Scooter Saga

As ataxian, I'm commonly sporting some lump, bruise or something.*  Fortunately, the evidence of a mishap is often on my ass or some body part that's covered and doesn't elicit inquiry.  The mark is usually from a fall, but not always.  Once upon a time, I could brush it off, not feel it, or heal quickly.  These days, it takes so freakin' long to recover from an RRE (repair requiring event) and it's so unattractive .  Ugh!  It seems as if it doesn't take much to get a "senior stamp" or two.  Sometimes I know, but often I have no clue how I got the bruise–it just appears.  W hen bruising is visible, I can just say "My husband hit me."  No one who knows Earl gives that any credibility, but they figure that's the story, she's sticking to it, and they let the question drop. @!#% happens I've often said, and truly believe, it’s always something. Whether it's ataxia, cancer, heart disease, pain, aging, job change, they ha

Earl and I planned a return trip to the zoo with Heidi, Sarah, and Kyle before the weather turned cold.  It had been three years since we all went with the four grandchildren.  At that time, I had used the zoo's motorized scooter and first got the idea of getting one for myself.*  I learned the hard way to take your own scooter or risk getting accosted (verbally or physically) by another disabled person.  There are many people out there who need assistive devices and they aren't always nice about the provided equipment. When stripped of her basket (I remove extras when not at home), Skeeter doesn't provide carrying capacity.  Womens' apparel tends not to have deep pockets.  That day, I had no pockets and still wanted to carry my smartphone.  I have a great carrying case that doubles as my wallet, holding cards and cash.  The good news is that I only have one thing to transport.  The bad news is, a combined phone and wallet doesn't fit easily into many pocke