Scooter Saga

Saturday breakfast/ Sunday coffee Week day breakfast Dining out with friends is more work than it used to be, but a large part of the life Earl and I enjoy.  My winnie walker*, although less stable than more conventional walkers, is collapsible and more conducive to entering crowded restaurants.  But Skeeter, a motorized scooter with a small footprint, allows me into bars and restaurants as well, with some critical advantages.  I don't have to transfer to their chair, don't wobble, scare other patrons, and can have wine with dinner without worrying.  Since most restaurants have ADA–restrooms, I can generally manuever.  Life is good, providing I've accurately differentiated a "skeeter–restaurant" from a "winnie–restaurant", Winnie allows me to meet friends for breakfast at the "winnie–restaurants".  I feel confident that if the inevitable fall happens, I may be embarrassed, but there is help at hand.  Our 'Breakfast Club

Searching for stability is an eternal quest for someone with a Movement Disorder.  We know intellectually it's not going to happen, but that doesn't stop us from looking.  An evidence trail of my search follows me—dirt, shoes, and scuffed baseboards.  The door jams in the house, my favorite place to hold, are grimey at about my shoulder height.  The housekeeper knows to wipe them down routinely and not say anything to me.  I was never a 'shoe–loving' person.  But seriously, I only have four pair that are safe to wear.  For those out there who consider that reasonable—never mind.  I suspect that if Earl were widowed, one of the first things he'd do is have the marred baseboards repainted.  Maybe not, but I would if I were him. Meant for grabbing When we remodeled, we had everything professionally installed and reinforced*.  There are plenty of safety bars in the house and I'm grateful for everyone of them.  I realize there are good and bad things to grab i

San Francisco Views I wouldn't call my earlier life 'big', but after my ataxia restricted my mobility, it definitely seemed less significant.  As I said in my first post*, getting Skeeter helped me expand a life that seemed much smaller than it was pre–ataxia. Party–sure It's so tempting to opt out of activities because it seems like too much trouble.  Then there is sensible opting out because going is too much trouble and just plain stupid.  I've done both, made some mistakes, but try to avoid the former and observe the latter.  Parties, tours, hillside viewing.. .(sure, sure, no thanks) . Tour de Tiburon Skeeter was an important part of our recent trip to the bay area.  I couldn't have participated in many things, if not for her (at least, within a reasonable time frame).   Another big part was Earl —disassembling, loading, unloading, reassembling the scooter anywhere from three to ten times a day.  Good news–he's a strong lifter

Living where we do is like living in a nature park.  In fact, Tryon Creek Park is adjacent to our property; we do live in a natural setting. Before being diagnosed with ataxia and working away from our home, I took my living environment for granted.  Now that I'm home most of the time, it is my serene refuge.  Lake Oswego has its own mayor, city council, and small town identity, but it's really a suburb of Portland—only fifteen minutes from downtown.  It just feels like we're out in the country.  While we consider ourselves exceptionally fortunate, there is a downside to living here.   Hey–the Schumans are out of town. We're surrounded by quiet, beauty and lots of upkeep.  Whoo, boy!  I thought I was high maintenance.  Our property makes me feel relatively low cost.  The front lawn is mostly flat and enjoyable for kids and dogs to run on, play, and chase frisbees.  It's also very attractive to the local mole family and we have the holes in our law