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Amy F. Quincy Author/Freelance Writer

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amyfquincy

Freelance Writer

Same as it Ever Was

Watching the Suns (sort of)

Lots of things have changed for me these days. Instead of walking along the water, Frankie and I sit at the handicapped ramp and watch the waves. I avoid Publix at 5:00 on weekdays, festivals and flea markets, and crowds in general, but I used to like going into a packed bar on a Friday night. I wake up rested and alert at the crack of dawn with nowhere to be. When I was employed, I’d hit snooze 15 times after 7:00 and still struggle to stay awake. Most everything is different: my friends, how I get ready and where I go. But not too long ago I experienced something that was almost exactly as I remember it. Baseball.

Call me slow, but when we entered there seemed to be an inordinate number of walkers, wheelchairs and canes.

I am slow. It was the Jacksonville Suns Disability Night. Admission was free to a Duval County resident with a disability. I wondered briefly if you had to prove this. Then I decided there weren’t many people trying to escape the cost of admission by pretending to be part of this crowd.

It was wonderful. Handicapped people (and socially sensitive able-bodies) were everywhere. If someone wasn’t disabled themselves, they were with a friend or family member who was. Or they were a caretaker. (Each disabled person could bring a guest for free.) Here was a crowd I could be part of. Instead of feeling like a side show act at the circus, I could be part of the audience again. It felt… normal.

Friends and I sat in the handicapped seating back by the food, which was also free. Those that could do so without much trouble brought snacks back for the rest of us. Popcorn, peanuts and big, soft pretzels. It was all terrible, but it didn’t matter. I laughed at myself as popcorn missed my mouth and at a friend who spilled her beer. I can’t tell you what the score was (or even who was playing!) but as far as I’m concerned baseball has never been the point of going to baseball games.

So, I’m revising my opinion. Crowds aren’t so bad … if you’re part of the right one.

1

The Secret to Happy

If you’ve ever watched a child on a swing or running in the sand at the beach, you know. That simple, wild abandon. The sheer joy. How are they so able to enjoy life and the little things? To be so … happy? “Well,” you grumble, “…they don’t have to work 9-5, …they don’t have a horrible boss, …they don’t have bills to pay.” But the answer is easier. They live in the present.

You know how it goes. “Five more minutes!” you holler. Then, when five minutes are up and you announce it’s time to go, they are shocked and hurt. As if you’d never warned them at all. They didn’t spend their last five minutes being miserable. They happily resumed playing.

Now, you may have some adult-like child who’s different, but in general they forget the bad news that it’s all drawing to a close and soak up the remaining fun.

I have a friend who ruins the last half-hour of her massage thinking how it’s about to be over. “Oh, he’s on my legs. Then it’ll be my arms and then it’s over. Oh, he’s on my left arm. Then it’ll be my right arm and then it’s over.” And so on.

The secret to being happy is being positive in the present. The way we think, the way all of society operates, is that if x happens (we get the promotion, buy the new house, make the bonus,) then we’ll be happy. We delay our own gratification, always changing the goal, thereby putting happiness out of reach. It should work in reverse. A brain that is happy performs at a higher level, making all those other things possible. Listen to this TED talk on the subject. (Make sure you’ve got your thinking cap on. This guy talks at warp speed.)

To train your brain to be more positive, try the following. (It’s suggested for 21 days in a row, but that’s a little daunting to me. I say anything’s better than nothing.)

~ 3 Gratitudes

~Journaling

~Exercise

~Meditation

~Random Acts of Kindness

Personally, I think I’ve got this positive brain stuff down. I’m happier than most. Particularly, given my situation. You know, the wheelchair and all. That’s why I tend to get annoyed when someone starts positive thinking me to death. “Keep working hard! Never give up! Never say never and you’ll walk again.” The problem with this thinking is that it makes my happiness dependent on a particular outcome (walking again) that may never happen. I need to be happy today. With what I’ve got right now. Right this second. If I never walk again.

And you know what? I am.

6

Fear of the Fourth

Thank goodness it’s over.

Last night was the first night I dared leave Frankie’s crate in the living room where it belongs instead of in my bedroom. He only slept in it once all last week, preferring instead to wedge himself under the bed between unused framed art and boxes of old yearbooks. If he were playing hide-and-go-seek, he’d have lost. His hind legs and tail poked out from under the bed frame. I’m sure he thought he’d made himself as small and invisible as possible. I let him take whatever comfort he could. He’d been traumatized.

Frankie’s a little unorthodox in his other flight-taking routines, though. Instead of getting under something, he prefers to go up. Much like a cat. My mother left him alone inside on the Fourth while she lit sparklers in the driveway. When she went inside to check on him he was on top of the fish tank, scanning the walls to go higher.

Dog owners know this is their companion’s least favorite holiday, New Year’s Eve taking a distant second. My neighbors and I nodded to each other as we walked our dogs in the mornings after and exchanged comments like, “I see you two survived,” along with advice about doggy valium and something called the “thundershirt” which guarantees to reduce anxiety by creating gentle pressure. I abandoned evening walks altogether as the booming began in my neighborhood right after lunch. My mother insists this is ridiculous since you can’t even see fireworks when it’s bright out, but I guess that’s not the point. The noise is.

So, although it’s too late to help out this year, I’ve learned some important pointers for next year (and New Year’s.)

  • Resist the urge to take your pet to any fireworks displays.
  • Keep your pet indoors at home in a sheltered, quiet area. Some animals can become destructive when frightened, so remove any items that your pet could destroy or that would be harmful to your pet if chewed. Leave a television or radio playing at normal volume to keep him company while you’re out celebrating.
  • Don’t coddle or reassure your pet. The dog sees your reassurance as confirmation that there’s something to be afraid of. Talk to your dog calmly during these times and try to engage the pet in distracting activities such as playing with a ball or performing obedience commands.
  • Try accupressure points. The points that can be gently massaged to promote relaxation are the neck from behind the ears and down, the tips of the ears and the front of the paws just below the wrist joint.
  • Explore natural remedies. A bit of peppermint oil on a dog’s paw pads has a calming effect. A few drops of Bach’s Rescue Remedy, a flower essence, in the dog’s water bowl will also help calm your pet during times of stress. (We tried rubbing Rescue Remedy on the tips of Frankie’s ears and he fell asleep!)
5

Pushing the Envelope

There’s just no competing with California. Better weather, healthier lifestyle, prettier people. Even the girls in wheelchairs are glamorous in L.A.  Case in point: “The Push Girls,” a new reality show featuring four beautiful, brave women — all disabled.

Hooray! Finally, a reality show I can admit to watching. And a show I can relate to. Not that I have much in common with these women aside from height, or lack of it. No, next to this bunch with their stylish clothes, high heels and blinged-out wheels, I look ready for the nursing home in my stretchy pants and granny wheelchair. But I applaud them. They refuse to be typecast. They’re pushing boundaries and breaking molds. Their new series on the Sundance Channel (Mondays at 10) is dispelling any preconceived notions of what it means to be handicapped.

I’ve watched all episodes to date (not an easy feat since getting rid of cable) and I have to say — I’m a huge fan. I’m intensely curious as to how they do things. (This must go double for the average, in-the-dark, able-bodied viewer.) But producer Gay Rosenthal, who also produced TLC’s “Little People, Big World,” maintains the show is not exploitative or voyeuristic. I think people just like looking into a world that’s different from their own. Like the world of sports agents in Jerry Maguire, groupies in Almost Famous or doctors in “E.R.”

The show follows the women as they juggle relationships, careers, family and friendships. It’s interesting because they’re handicapped (and dealing with the natural obstacles that entails,) but also because they’re young, attractive, fun and seemingly fearless. So far, I’ve watched open-mouthed as they bounce down all kinds of stairs, perfect their chair dancing moves and even go out speed dating. I mean, these are some gutsy girls! One of the four was (and still is) a professional dancer who, on one episode, enters a packed ballroom dance competition to compete against able-bodied dancers! Granted, I can’t have been the only one to consider it might have been a pity-win when she and her partner took first place in the Show Dance category. But you can’t argue, she deserved a trophy just for having the hutzpuh to get out there. People say I inspire them. Well, these girls inspire me.

That doesn’t mean you’ll find me in heels anytime soon (I’m still a Florida flip-flop girl,) but it’s nice to see people in wheelchairs feeling good about themselves and life. I’ve been cautioned against calling high heels in wheelchairs ridiculous by a friend in a chair who used to wear them too. She moved here last year from (where else?) California — so make of that what you will.

Not everyone is sold. A critic for The New York Times worries that the show may give the mistaken impression that these women are representative. That the majority of disabled Americans are not in poor physical health and financial straits, unable to obtain jobs or even interviews, but young and independent like these women. Really? Since “Real Housewives,” do people think all housewives have personal chefs and wear $25,000 sunglasses? It’s Hollywood! Literally! I say capture the public’s attention with the pretty version, then work on social change. Maybe this media milestone will bring about real change for people living with disabilities. I’m hopeful — so goes California, so goes the nation.

3

Mr. Independent

They say that dogs become like their owners or owners like their dogs. I realize that my mom is Frankie’s “mom,” but since he spends most of his time with me, that’s really just a technicality. A recent trip to the dog park made it all too clear — Frankie and I are a bit too alike to do either of us much good.

We were invited to spend a recent Sunday afternoon at the Jacksonville Beach Dog Park. Since this is something my mom and I have always been nervous to try alone, I jumped at the opportunity to go with my neighbors, Trish and Pete and their dog, Chewy — seasoned dog park veterans. Besides, all parents are dying to watch their “kid” on the playground. To see how he acts with his friends.

I was disappointed. Frankie didn’t romp. Or play. Or chase balls. He didn’t even run fast. All the other dogs took off the minute their leashes were unclipped. Frankie just collapsed under the shade of a park bench and barely got up except to lap up the water that stained his chin or investigate the smells left behind by other dogs. Of course, he then raised his leg to mark the same fence post, garbage can or rock (any inanimate object, really.) He had to get the last word on the subject. In the dog world, it’s important to one-up the competition. To outsmell their smell.

He was the same way on a play date at a friend’s house. Boring. Frankie couldn’t have cared less about his three jolly playmates or their big backyard. He stayed inside in the AC, sprawled out on the cool tile.

It’s not like he’s the cool kid who can’t be bothered. He’s more like the grumpy old man who doesn’t want to join in the fun. Anti-social. This is where (I’m ashamed to confess) I see the similarities between us. Lord knows my mom has accused me of acting like her mother. And there’ve been plenty of times when I just can’t muster the will to go out. I’m a self-admitted homebody.

At the dog park, Frankie got up and moved whenever the other dogs started playing around him. And he growled whenever Chewy, a Shitzu-Yorkie mix (that’s right — a Shorkie,) got too rambunctious. Chewy can’t help it! He’s a youngster, still in the puppy phase. That annoying kid who just wants to be everyone’s friend. Frankie seems to have forgotten he was a puppy not too long ago. Apparently he skipped adulthood and went straight to senior citizen.

On our walks though, he seems to prefer dogs over people. Maybe, like me, he’s better one-on-one. But get a whole park full of them together and he opts out. As I watched my boy all by himself while the other dogs ran around in a pack, it was a good lesson for me. Sometimes being alone is just no fun. And okay, I’ll try harder not to growl internally when that family of four sits next to me at the movies.

The old man and the kid
1

Ode to a French Fry

I love food.

I love McDonald’s french fries, covered in salt and greasy, hot out of the bag before you can even get home. I love mussels from Carrabba’s swimming in sauce that drips down your chin, sopped up by warm, crusty bread. Chilled Chardonnay on the side, of course. And I never met a dessert I didn’t like. I prefer the ones with morbid names like Death by Chocolate or Raspberry Suicide. So, can you tell I’m on a diet?

Yup, the same one I was on after the holidays when I wrote my “Winter Weight” post. So, you see, it’s been going well. Six months later and I’ve decided to get serious.  Well, as serious as I get about diets which is not very. In fact, I don’t like to use the term “diet.” I prefer instead to say I’m “being good.” Then, I haven’t failed. I’m just “being bad” temporarily.

And no, I’m not doing it because bathing suit season is upon us. I couldn’t care less about bathing suit season. I can’t even swim. I long ago traded in my bikini for a tankini and I’m considering trading in my tankini for some men’s board shorts and an old t-shirt. No, I’m doing it because I can’t zip up my pants and I don’t want to spend money on new ones.

I have two friends (I’ll call them Mr. and Mrs. Hard Body) that are always “being good.” For them, it’s not a diet, it’s a way of life. And it shows. They look like Ken and Barbie, if Ken and Barbie lived in the gym instead of a dream house. Now, I love my friends, but they’re no fun. A day at the beach entails not the potato chips and cold beer that I crave, but a baggie full of chickpeas and some coconut water. You know, the kind of people that spend fifteen minutes questioning the waiter before ordering the special served dry and a salad with the dressing on the side, hold the croutons. My friends recently met up with another couple who (gasp!) chose a French restaurant for the foursome to eat at. A real problem for my friends. A dream come true for me.

In fact, going out to eat is probably my favorite thing to do. Sure, it’d be nice to wear a two-piece again. Or even a sleeveless top. To have toned arms and a flat stomach. But, I’ve decided it’s just not worth it. So, I’m embracing my rolls. And the garlic ones.

Another friend and I discovered a great Greek restaurant the other night. I had Shrimp Mykonos and she had the lamb (tender — like butter!) We saved room for dessert — cappuccinos, tiramisu and Baklava cheesecake. It’s nice spending time with someone who appreciates food as much as me. We’re both in wheelchairs, maybe that’s it. Life experience has taught us only too well — life’s too short to skip dessert.

I’m sorry, I realize this post isn’t going to inspire anyone to stick to their own healthy eating plan. I, myself, am not breaking any records for weight loss. I think I’m losing at the lightning speed of a pound a week. Maybe less. So if you need motivation, I’ll be happy to get you in touch with The Hard Body’s. But I’ll have to leave a message. I hear they’re out training for a marathon.

8

Live Forever!

“Let the world burn through you. Throw the prism light, white hot, on paper.” ~Ray Bradbury 

When something newsworthy happens in the writing world, I’m inclined to write about it. When that something is the death of one of the most legendary and prolific writers of our time, I have to write about it.

Author Ray Bradbury passed away after long illness on June 5th at the age of 91. In a career that spanned more than seven decades, he wrote hundreds of short stories, close to 50 books and numerous poems, essays and screenplays. But perhaps he is best known for his science fiction novel Farenheit 451 and other classics like The Martian Chronicles and Something Wicked This Way Comes. Much of his work has been turned into film, television shows and radio plays.

My mother remembers him first from comic books. Many of his short stories appeared in science fiction digests and comics in the 1950s.

His incredible imagination and love of the fantastic was part of him even as a child. He liked to recount the story of meeting a carnival magician, Mr. Electrico, in 1932. At the end of the performance, Mr. Electrico reached out his sword, touched the 12 year-old Bradbury on the forehead and commanded, “Live forever!” Bradbury says he decided that was the greatest idea he’d ever heard. He started writing every day and never stopped.

I am always touched by the passion with which he talked or wrote about writing. This video, taken at the age of 86, can move me to tears. I get that way in the presence of truly passionate people, particularly when their passion is writing. My writing teacher often reads passages from Bradbury’s Zen in the Art of Writing and our group sits marveling at his prose.

It is fitting that the ending of Farenheit 451 reads:

“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.”

He’s everywhere.

5

More Kindness

I hope you’ll forgive the repeat of a previous post, “The Kindness of Strangers.” I didn’t have time to write a new one — I was out surfing. Body surfing to be exact. Life Rolls On hosted their sixth “They Will Surf Again” event this past Saturday in Jacksonville Beach. There were a record number of disabled surfers and all kinds of friends, caregivers and volunteers ready to help wherever needed. I hope you’ll enjoy the new pictures as much as I enjoyed the perfect weather, water and day!

From “The Kindness of Strangers”:

I saw the advantage of owning my own beach wheelchair right away, but other beach chairs were on hand at the lifeguard station to ferry people over the soft sand or into the water. Some folks braved the sand in their regular wheelchairs. My friend, Amy, pushed my chair down by the water to wait my turn at “surfing.”

I’d done this once before (this was Life Rolls On’s fifth year in Jacksonville,) but I was struck again at the large number of volunteers. There were 12 able-bodied volunteers for every disabled surfer. When it came my turn, I understood why. It took six or seven people just to get me out to where the waves were breaking, then shove me off in time to catch one. And volunteers were lined up all the way to the shore to grab me wherever I happened to fall off.

A subsidiary of the Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation, Life Rolls On originally started the “They Will Surf Again” program for people affected by spinal cord injury. The number of participating disabilities has grown to include brain injuries, amputees, varied birth defects and others.

After about my third ride to shore and face full of salt water, I remembered overhearing someone talk about surfing on their knees. Anxious to avoid the stinging spray from my position lying down on the board, I asked if I could try sitting up. This meant a volunteer would ride tandem. This video is the first of two rides I made like that. Now that I know it’s an option, I’m certain there will be many more. My own hooting and hollering was drowned out by that of the volunteers.

I was touched by the enthusiasm, positive attitude and smiling face of each person who assisted that day. I’m not sure who got more out of the experience, the surfers or all those willing to lend a helping hand.

If you’ve followed my blog you know I like to say “disability has its perks.” Here’s another one: being disabled allows me to see the good in people. I’m in the unique position of seeing people at their best. I am reminded of the generosity of the human spirit almost every day when someone holds open a door, untangles Frankie’s leash or waits for me to slowly cross the road  in my power chair. And it’s a good thing too, because with a little help, life does indeed, roll on.

6

Keeping It Interesting

I discovered recently that Frankie is timid around men. And he doesn’t like the smell of fish. As a result, he really tries to avoid men who smell like fish. So, you’d think he’d be less than thrilled to spend a recent morning on the Jacksonville Beach pier, right? Wrong. He was beside himself.

I walked him there in my power chair to meet a couple of friends one weekday morning. He was tugging at the leash as soon as we turned south instead of north. He didn’t care where we were going. Just that we’d never been there before. When we reached the paved walkway next to the dunes, his pace quickened and he weaved back and forth, trying to take in all the strange scents simultaneously. Gulls called overhead, people whizzed by on bikes and rollerblades and the breeze carried in the smell of salt and Tropicana off the beach.

Dogs are allowed on the pier if they’re service dogs. Frankie is enrolled in classes with a trainer who can certify him as such, so technically, it wasn’t a lie. Frankie is a service dog-in-training now. But I have to admit, little Frankie looks nothing like those well-behaved helpers, particularly bounding ahead of the wheelchair with no special vest and barking at birds.

He was so excited that even being approached by smelly men with coolers full of fish didn’t faze him for long.  After our outing, his little legs carried him most of the way home, probably running on pure adrenaline.

Later that week, my writing coach gave us a suggestion that rang especially true. She said – do something new. As writers, we need to fill the creative well with new images, scents and tastes so that we can call these up in our writing, keeping things from sounding stale or cliche.

And non-writers need this mental stimulation too. Are you like me, always ordering the same thing off the menu? Mix it up! Try something different. Or better yet, go to a restaurant you’ve never been to before. Take in a museum exhibit on your lunch hour. Or just drive a different way to work. Our lives are so filled with routine that it’s easy to get stuck in a rut.

Remembering this advice, I took Frankie to the park the following week. We were rewarded when a mama duck and at least seven little ducklings crossed our path. True, Frankie was excited enough just by the Mallards waddling by, but I was happy to see the babies. We sat for a long time in the butterfly garden, Frankie attempting to dig in the mulch while I watched a Swallowtail flutter around. It was calming and it broke routine. That butterfly and those ducklings are now deep in the well of my creative subconscious just waiting to be called on. And Frankie’s happy. To him I’m just keeping it interesting.

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