The week that was

Cleopatra and Mark Antony (???) on their way to Monster Bash

 This was not my finest week. Appointments with the hand surgeon, the dentist, and the podiatrist, followed by trips to Trader Joe’s and Westcliff Hardware, took a huge chunk of my work time and left me tired and a bit grumpy. The final insult was that I was awakened at seven this morning, far earlier than I intended to get up, by the rat-tat-tat of drums.

Today was Walkathon for Lily B. Clayton Elementary, and the band performs directly across the street from our house. They played continuously until 8:30 when the parade took off around the neighborhood. I would never be curmudgeonly about Walkathon—it’s a highlight for the kids, and it raises a lot of money for extra programming for the school. Jacob loved it for his seven years at Sweet Lily B. and Jordan and Christian walked with him most years. I rather miss sitting on the front porch and watching—these days I am back in the cottage, out of sight of the street. But I really didn’t want to get up that early. Neither did Sophie, who already been fed and gone out and was back asleep.

Jean pointed out something interesting to me about our visit to the hand surgeon with my swollen finger. There was not one place in that waiting room to park a transport chair or a walker, nor were there any tables to set a purse or drink (maybe the latter was intentional). The waiting room was huge, and every wall lined with chairs right up next to each other, plus an island of chairs in the middle of the largest part of the area. I truly wondered how many patients they expected at any one time. There were a goodly number of people coming and going, but the big majority of the chairs were empty. Must have been close to a hundred chairs.

When we were called back, the attendant ushered us into a small room with a desk and two chairs, barely big enough for Jean to maneuver my transport chair. In fact I thought I was stuck under the desk at one point and might not get out.

After she brought this to my attention, I paid attention at the dentist’s office and the podiatrist’s. In both cases, the treatment rooms were so small, my walker was a problem. At the dentist they had to leave it in the hall where it was an obstacle for anyone using the hall. Clearly the medical community has not thought enough about handicaps.

Handicaps were on my mind this week anyway. My church is planning a much-needed renovation, and I watched a video about the new look. Inside one entrance, visitors will find a coffee bar and lounge area with a sweeping open staircase to the second floor. Wonderful, clean, welcoming space. Except: the curved staircase and the openness is an invitation to most people, but if you are phobic about height and space, as I have been most of my life, the staircase will strike fear in your heart. I wrote to one of the ministers to say I hope there is an alternate staircase, pointing out that one old, narrow one, with a landing and walls around it, is my favorite. There are always elevators, but some people prefer stairs. My point was that not all handicaps are as visible as my walker.

Jordan has occasionally ranted about this ever since I became dependent on a walker. There are often too few handicapped spaces and ramps that are ridiculous. At one of my favorite restaurants, the ramp is short and so steep I feel like I am skiing. At another it is a two-part ramp—of herringbone patterned brick. Granted it provides traction but try bumping over it with a walker!

The Americans with Disability Act has made so much progress in so many areas, but there is still much to be done to raise awareness. For one thing, I think specialty offices need to think beyond their own specialty—apparently an office that focuses on hand and shoulder does not expect a person with mobility problems.

Enough ranting. Jean came for supper, and I fixed a good, down-home dinner with one twist. We began the meal with a mini-butter board (see last night’s Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog) on a plate instead of a board. I wasn’t as blown away by it as I expected to be. It was the kind of thing I might crave late at night, but it was a bit heavy before dinner.

Butter board on a plate

We had meatloaf, tiny roasted potatoes, and a wilted lettuce salad like my mom used to make. The salad had a slight sweetness, almost a bit of brown sugar taste. I can’t figure out where it came from, except maybe the bacon. I should have used more vinegar—that salad is one of those things you never measure, but just do. It was a good meal, though, and for dessert we had mini-ice-cream cones from Trader Joe’s. Color me overfed.

‘Night all. I think this will be an early night followed by a late morning for me.