, and in terms of people numbers, superseded the actual soccer matches. Word spread like wildfire that, whether you had tickets to the game or not, you simply had to do the fan walk.
I would not consider myself to be a soccer fan, in the true sense of the words. I tire quickly of seeing grown men feign injury at the slightest brush with their opponents, although I would be partial to the miraculous recoveries they make once free kicks are awarded! I am more a cricket follower, with a sprinkling of rugby when I feel the need for some bone crushing confrontations. I use the term “follower” carefully, because in the case of those sports being a “fan” can be a heavy burden and something of a rollercoaster ride of success and failure. But soccer brought the world’s largest World Cup competition to our shores, and along with it more fans and media attention than we have ever seen before.
So that is how I came to find myself, bundled up against the Cape evening mid-winter cold, on a dark street in the centre of town along with what seemed to be about a million people dressed in bright orange! They were of course Dutch supporters, preparing to do battle with Cameroon, in what looked like a fancy dress competition. Men in tailored three piece orange or Delft pattern suits, women in three pointed white bonnets and clogs, all adorned with vuvuzela’s, oversized glasses and wigs, makarapas, scarves and a wash of flags. A ribbon of festivity pouring through the city streets!
I must have caught the fan walk fever, because ten days later on a considerably warmer Saturday afternoon there I was again, this time surrounded by most of Germany and much of Argentina! The newspapers claimed that up to 300 000 people participated in the fan walk that day, it felt like there were a lot more. For over five hours a sea of humanity washed first up, then down, the route, for most of the time completely spanning the four lane wide Somerset Road portion. Roadside bands, street entertainers, curio sellers and food stall owners all competed for the attention of the fans while they in turn provided entertainment to the thousands who lined the route.
What was not lost on all those who participated was the spirit, or “gees”, of the day, the friendliness of all who walked, the helpfulness of the organisers, and the safety of the police presence. The ability to walk freely in the downtown city centre during the day or night was almost liberating. Everyone I know has asked “why can it not always be so?”.
What was probably lost to all but the wheelchair walkers, and their assistants, was the fact that one could walk from the Grand Parade to Green Point Stadium without encountering a single step or curb. That is quite an achievement in a city where new, but completely inaccessible, public buildings continue to be built every month. Whilst I have serious concerns about the future financial implications of the Soccer World Cup it has generated a “can do” attitude amongst many of our city planners. The challenge is to see whether, after the last vuvuzela has fallen silent, we can maintain the momentum of developing and building an accessible environment, and a spirit to match!
I am not sure how the concept of a fan walk came into being, although my research indicates that it pre-dates our 2010 Soccer World Cup. I cannot help feel that even though it might have been created elsewhere, it was used as a cunning ploy by our city fathers to get around the serious transport problem of getting 65 000 people to a stadium which has no rail link and bans all motor vehicles within two kilometres of the ground on match days. They got the fans to walk the 3km from the city centre to the stadium, made a fuss about it, thereby turning it into an event. It reminded me of the story of telling someone where to go in such a way that they look forward to the journey. Regardless, it became an public relations success, and in terms of people numbers, superseded the actual soccer matches. Word spread like wildfire that, whether you had tickets to the game or not, you simply had to do the fan walk.
I would not consider myself to be a soccer fan, in the true sense of the words. I tire quickly of seeing grown men feign injury at the slightest brush with their opponents, although I would be partial to the miraculous recoveries they make once free kicks are awarded! I am more a cricket follower, with a sprinkling of rugby when I feel the need for some bone crushing confrontations. I use the term “follower” carefully, because in the case of those sports being a “fan” can be a heavy burden and something of a rollercoaster ride of success and failure. But soccer brought the world’s largest World Cup competition to our shores, and along with it more fans and media attention than we have ever seen before.
So that is how I came to find myself, bundled up against the Cape evening mid-winter cold, on a dark street in the centre of town along with what seemed to be about a million people dressed in bright orange! They were of course Dutch supporters, preparing to do battle with Cameroon, in what looked like a fancy dress competition. Men in tailored three piece orange or Delft pattern suits, women in three pointed white bonnets and clogs, all adorned with vuvuzela’s, oversized glasses and wigs, makarapas, scarves and a wash of flags. A ribbon of festivity pouring through the city streets!
I must have caught the fan walk fever, because ten days later on a considerably warmer Saturday afternoon there I was again, this time surrounded by most of Germany and much of Argentina! The newspapers claimed that up to 300 000 people participated in the fan walk that day, it felt like there were a lot more. For over five hours a sea of humanity washed first up, then down, the route, for most of the time completely spanning the four lane wide Somerset Road portion. Roadside bands, street entertainers, curio sellers and food stall owners all competed for the attention of the fans while they in turn provided entertainment to the thousands who lined the route.
What was not lost on all those who participated was the spirit, or “gees”, of the day, the friendliness of all who walked, the helpfulness of the organisers, and the safety of the police presence. The ability to walk freely in the downtown city centre during the day or night was almost liberating. Everyone I know has asked “why can it not always be so?”.
What was probably lost to all but the wheelchair walkers, and their assistants, was the fact that one could walk from the Grand Parade to Green Point Stadium without encountering a single step or curb. That is quite an achievement in a city where new, but completely inaccessible, public buildings continue to be built every month. Whilst I have serious concerns about the future financial implications of the Soccer World Cup it has generated a “can do” attitude amongst many of our city planners. The challenge is to see whether, after the last vuvuzela has fallen silent, we can maintain the momentum of developing and building an accessible environment, and a spirit to match!
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The DURACELL GENERATION
Duracell used to run an advertising campaign showing a couple of humanoid toys climbing a rocky cliff to demonstrate how their batteries ran longer than other brands. It was hugely popular, and led to people using the phrase “Duracell Man” to describe someone who appeared to have more energy, stamina and endurance than anyone else. It got me thinking about batteries, how important they are in our daily lives, and how different our lives would be without them. Batteries are unobtrusive little things. These days they’re all pretty small, and hide behind neat plastic covers, out of sight, and hence often out of mind. It is therefore something of a wakeup call to look around the house and count the appliances, tools, gadgets and toys which run on battery power.
At the risk of being incredibly boring, let’s run through a list found in most modern homes. The television remote, the DSTv remote, the VCR/DVD remote, the hi-fi remote, the cordless phone, the cellphone, the radio, the bedside alarm clock, the wristwatch, the torch, the digital camera, and the car key immobiliser.
I have discovered a couple of other battery dependent devices lurking around my home . . . my cordless computer keyboard, and it’s cordless mouse, the computer’s uninterrupted power supply, the fax machine, the front door bell, my toothbrush, my security alarm system and its remote, and the garage door remote.
All in all quite an impressive and to some extent intimidating list, many of which are everyday items rather than gadgets. No doubt I have forgotten one or two others, which will spring to mind again when they stop working. I am equally aware that there are other devices out there which I have no experience of, such as electric shavers, hair curlers, Bluetooth devices, and probably a host of kids toys of which I have little knowledge or experience. I do have a good friend who is also a grandfather, and he assures me that they buy batteries for the grandkids toys almost as often as they do bread and milk!
Of course there is one battery in our household which eclipses all others, namely my powerchair battery. Without it I am literally dead in the proverbial water, and my powerchair becomes a lump of useless metal. It is the king of our household's batteries, and receives suitably royal treatment!
There are a number of theories about the charging of powerchair batteries, and everyone seems to have their own view. I believe that there is no hard and fast rule since we all use our powerchairs in different ways, on a variety of surfaces, for alternative times, carrying our individual weights and loads. I follow one very strict rule with regards to the charging of my powerchair battery. Never, ever, disconnect before the battery is fully charged. I watch the charge indicator daily, and when it shows approximately one third of a charge left it gets connected in the evening before I go to bed and is left to charge overnight. No top-ups. No quick half hour charges to "see me through". If the charger gets plugged in, it stays there until the charging process is complete.
I would like to think that this is the reason why, twelve years after purchasing the motorised wheelchair, I am still using the original battery. I follow the same regimen with regards to the charging of my cordless phone, and cellphone, with similar success.
My system of battery management and charging certainly works for me, and has ensured that, like the "Duracell Man", I am always ahead of the pack!
At the risk of being incredibly boring, let’s run through a list found in most modern homes. The television remote, the DSTv remote, the VCR/DVD remote, the hi-fi remote, the cordless phone, the cellphone, the radio, the bedside alarm clock, the wristwatch, the torch, the digital camera, and the car key immobiliser.
I have discovered a couple of other battery dependent devices lurking around my home . . . my cordless computer keyboard, and it’s cordless mouse, the computer’s uninterrupted power supply, the fax machine, the front door bell, my toothbrush, my security alarm system and its remote, and the garage door remote.
All in all quite an impressive and to some extent intimidating list, many of which are everyday items rather than gadgets. No doubt I have forgotten one or two others, which will spring to mind again when they stop working. I am equally aware that there are other devices out there which I have no experience of, such as electric shavers, hair curlers, Bluetooth devices, and probably a host of kids toys of which I have little knowledge or experience. I do have a good friend who is also a grandfather, and he assures me that they buy batteries for the grandkids toys almost as often as they do bread and milk!
Of course there is one battery in our household which eclipses all others, namely my powerchair battery. Without it I am literally dead in the proverbial water, and my powerchair becomes a lump of useless metal. It is the king of our household's batteries, and receives suitably royal treatment!
There are a number of theories about the charging of powerchair batteries, and everyone seems to have their own view. I believe that there is no hard and fast rule since we all use our powerchairs in different ways, on a variety of surfaces, for alternative times, carrying our individual weights and loads. I follow one very strict rule with regards to the charging of my powerchair battery. Never, ever, disconnect before the battery is fully charged. I watch the charge indicator daily, and when it shows approximately one third of a charge left it gets connected in the evening before I go to bed and is left to charge overnight. No top-ups. No quick half hour charges to "see me through". If the charger gets plugged in, it stays there until the charging process is complete.
I would like to think that this is the reason why, twelve years after purchasing the motorised wheelchair, I am still using the original battery. I follow the same regimen with regards to the charging of my cordless phone, and cellphone, with similar success.
My system of battery management and charging certainly works for me, and has ensured that, like the "Duracell Man", I am always ahead of the pack!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
The E-Words
No, it has nothing to do with BEE, or BBBEE, or any of the fashionable EE's for that matter. The E's are for Education, Employment, and Environment, and their role in the development of our sense of self-esteem, although, in some form they can be viewed as empowering.
In recent discussions the topic was raised on the sense of self worth, or self-esteem, in disabled people. How is it generated? How is it maintained and encouraged? We were careful not to confuse self confidence with self-esteem. Self confidence was seen as the more "outward" projection of our personality, whereas self-esteem was viewed as an "inner" belief. What you think of yourself when looking in the mirror.
The position of the "Environment" E-word was up for debate. It became a "chicken or egg" (which comes first?) word as it was argued whether a favourable environment needed to come ahead of education and employment, or whether a favourable environment was created from the foundation of education and employment. Be that as it may, its role as one of the three E's was never in doubt.
Whether we like it or not self-esteem is a measuring device. It is our personal "State of the Nation" gauge as to how we feel about ourselves relative to our peers. If our inner report card tells us we're better than others, we feel good about ourselves, and our world looks brighter. Given the importance of a positive mental attitude, and its impact on our physical health, the role of self-esteem in shaping our lives should not be underestimated.
Regardless of ability, or disability, the building blocks for our personal self-esteem lie in our education, which can be carried through to our employment and work, or spread across our family, friends and acquaintances. Remove education and the potential for development of self esteem will be stalled, or at best severely limited. Remove employment and our ability to fulfil our educational prospects becomes blunted, and dependency, the enemy of self-esteem looms on the horizon. Create a negative physical or emotional environment and the prospects for both education and employment become bleak.
Alternatively, when any one or more of the E's is encouraged and developed it can trigger an upliftment in a most positive way. A solid education is the ideal springboard to successful employment. I use the term education broadly, because I see it as being more than simply book learning and the passing of exams. It includes an education of communication, interacting with others, socialising, sport and recreation. It is an education of all the senses, seeing, hearing, and speech.
Employment is a logical progression from the initial Education stage. It might well lead to further education as one seeks to fine tune skills, but this is not a pre-requisite. More importantly, with employment comes the means to gain independence, or put more basically, money. Yes, to some folk it is a dirty word, representative of so many evils of our world, but without it we can do very little in the modern world. It buys us food, and clothes, and homes, and for many of us wheelchairs, and bath hoists. It is also the oil which runs our social life, at restaurants, theatres, and sports events.
And last, but by no means least, we have our chicken or egg E-word, the Environment. I have always believed that disabled people are more instinctively environmentally conscious because we are impacted directly by it. Simply put, it means more to us. Our environment might be created for us by our parents or friends, or a disabled friendly town. It might be created by us through building a wheelchair friendly house or encouraging an employer to make their offices more accessible. Since our environment is a constantly changing thing it also feeds back to us, forcing us to adapt, change, alter and improve our ways of doing things. Consider the impact on our lives of cell phones, accessible buildings, computers, and the Internet in only the last ten years. Our education is never complete. In some cases the creation of a positive environment might have less to do with physical barriers but be more emotional. How we interact with others, and they with us? How much are we encouraged? How much are we trusted? Who believes in us?
Here we reach right to the core of our self esteem, the ability to believe in ourselves, in all our skills and abilities drawn from all the E's. Regardless of which E-word comes first, all three E's need to be in place for self-esteem to flourish.
In recent discussions the topic was raised on the sense of self worth, or self-esteem, in disabled people. How is it generated? How is it maintained and encouraged? We were careful not to confuse self confidence with self-esteem. Self confidence was seen as the more "outward" projection of our personality, whereas self-esteem was viewed as an "inner" belief. What you think of yourself when looking in the mirror.
The position of the "Environment" E-word was up for debate. It became a "chicken or egg" (which comes first?) word as it was argued whether a favourable environment needed to come ahead of education and employment, or whether a favourable environment was created from the foundation of education and employment. Be that as it may, its role as one of the three E's was never in doubt.
Whether we like it or not self-esteem is a measuring device. It is our personal "State of the Nation" gauge as to how we feel about ourselves relative to our peers. If our inner report card tells us we're better than others, we feel good about ourselves, and our world looks brighter. Given the importance of a positive mental attitude, and its impact on our physical health, the role of self-esteem in shaping our lives should not be underestimated.
Regardless of ability, or disability, the building blocks for our personal self-esteem lie in our education, which can be carried through to our employment and work, or spread across our family, friends and acquaintances. Remove education and the potential for development of self esteem will be stalled, or at best severely limited. Remove employment and our ability to fulfil our educational prospects becomes blunted, and dependency, the enemy of self-esteem looms on the horizon. Create a negative physical or emotional environment and the prospects for both education and employment become bleak.
Alternatively, when any one or more of the E's is encouraged and developed it can trigger an upliftment in a most positive way. A solid education is the ideal springboard to successful employment. I use the term education broadly, because I see it as being more than simply book learning and the passing of exams. It includes an education of communication, interacting with others, socialising, sport and recreation. It is an education of all the senses, seeing, hearing, and speech.
Employment is a logical progression from the initial Education stage. It might well lead to further education as one seeks to fine tune skills, but this is not a pre-requisite. More importantly, with employment comes the means to gain independence, or put more basically, money. Yes, to some folk it is a dirty word, representative of so many evils of our world, but without it we can do very little in the modern world. It buys us food, and clothes, and homes, and for many of us wheelchairs, and bath hoists. It is also the oil which runs our social life, at restaurants, theatres, and sports events.
And last, but by no means least, we have our chicken or egg E-word, the Environment. I have always believed that disabled people are more instinctively environmentally conscious because we are impacted directly by it. Simply put, it means more to us. Our environment might be created for us by our parents or friends, or a disabled friendly town. It might be created by us through building a wheelchair friendly house or encouraging an employer to make their offices more accessible. Since our environment is a constantly changing thing it also feeds back to us, forcing us to adapt, change, alter and improve our ways of doing things. Consider the impact on our lives of cell phones, accessible buildings, computers, and the Internet in only the last ten years. Our education is never complete. In some cases the creation of a positive environment might have less to do with physical barriers but be more emotional. How we interact with others, and they with us? How much are we encouraged? How much are we trusted? Who believes in us?
Here we reach right to the core of our self esteem, the ability to believe in ourselves, in all our skills and abilities drawn from all the E's. Regardless of which E-word comes first, all three E's need to be in place for self-esteem to flourish.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The Wind In My Face
From the age of two or three an able-bodied person can expect to experience the feeling of air rushing on their faces. In the beginning it must be a strangely exciting sensation and one often sees children getting the same satisfied look on their faces as one sees on dogs with their heads out of car windows. Heads slightly back, eyes wide, and jowels flapping in the breeze. At speed of course it can quickly become bugs in the teeth and some years ago on the back of a bakkie in the Lowveld a friend named Piet swallowed a flying beetle. I'm not sure who was most surprised, Piet at having an early bug breakfast, or “Jonah” the bug.
For a disabled child, or adult for that matter, speed is not a sensation we easily experience, unless it is motorised. No running and no bicycling for us, we have to get our rush of air by artificial means. With speed comes a strange element of independence. It's easy to trundle along in a group, but its fun to accelerate away on one's own, free of assistance.
Some time ago I corresponded with a teacher in the UK who was launching a programme of driving lessons for wheelchair kids. Now there's a job for you! Don't think boring old Alan Johnston on DriveTime . . . "And the chair delivers 55 Newton-metres of torque, and the boot looks like this, and the steering wheel looks like that". Does anybody even know what a Newton-metre is? Think more Jeremy Clarkson and TopGear! . . . Think of four wheel power slides, and limited slip diffs, and smoking rear tyres. Think "fastest chair from a standing start down the studio corridor", or "fastest powerchair lap around the TopGear parking lot".
Anyway, to return to our intrepid wheelchair driving school teacher . . . He (she? can you tell the difference via eMail?) was developing a course to teach newly disabled kids how to handle chairs, both manual and power. Rather than saying "don't wheel fast" they were saying "let's teach you how to handle this thing". We all know that there is nothing more dangerous than a new rollerblader, drifting slowly down a slope with their arms flailing in every direction, ready to latch on to any upright object (which might be you) and cling on. Far better a fast, agile rollerblader who blasts past you in perfect control and balance. So the driving instuctor was going to build a slalom course of big cushions, drums, driving cones, etc and they were going to invite the local traffic police to add some fun with their uniforms and white gloves. I think that is smart, it is innovative, and if done correctly will result in wheelchair users who can not only wheel with safety and sureity, but will also feel confident about themselves and their mode of transport.
The Mother Grundy's out there can chill for a moment. This is not a piece in praise of dodgem cars. Any fool can drive a powerchair into a wall. It's not how many people you hit, but how many you miss. I'll keep the slow speed and fixed stare on the patch of ground immediately in front of me for my later years when I need to strap a walking cane to my joystick.
I drive my powerchair heads up. I like the feeling of the wind on my face. My jowels don't flap just yet, but no doubt that will come in time. I want to see the slight look of panic in other pedestrians eyes as the 10m distance between us closes rapidly and they have to decide whether to step right or left . . . or will he step right or left? . . . now 7m . . . no, powerchairs can't step right or left! . . . now it's 5m . . . must I stop or will he stop? . . . 3m . . . I better do the stepping and do it now! . . . WHOOOOSH !!
For a disabled child, or adult for that matter, speed is not a sensation we easily experience, unless it is motorised. No running and no bicycling for us, we have to get our rush of air by artificial means. With speed comes a strange element of independence. It's easy to trundle along in a group, but its fun to accelerate away on one's own, free of assistance.
Some time ago I corresponded with a teacher in the UK who was launching a programme of driving lessons for wheelchair kids. Now there's a job for you! Don't think boring old Alan Johnston on DriveTime . . . "And the chair delivers 55 Newton-metres of torque, and the boot looks like this, and the steering wheel looks like that". Does anybody even know what a Newton-metre is? Think more Jeremy Clarkson and TopGear! . . . Think of four wheel power slides, and limited slip diffs, and smoking rear tyres. Think "fastest chair from a standing start down the studio corridor", or "fastest powerchair lap around the TopGear parking lot".
Anyway, to return to our intrepid wheelchair driving school teacher . . . He (she? can you tell the difference via eMail?) was developing a course to teach newly disabled kids how to handle chairs, both manual and power. Rather than saying "don't wheel fast" they were saying "let's teach you how to handle this thing". We all know that there is nothing more dangerous than a new rollerblader, drifting slowly down a slope with their arms flailing in every direction, ready to latch on to any upright object (which might be you) and cling on. Far better a fast, agile rollerblader who blasts past you in perfect control and balance. So the driving instuctor was going to build a slalom course of big cushions, drums, driving cones, etc and they were going to invite the local traffic police to add some fun with their uniforms and white gloves. I think that is smart, it is innovative, and if done correctly will result in wheelchair users who can not only wheel with safety and sureity, but will also feel confident about themselves and their mode of transport.
The Mother Grundy's out there can chill for a moment. This is not a piece in praise of dodgem cars. Any fool can drive a powerchair into a wall. It's not how many people you hit, but how many you miss. I'll keep the slow speed and fixed stare on the patch of ground immediately in front of me for my later years when I need to strap a walking cane to my joystick.
I drive my powerchair heads up. I like the feeling of the wind on my face. My jowels don't flap just yet, but no doubt that will come in time. I want to see the slight look of panic in other pedestrians eyes as the 10m distance between us closes rapidly and they have to decide whether to step right or left . . . or will he step right or left? . . . now 7m . . . no, powerchairs can't step right or left! . . . now it's 5m . . . must I stop or will he stop? . . . 3m . . . I better do the stepping and do it now! . . . WHOOOOSH !!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Feel The Heat !
I have a saying, “it’s never too hot”. I mean it. No climate can ever be too hot for me. I watch the international weather report on television and keep an eye out for “Muscat” where the average daytime temperature hovers at around 40 degrees Celcius, and I think to myself “if only”! My disability has left me really thin, literally skin and bones, or as one person so aptly put it, a “stickman”. The result is that I lose heat rapidly, and when I do, I struggle to regain it.
The added problem is that my limited muscle strength turns me off wearing layers of warm clothing, gloves, boots, etc. I feel like the proverbial Michelin Man, only less mobile! I’m at my most comfortable in a t-shirt and tracksuit pants, that’s all, and ninety percent of the time I’m also without shoes. My home is my castle, and I like to “walk” around inside it dressed for comfort, not in defiance of the elements. I know people who wear jackets and jerseys inside their own homes. Some even walk around draped in a blanket! It makes no sense to me, unless of course one cannot afford heating.
My hands and fingers feel the cold first, and when they freeze up they stop working, so my priority is always to keep my hands warm. I use a variety of methods, from hugging-a-mug, to immersing my hands into a hand basin of hot water, to holding a nifty gel hand warmer a mate bought me in London. All work, but only for a limited time. The key is my inner body warmth, and for that I need my home to be warm.
It has to be said that our houses in South Africa are not properly insulted, for winter or summer. We live in solid brick and mortar homes but they leak heat like sieves. I recall my first trip to New York in winter, sitting at a window looking out at the snow in the garden, looking down and noticing that the windowsill, and corresponding house wall where I was positioned, was wafer thin, yet I was as warm as toast, while it was snowing outside. For the first time the importance of proper insulation dawned on me. Northern hemisphere prefabricated buildings are better insulated than the most expensive of our southern hemisphere mansions. Somewhere along the way we became lazy in South Africa and missed some important lessons.
Fortunately my wife shares my liking for warmth, which is a good thing. She has more meat on her bones, but will readily admit that she would make a lousy adventure racer, or explorer. Being cold, and possibly wet, is not for her. My mother is the complete opposite. She’s always wanted to travel to the Antarctic, but I warn all interested parties that she will want to sleep with the tent flap open! A good friend of mine has the problem that he likes the cold, and his wife likes the warmth. One of the stranger results of their union is their duvet, which is stitched down the middle, with his side devoid of stuffing, and his wife’s side filled with extra fluff! He sleeps kaalgat, she comes to bed with socks on. Fortunately they love each other!
Only once have we come close to uttering that magical phrase, “I’m too hot”. It was in Las Vegas where the already hot and dry desert air was reflected back at us off the endless concrete pavements, concrete buildings, tarred road surfaces, metal signage, etc. Every hard surface acted as a magnifier and multiplier of the heat. Little wonder they are draining the Colorado River dry to irrigate their fountains and water features. Anything to soften the surroundings. The effect was heightened by the near Arctic setting on all the interior air-conditioning. It made the movement into, or out of, buildings something of a body shocking experience!
By the time you read this we will be moving into winter and I will be eyeing Muscat on the television with envy, and my panel heater with new found affection, whilst the electricity box grins knowingly across at me in the kitchen! We will be entering the season where getting warm, and staying warm, becomes my major priority. Fortunately there are a couple of alternative internal heating methods, such as a good risotto, jambalaya, or Loretta’s famous putanesca, and of course red wine! Sampled often, and in quantity, they help keep the big chill at bay, until we can once again feel the heat.
The added problem is that my limited muscle strength turns me off wearing layers of warm clothing, gloves, boots, etc. I feel like the proverbial Michelin Man, only less mobile! I’m at my most comfortable in a t-shirt and tracksuit pants, that’s all, and ninety percent of the time I’m also without shoes. My home is my castle, and I like to “walk” around inside it dressed for comfort, not in defiance of the elements. I know people who wear jackets and jerseys inside their own homes. Some even walk around draped in a blanket! It makes no sense to me, unless of course one cannot afford heating.
My hands and fingers feel the cold first, and when they freeze up they stop working, so my priority is always to keep my hands warm. I use a variety of methods, from hugging-a-mug, to immersing my hands into a hand basin of hot water, to holding a nifty gel hand warmer a mate bought me in London. All work, but only for a limited time. The key is my inner body warmth, and for that I need my home to be warm.
It has to be said that our houses in South Africa are not properly insulted, for winter or summer. We live in solid brick and mortar homes but they leak heat like sieves. I recall my first trip to New York in winter, sitting at a window looking out at the snow in the garden, looking down and noticing that the windowsill, and corresponding house wall where I was positioned, was wafer thin, yet I was as warm as toast, while it was snowing outside. For the first time the importance of proper insulation dawned on me. Northern hemisphere prefabricated buildings are better insulated than the most expensive of our southern hemisphere mansions. Somewhere along the way we became lazy in South Africa and missed some important lessons.
Fortunately my wife shares my liking for warmth, which is a good thing. She has more meat on her bones, but will readily admit that she would make a lousy adventure racer, or explorer. Being cold, and possibly wet, is not for her. My mother is the complete opposite. She’s always wanted to travel to the Antarctic, but I warn all interested parties that she will want to sleep with the tent flap open! A good friend of mine has the problem that he likes the cold, and his wife likes the warmth. One of the stranger results of their union is their duvet, which is stitched down the middle, with his side devoid of stuffing, and his wife’s side filled with extra fluff! He sleeps kaalgat, she comes to bed with socks on. Fortunately they love each other!
Only once have we come close to uttering that magical phrase, “I’m too hot”. It was in Las Vegas where the already hot and dry desert air was reflected back at us off the endless concrete pavements, concrete buildings, tarred road surfaces, metal signage, etc. Every hard surface acted as a magnifier and multiplier of the heat. Little wonder they are draining the Colorado River dry to irrigate their fountains and water features. Anything to soften the surroundings. The effect was heightened by the near Arctic setting on all the interior air-conditioning. It made the movement into, or out of, buildings something of a body shocking experience!
By the time you read this we will be moving into winter and I will be eyeing Muscat on the television with envy, and my panel heater with new found affection, whilst the electricity box grins knowingly across at me in the kitchen! We will be entering the season where getting warm, and staying warm, becomes my major priority. Fortunately there are a couple of alternative internal heating methods, such as a good risotto, jambalaya, or Loretta’s famous putanesca, and of course red wine! Sampled often, and in quantity, they help keep the big chill at bay, until we can once again feel the heat.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Tools Of A Primitive Man
I recall someone, somewhere, sometime saying that you could fix a Ford with a piece of wire, a screwdriver and some tape. It is presumeably an urban legend, we all know that Ford's are not worth fixing. It does however serve to remind me of a couple of items which I find indispensable, and which on a scale of high tech to low tech would rank as positively caveman-ish! They are small, unobtrusive, but without them my days would be more difficult and challenging, and I have reached that stage in life where simple and easy are good.
The first is my wheelchair footrest, which consists of a piece of knotted string. OK, so it is not actually string, more parachute cord, but it is knotted. I’ve never found wheelchair footrests comfortable. My first wheelchair, which I took delivery of in 1974, not long after the wheel was invented, came with fixed footrests. They only served two purposes, to carry my school suitcases and those of my mates, and to clip stupid people’s ankles. The next wheelchair came with removable footrests, and that is precisely what happened to them, they were removed. Like the soles of my shoes, my footrests have always remained in pristine condition, untouched my human feet. I’ve been through four sets of footrests, all as shiny new the day I passed them on as the day they arrived. I prefer my piece of knotted string, slung between the two side frames of the chair. It’s a bit hard on my tender bare feet, my usual choice for daily footwear, so I sometimes resort to a converted shoulder bag strap which helps spread the tension across the underside of my feet. With my piece of knotted string my wheelchair is shorter, lighter, better balanced, and as a bonus I can store my footrest in my top pocket!
The second indispensable item I encountered by chance. Many years ago a friend who was in the manufacturing industry loaned me a small folding ruler, but after I had discovered its hidden abilities she never got it back. A little over 15cm long when folded, it can be extended zig-zag fashion to a metre in length. More importantly, each folding section has a notch at the 90 degree point, so one can fold an L, or U, shape into it. I can fold it out to its full length, or I can keep it short and compact, my choice. It makes a brilliant reacher, pusher, puller, or pointer, and it’s quite handy for measuring things too.
Perhaps my most useful, and used, caveman tool is a simple wooden stick. A 40cm wooden dowel, with a rubber stopper on each end. It’s my magic wand, my swizzle stick, my cattle prod. I use it to turn on lights, push television and computer buttons, answer the intercom, and even to cough. Yes, as strange as it sounds, if I’m suffering from some chest congestion, I place one end of the stick against a wall, and the other end on my sternum, lean forward against the stick, and cough. The resistance and pressure generated against my chest allows me a stronger cough. Works like a charm!
Last, but by no means least is my drinking straw. I’ve never been able to sit up in bed, or prop myself up on my side, so since my long months in hospital over 30 years ago I have used a flexible straw when schlurping my morning or evening mug of coffee. I have vivid memories of the milk which we we served in hospital as being delicious. We had competitions with the nurses to suck the milk out our glasses faster than they could pour. The strange things one remembers! Previously I had a source of used drip tubes, which worked perfectly. These days I buy clear plastic tubing, sold by the metre, which keeps me in touch with my coffee for many years.
No doubt, in a medical equipment supply store, one can find fancy aluminium and plastic versions of most of the abovementioned devices. There’s a gadget for virtually everything these days, but I am comfortable with my caveman tools. They cost me nothing, I developed them myself, they’re all an integral part of my home. Heck, if Eskom shuts off our electricity I might even be able to use my magic wand to make fire in my cave!
The first is my wheelchair footrest, which consists of a piece of knotted string. OK, so it is not actually string, more parachute cord, but it is knotted. I’ve never found wheelchair footrests comfortable. My first wheelchair, which I took delivery of in 1974, not long after the wheel was invented, came with fixed footrests. They only served two purposes, to carry my school suitcases and those of my mates, and to clip stupid people’s ankles. The next wheelchair came with removable footrests, and that is precisely what happened to them, they were removed. Like the soles of my shoes, my footrests have always remained in pristine condition, untouched my human feet. I’ve been through four sets of footrests, all as shiny new the day I passed them on as the day they arrived. I prefer my piece of knotted string, slung between the two side frames of the chair. It’s a bit hard on my tender bare feet, my usual choice for daily footwear, so I sometimes resort to a converted shoulder bag strap which helps spread the tension across the underside of my feet. With my piece of knotted string my wheelchair is shorter, lighter, better balanced, and as a bonus I can store my footrest in my top pocket!
The second indispensable item I encountered by chance. Many years ago a friend who was in the manufacturing industry loaned me a small folding ruler, but after I had discovered its hidden abilities she never got it back. A little over 15cm long when folded, it can be extended zig-zag fashion to a metre in length. More importantly, each folding section has a notch at the 90 degree point, so one can fold an L, or U, shape into it. I can fold it out to its full length, or I can keep it short and compact, my choice. It makes a brilliant reacher, pusher, puller, or pointer, and it’s quite handy for measuring things too.
Perhaps my most useful, and used, caveman tool is a simple wooden stick. A 40cm wooden dowel, with a rubber stopper on each end. It’s my magic wand, my swizzle stick, my cattle prod. I use it to turn on lights, push television and computer buttons, answer the intercom, and even to cough. Yes, as strange as it sounds, if I’m suffering from some chest congestion, I place one end of the stick against a wall, and the other end on my sternum, lean forward against the stick, and cough. The resistance and pressure generated against my chest allows me a stronger cough. Works like a charm!
Last, but by no means least is my drinking straw. I’ve never been able to sit up in bed, or prop myself up on my side, so since my long months in hospital over 30 years ago I have used a flexible straw when schlurping my morning or evening mug of coffee. I have vivid memories of the milk which we we served in hospital as being delicious. We had competitions with the nurses to suck the milk out our glasses faster than they could pour. The strange things one remembers! Previously I had a source of used drip tubes, which worked perfectly. These days I buy clear plastic tubing, sold by the metre, which keeps me in touch with my coffee for many years.
No doubt, in a medical equipment supply store, one can find fancy aluminium and plastic versions of most of the abovementioned devices. There’s a gadget for virtually everything these days, but I am comfortable with my caveman tools. They cost me nothing, I developed them myself, they’re all an integral part of my home. Heck, if Eskom shuts off our electricity I might even be able to use my magic wand to make fire in my cave!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The View From Way Down There
I call my column the view from down here because I believe the millions of us in wheelchairs do experience life from a different level, both physically and emotionally. As a schoolchild I recall joking with the tall kids and asking “What’s the weather like up there?”. We talk about overviews, helicopter views and worm’s eye views. I discovered another view the other day, one a little lower than mine, but brimming with enthusiasm and confidence, but let me start at the beginning . . .
Some time ago a father of a newly disabled daughter commented on an Internet discussion forum that there were no disabled children around. The thought stuck with me, and I wondered whether this was a fact, or merely a perception. Are there relatively fewer disabled children than disabled adults? The answer is both yes and no. Yes there are fewer children than adults, but there are also far too many disabled children. Research conducted at a care home for mentally disabled children revealed that 80% of them came about their state through motor vehicle accidents when their heads were smashed against windshields and dashboards. Add diseases such as ours into the equation, and birth defects, and other accidents and the numbers sadly mount.
So why then do we see so few disabled children in public? I believe the answer lies in a sense of embarrassment on the part of the parents and broader family. I can recall my mother telling me of the torrid times she had to endure when taking me out in public as a disabled child. Endless questioning, and often ridicule and chastisement. Fortunately for me, my mother had a thick skin, or she deliberately put one on. She brushed off the scrutiny and kept me in the public eye. Unfortunately she appeared to be in the minority.
In our local shopping mall, at any one time you can probably count 75 to 100 children under the age of 13, go to the larger malls and one can double or treble that figure easily. Now if 3% of the population is mobility disabled, a conservative figure, then one should see 2 to 3 disabled kids, or 4 to 6, or more. Yet one sees none. Where are they? Why are they being hidden away? What will become of them when they grow up?
In the midst of all this baggage, and social commentary, imagine my surprise therefore to chance upon five year old Angelo as he motored around the V&A Waterfront in his Permobil “Koala” powerchair. With not a care in the world he breezed in and out of stores, flicking the joystick with utmost precision and dexterity. We met in between the coats and trouser racks of an outdoor apparel store, and his interest was immediately pricked by my powerchair. Now we know that when two males meet it is only a matter of time before they begin talking about cars. When two powerchair males meet, well, it is only a matter of time before they begin talking about their motors. And so Angelo quickly demonstrated to me that although his chair might have been lower to the ground than mine it did however have seat elevation, and tilt. He also asked about top speed. Who wouldn’t? I countered that my rapidly greying hair permitted me to travel a bit more sedately. Whew! Off the hook. Then we moved on to manoeuvrability, and control switches, and joystick mounts. Heady stuff that would have a Formula One commentator scrambling for words.
What struck me during our brief time together was the confidence, control and calm that young Angelo possessed. He wasn’t concerned about the throngs of people in the mall, in his powerchair he was his own man. He was in control of his body and the environment he was in. He was secure, and comfortable and confident in his own ability to propel himself. I knew exactly how he felt.
Watching young Angelo weave effortlessly through the shopping mall I could not help but wish that his future would be as clear as the freedom he was experiencing in the moment. Wouldn’t it be liberating if there were more Angelo’s out in the public view? Wouldn’t it be enlightening if more people could be inspired by his presence? Wouldn’t it be encouraging if the public infrastructure was more accommodating to disabled children?
Education, social interaction, employment, and building a home and family were the last things on Angelo’s mind in the V&A Waterfront, and rightly so. Right then, right there, despite his profound disability, he was able to “walk” with his Mom and Dad and siblings, just like all the other kids in the mall.
Some time ago a father of a newly disabled daughter commented on an Internet discussion forum that there were no disabled children around. The thought stuck with me, and I wondered whether this was a fact, or merely a perception. Are there relatively fewer disabled children than disabled adults? The answer is both yes and no. Yes there are fewer children than adults, but there are also far too many disabled children. Research conducted at a care home for mentally disabled children revealed that 80% of them came about their state through motor vehicle accidents when their heads were smashed against windshields and dashboards. Add diseases such as ours into the equation, and birth defects, and other accidents and the numbers sadly mount.
So why then do we see so few disabled children in public? I believe the answer lies in a sense of embarrassment on the part of the parents and broader family. I can recall my mother telling me of the torrid times she had to endure when taking me out in public as a disabled child. Endless questioning, and often ridicule and chastisement. Fortunately for me, my mother had a thick skin, or she deliberately put one on. She brushed off the scrutiny and kept me in the public eye. Unfortunately she appeared to be in the minority.
In our local shopping mall, at any one time you can probably count 75 to 100 children under the age of 13, go to the larger malls and one can double or treble that figure easily. Now if 3% of the population is mobility disabled, a conservative figure, then one should see 2 to 3 disabled kids, or 4 to 6, or more. Yet one sees none. Where are they? Why are they being hidden away? What will become of them when they grow up?
In the midst of all this baggage, and social commentary, imagine my surprise therefore to chance upon five year old Angelo as he motored around the V&A Waterfront in his Permobil “Koala” powerchair. With not a care in the world he breezed in and out of stores, flicking the joystick with utmost precision and dexterity. We met in between the coats and trouser racks of an outdoor apparel store, and his interest was immediately pricked by my powerchair. Now we know that when two males meet it is only a matter of time before they begin talking about cars. When two powerchair males meet, well, it is only a matter of time before they begin talking about their motors. And so Angelo quickly demonstrated to me that although his chair might have been lower to the ground than mine it did however have seat elevation, and tilt. He also asked about top speed. Who wouldn’t? I countered that my rapidly greying hair permitted me to travel a bit more sedately. Whew! Off the hook. Then we moved on to manoeuvrability, and control switches, and joystick mounts. Heady stuff that would have a Formula One commentator scrambling for words.
What struck me during our brief time together was the confidence, control and calm that young Angelo possessed. He wasn’t concerned about the throngs of people in the mall, in his powerchair he was his own man. He was in control of his body and the environment he was in. He was secure, and comfortable and confident in his own ability to propel himself. I knew exactly how he felt.
Watching young Angelo weave effortlessly through the shopping mall I could not help but wish that his future would be as clear as the freedom he was experiencing in the moment. Wouldn’t it be liberating if there were more Angelo’s out in the public view? Wouldn’t it be enlightening if more people could be inspired by his presence? Wouldn’t it be encouraging if the public infrastructure was more accommodating to disabled children?
Education, social interaction, employment, and building a home and family were the last things on Angelo’s mind in the V&A Waterfront, and rightly so. Right then, right there, despite his profound disability, he was able to “walk” with his Mom and Dad and siblings, just like all the other kids in the mall.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Attitude
When I hear the term "attitude" being applied to an individual I have this picture pop up in my mind of a gangster rapper, hand on hip, staring over the top of their shades, or one of those big African American ladies who talks while wiggling her neck from side to side.
It's a Hollywood vision, but attitude is more than a show. It is a philosophy, a mindset, a character trait, one we, as disabled, need plenty of. It is the space that separates success from failure, happiness from despair, achievement from indifference. Attitude is not necessarily something you "have", like a bad mood, or a common cold. It is rather something which is inside one's core being, a sort of "inner outlook" which governs how we go about our lives. Some people with really profound levels of disability achieve success, whilst others with relatively minor afflictions struggle and often fall by the wayside. No-one knows how our disability affects our lives and our persona other than ourselves, but our attitude to it, and the environment surrounding us is what determines whether we succeed or fail in managing and living with our disability.
Attitude is influenced by our knowledge, education, skills, support structure and economic situation. I say influenced, because having one or more of these is no guarantee of success. It is what we make of them which really matters. They are floating opportunities bobbing around us in a swimming pool. We can reach out and embrace one or more of them, or we can push them away. Either way it will affect how we cope in that pool, how long we can stay afloat, and whether we enjoy the swim!
This is perhaps particularly relevant to MD sufferers since so many of us contracted the disease as children. How we were raised influenced our attitude, and formed the foundation of our adult character. If that character did not "fit" with our later reality of education, employment, independent living, friendships, etc then it placed us at odds with all around us, a situation which would in turn influence our attitude. It is easy to see how a negative attitude can quickly become self-perpetuating, but of course the opposite is also true. It is vital that young disabled individuals are developed to have a high self-esteem, positive view of themselves, and never under-estimated. Failure to do so will damage their attitude, something which could end up being as debilitating as their physical condition.
Into this whole attitude equation we also need to factor in our life expectations. What do we expect from family, friends, work, the government or religion? The combination of our attitude "to" things, and our expectations "of" things determines how we are likely to deal with life. Those who enjoy success in their disabled lives generally have the ability to blur the lines between disability and able-bodied.
We cannot clearly define exactly what attitude is but we know that the presence of disability can magnify its effects. A bad environment can affect us negatively, but we can grab hold of a good thing, absorb it, and use it to break out into a better environment. Whether we take advantage of opportunities or allow them to overwhelm us is determined by our attitude. It is something which is very definitely within our control. We cannot change the way we feel, but we can change the way we see things, and that will change the way we feel.
Some believe we are either "hard wired", like an electrical circuit, to deal with disability, or we are not. You can cope, or you can't. Simple as that. It is an interesting theory, but not one I am entirely convinced of. I believe we can change, and just as our disability changes us physically so we can change mentally and emotionally to adapt to it. Our biggest obstacle is sitting on top of our shoulders. As our set of abilities changes so we need to assess what we can do, and live within those abilities. We have a disability which is trying to take control of our lives and our attitude is going to determine how we keep control. The physical realities can often outweigh optimism but that's not a reason to give in. It takes time and a re-learning of life, to gain the ability to live freely.
Attitude is a defining characteristic in determining if an individual will reach their full potential, irrespective of disability. Someone once said life is 10% of what happens to you and 90% of what you make of it. In our quest to find our goals and the means to achieve them it might be worthwhile to reflect on these words . . .
"So judge not another for their toil,
It’s to themselves they answer in life,
Be it truth or lie,
To God they answer when they die,
The real why." . . . . . (Ralf, Nikkei)
It's a Hollywood vision, but attitude is more than a show. It is a philosophy, a mindset, a character trait, one we, as disabled, need plenty of. It is the space that separates success from failure, happiness from despair, achievement from indifference. Attitude is not necessarily something you "have", like a bad mood, or a common cold. It is rather something which is inside one's core being, a sort of "inner outlook" which governs how we go about our lives. Some people with really profound levels of disability achieve success, whilst others with relatively minor afflictions struggle and often fall by the wayside. No-one knows how our disability affects our lives and our persona other than ourselves, but our attitude to it, and the environment surrounding us is what determines whether we succeed or fail in managing and living with our disability.
Attitude is influenced by our knowledge, education, skills, support structure and economic situation. I say influenced, because having one or more of these is no guarantee of success. It is what we make of them which really matters. They are floating opportunities bobbing around us in a swimming pool. We can reach out and embrace one or more of them, or we can push them away. Either way it will affect how we cope in that pool, how long we can stay afloat, and whether we enjoy the swim!
This is perhaps particularly relevant to MD sufferers since so many of us contracted the disease as children. How we were raised influenced our attitude, and formed the foundation of our adult character. If that character did not "fit" with our later reality of education, employment, independent living, friendships, etc then it placed us at odds with all around us, a situation which would in turn influence our attitude. It is easy to see how a negative attitude can quickly become self-perpetuating, but of course the opposite is also true. It is vital that young disabled individuals are developed to have a high self-esteem, positive view of themselves, and never under-estimated. Failure to do so will damage their attitude, something which could end up being as debilitating as their physical condition.
Into this whole attitude equation we also need to factor in our life expectations. What do we expect from family, friends, work, the government or religion? The combination of our attitude "to" things, and our expectations "of" things determines how we are likely to deal with life. Those who enjoy success in their disabled lives generally have the ability to blur the lines between disability and able-bodied.
We cannot clearly define exactly what attitude is but we know that the presence of disability can magnify its effects. A bad environment can affect us negatively, but we can grab hold of a good thing, absorb it, and use it to break out into a better environment. Whether we take advantage of opportunities or allow them to overwhelm us is determined by our attitude. It is something which is very definitely within our control. We cannot change the way we feel, but we can change the way we see things, and that will change the way we feel.
Some believe we are either "hard wired", like an electrical circuit, to deal with disability, or we are not. You can cope, or you can't. Simple as that. It is an interesting theory, but not one I am entirely convinced of. I believe we can change, and just as our disability changes us physically so we can change mentally and emotionally to adapt to it. Our biggest obstacle is sitting on top of our shoulders. As our set of abilities changes so we need to assess what we can do, and live within those abilities. We have a disability which is trying to take control of our lives and our attitude is going to determine how we keep control. The physical realities can often outweigh optimism but that's not a reason to give in. It takes time and a re-learning of life, to gain the ability to live freely.
Attitude is a defining characteristic in determining if an individual will reach their full potential, irrespective of disability. Someone once said life is 10% of what happens to you and 90% of what you make of it. In our quest to find our goals and the means to achieve them it might be worthwhile to reflect on these words . . .
"So judge not another for their toil,
It’s to themselves they answer in life,
Be it truth or lie,
To God they answer when they die,
The real why." . . . . . (Ralf, Nikkei)
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