Happy

Published May 3, 2019 by helentastic67

Happy

Sometimes the littlest things make me so very happy. Not everything in my life is all hunky-dory. I’m still trying to encourage family to assist me to buy a clothes dryer and that is a monumental fucking nightmare. So, today on my scooter ride down to lunch, I did a little scooter stalking.

That’s where I scooter behind someone walking rather slowly along the footpath, oblivious to anyone else around them. I just pick my time to open ‘it’ up and overtake them and by the time I get to a major intersection close to where I’m going, I’m waiting at the lights and I spy someone I knew from the DAC (Disability Advisory Committee) opposite me and I give him a big cheesy smile and a wave if there is time.

I sometimes imagine that when I see people, I know who I have a history of friendship with and can have a conversation with a few words and facial expressions. I encountered Young John at this intersection and he called out to me that I was making him late and he would call my mother. So, I imagine to others who think all people on mobility scooters or people with disabilities cry into their cups of tea all the time, can’t smile (sometimes) or laugh or be happy.

Sure, it’s harder, it’s not as often, but when I laugh or smile, it’s contagious.

Catch some happy!

Danger – SWEAR WORDS AHEAD

Published April 29, 2019 by helentastic67

Danger – SWEAR WORDS AHEAD

FUCK ME! I know, I know! Inappropriate, but that is the worst thing I think I growl or mutter at people when I’m out in the city getting to an appointment of some sort and negotiating all the ANNOYING people who cut me off or get in my way, they trip me, etc, etc ad nauseum, all while they are too damn preoccupied with their mobile phones.

The “FUCK ME” I deliver to people a I’m carefully making my way about the city is only after I have exhausted every other grumpy less offensive comment.

I did encounter at one point, a guy walking up some steps (there were about ten and I was heading down as he was heading up) and I am completely about to switch the grumpy off to cheeky. He was looking at his phone too as he ascended the steps, as he made it to the top, I felt the need to inform him. “Now, you are just showing off.” He did have to stop a moment and give me all of his attention and I did need to point out that I was being cheeky. But people have NFI (No Fucking Idea) what I do to manage when I’m out and about.

To give you an idea, I make a habit of walking on the side of the street, so I’m going in the direction I need to travel. I walk close to the shop fronts, so my better eyesight (right peripheral) enables me to see people dart out of shops without noticing anybody else and I can slow my pace to not get bowled over. I cross the lights at the lights and someone will always cut across me to stand at my righthand while looking down eyes glued to their phones. That generally gets a growl.

ent

I was off to the city yesterday and in the course of the day I got a taxi (I love Young John) then a train, then a tram, then did way too much walking before doing another train out of the city, then finally a tram home.

By the time I successfully made it home, I had managed 5,000 steps. WINNING. And the whole day I COULD NOT FEEL MY LEFT FOOT.

Career – Part 1

Published April 26, 2019 by helentastic67

Career

It’s such a weird word isn’t it? Today, I thought I’d cover a little of my work history, sort of.

I grew up living in the country, I didn’t grow up on a farm, I was considered a “Townie”.

By the time I was sixteen, I was a full-time student, a part time check-out chick and a “when ever babysitter” I’m not complaining. It was what it was. But I had NO SOCIAL LIFE. None, Zero.

Over Christmas, I picked up seasonal work on a blueberry farm. So, don’t talk to me about blueberries. I don’t get it. You are on your own.

I only picked when there was no work in the shed packing. Let me tell you the difference. While picking, my older sister would give a decent rendition of “I found my thrills on Blueberry Hills”. Good times. But it was hard going.

Packing, while arduous, we started at 6am and went hard until 4pm.There were no guys in the packing shed. It was considered that men distracted the women in the sorting shed. So the “no”is important? Sounds so 1950’s, or is it just me? There was the constant smell of bleach from the cleaning products. It paid better, but was stressful. The best berries went to export somewhere like Germany and at the end of the season we sorted all the berries that was deemed too small, mangled or mouldy out so, it could go to be made into pies or jam. You’re welcome.

Even when I did that job from 6am until 4pm, I would go home, shower, eat something and go to my supermarket job from 5pm to 9pm.

Good thing I was planning to be a poor art student. My two days of cherry picking marred by heatstroke and sleeping under the tree on a bull-ant nest, just because I picked the wrong side of the tree first. What? You heard. There is a right and wrong side of a tree. Yes! You pick the side first that doesn’t get the morning sun, then in the afternoon you pick the side that had the morning sun.

So, while I stayed living in the country another year after completing high school because I didn’t get into what I wanted to go on and do, I got into TAFE art course for a year. It was fairly stock standard course to go do and build on a folio if you didn’t get a course in the city.

I was still doing the full-time study, part-time work and xyz babysitter. Still no social life.

When I moved to Melbourne, it took a little while, but I was eventually introduced to really cool night clubs. Night clubs became my social life.

The first clubs I was introduced to were full on “WOG” clubs (again, don’t take offense, my father is Italian, so I can use that term) Lebanese, Turks, mention of history of guns blazing and drive by’s at the first club I went to Brunswick back in the early 90’s. Also, where I heard the fantastic piece by O’Fortuna in Apotheosis. I think I went out and bought the last twelve-inch vinyl copy to come into the country. Because it heavily sampled them from a well-known classical piece of music, it was banned.

The vibe in the clubs was electric, but then there was some really shifty stuff about wog clubs. The continuous stream of standing around the outside of the dance floor and girls dragging their boyfriends behind them, who would seem, lean in for a cheeky snog.

What! Yes! Outrage!

A guy that was with the people I was with pinched me on the backside so I turned and delivered him a slap. His sister and two friends came up to me all gangster-bitch like to take a piece of me. “I know he’s an asshole, but he’s my brother” so much for sisterhood.

The following week, a friend of his came up to me and told me the “pincher” wanted to buy me a drink, maybe he should have started with that.

I don’t know why I’m still single, but I don’t think it’s because I’m prepared to slap men if they deserve it. My ass was offended.

But that is to say, I digress.

While I studied to be a Visual Merchandiser, that being shop front window displays, shop layouts etc. I didn’t get into that, I didn’t have a folio, I couldn’t drive (to do freelancing) and I wasn’t a guy and gay. So, I couldn’t get a job with Myers.

I know, What? Those gay bitches get everything, so, I had started giving out some passes for the first club I worked for.

When I finished my course and disillusioned about what I really wanted to be doing for the rest of my life. Yeah, like that’s realistic to imagine someone of my age staying in the same job/company/industry for all of my working career.

To be continued…

Tears

Published April 22, 2019 by helentastic67

Tears

There are sometimes these days when I have a superpower, I never knew I had. I can make my carers cry. What? I know, it’s not on purpose.

It’s often the best conversations with my carers about all things ‘Helen’ (for want of a better term) the things that have moulded me and made me the person I am today.

This particular day, I told my carer about what it was like in the early 80’s in my family after the death of my fifteen-month-old sister.

She had been born on my eighth birthday and for fifteen months I helped bath her, change nappies, do “mum stuff” and we had one birthday together where we had an Ice Cream cake and we were both sick. We have a photo to commemorate the day. Very understated and in the last month of her life, she was taken to the local hospital in the country town where I grew up. The doctors, I believe misdiagnosed her, but by this stage she had already likely had a stroke. She was flown to Melbourne and within a (hear me flown to Melbourne.) month she was gone. My parents had to make the decision to turn off her life support.

I recall a family visiting us and the father distinctly placed a dining chair in a location, so he could sit with his back to a photo of Linda (that was her name) so he couldn’t see it.

There is an assumption when a child dies, that you should rid your home of all the photos and things that remind you of them, almost as if they had never existed, which seems wrong.

To be clear Linda died from a huge tumor.

After a while, because family and friends just didn’t know how to help or were just too sad, they just decided to stay away.

From nine years old, for a good few years, life was really lonely. I then told my carer a story of a friend of mine in the ABI community who passed away about six years ago.

I had to stop going to the place I would see him, because when my taxi arrived, I would be crying silent tears and the poor driver would not know what to do (poor bastard). I had to stop going, but whenever I return for a rare one off gathering, I sat somewhere I cannot dart my eyes towards the picture of him. I used to get through our gatherings always casting a look in his direction and we seemed communicate so much with our eyes. Anyway, more of him another day as I can feel the tears.

So yes! My superpower is I can make people cry, but it’s usually when my voice breaks a little and in crying.

Next time I want a better super power. Feel free to comment below as to what your super power is or would want it to be.

No cliché, X-ray vision or invisibility please.

Love or Hate, Hit Like

Published April 15, 2019 by helentastic67

Love or Hate, Hit Like

There will be some posts I write and you read when you won’t ‘Like’ at all what I have to say. You may not believe me even. You will be absolutely fair to want to HATE it.

However, you should still give me a ‘Like’ because I say it as I see it and then you can do something about what you have heard if you can and if you believe in it and think the world can be a better place for everyone.

These days I live in a rather wog area of Melbourne, they are mostly baby-boomers in age, their children having moved out, started their own families with more room in suburbs slightly further out.

On a rare occasion, there is a 50-somethiing still living with parents in this neighbourhood and it’s because on occasion the “child” is still in many ways a “child”.

It means they have intellectual challenges for those reading this post, don’t have to live with every day.

Wrong

Published April 12, 2019 by helentastic67

Wrong

There are brief and rare moments going FULL WRONG that makes all thing’s about disability anything but wrong.

I have a habit of weight-baring on my walking stick. I’m not the only one, it just goes to show I do need it, but there are times I use it rather forcefully to the great annoyance of some around me.

One lovely day, going off to our early December family Christmas lunch, which was somewhere nice. We girls can’t always get together on the actual day, so we do a nice lunch out.

It was on a Sunday, because it’s when we are all free.

Are you all aware I go off-grid on the weekend? I don’t go out, I don’t put on a bra or shoes. Yes, I have a shower, however, I don’t do PERSON.

So, going to Hellenic Republic in Kew, George Collobini’s great Greek restaurant. Definitely, a bit expensive, but special so it’s the way to go and it’s got my name on it.

But Sunday, HARD to do PERSON. So, walking stick was riding that thing, have hard and noisy.

Mum growled at me ‘Do you have to be so noisy?’

To which I replied ‘I’m sorry, if only I could live without it!’

I’m sure I also told her to ‘Go ye forth and multiply’, but in other words, yes my favourite ones. Starting with my favourite F word ending in “off” and mum laughed.

So proud of my relationship with my mum at times like this.

If I Go Down, So Do You

Published April 8, 2019 by helentastic67

If I go down

If I Go Down – So Are You, Awkward

There are some days when I’m out and about, where so help me God. Sometimes I think people are going out of their way to get in mine. I get off a tram where I have to take a huge step down and before I get to the curb (2.5 metres away) someone has gotten off the same tram, come around on my left side, then cut right in front of me.

Get in my way

Just a friendly reminder, my worst eyesight is my peripheral on my left side, so I don’t see them coming, but I mean WHY??? Some days it’s every moment I’m out of the house. The last two sets of lights I cross to get from the tram stop to my home, guaranteed people will move into my path to get where they have to be.

Cross my path

One of these days Alice, one of these days, someone’s going to knock me over and I always say “If I go down, you go down with me!” I have been known to say this to kids running around the shopping centre when I’m there.

One of these days, Alice

Fucking kids and these are the ones old enough to know better, I give them my grumpy European stare. My Nona would be proud.

Grumpy Nonna Look

There are also times when I go to get off the tram or train, when I get up early so I can get my left leg to wake up. Rearrange my bag so I don’t have it get in my way and there is usually an awkward moment where another is trying for the door also and they are okay for me to go first. I always let them go first, stating they will be quicker and if I think they can take it, I also tell them, if I fall, I want something soft to land on.

Fall off Tram

If I’m luck to get a startled look from them, I know they heard me and I give them a little smile sometimes, it’s the little things.

Little Smile

Going Out, Then Down

Published April 5, 2019 by helentastic67

Going Out Then Down

Going Out, Then Down

There is so much people wouldn’t realise about my disability, because it’s hidden and because it seems I’m always upright and mobile when they see me.

Hidden Disability

On a rare occasion I might even get out in the evening for some extra-curricular entertainment. No wait! Not like that! (I wish)

Rare Occasion

I went to a theatre production called Kong. It really was a “One-off” adventure, so rare that they are. That night now some years ago, I had also been out and about during the day and had tried to plan for ‘saving’ some energy for the unexpected later that night. ‘Saving energy’ for later – what a foreign concept. The venue had a huge entrance of stairs.

Thearte Entrance

We couldn’t get a park close by, so myself and another, plus our lovely friend who had hosted/escorted us for the adventure, walked us to and from the venue.

Walking to theatre

We had entered the venue through a very upmarket/snobby Café next to the venue and in a lift at the back. (would love to dine there one day).

Snobby Cafe

Afterwards we ended up at a kebab place on Brunswick Street, our host stating many a night had ended there having kebabs. I ate something that came with a fork, just saying. I always go with at least the messiest option.

Kebab Shop

Once more, up the four steps into the unit I lived in at the time and success. Great night out. Good entertainment, good company, good walk in the city even.

Good Company

Door to door service, almost.

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick

Lastly, plan cuppa T and off to bed. No? Too easy. Ba-boom

Standing in the kitchen, put the kettle on and I feel myself losing balance. If all I have to do is put my left foot back, just a little step to support me.

Lose Balance

No!

Don’t know if it’s the message is to slow the brain. It’s just a completely foreign concept. Make a half-arsed effort to grab onto something, but not enough to not want to cause more damage. I’m going down.

Fall in kitchen 1

Timber!

That’s what people don’t see, when ever I have a fall and it’s not that often thankfully, once a year. I lie there and think to myself “This is NOT the time I wish I wore my Mepacs pendant.” Because I refuse and I do what I have to, to roll over and wriggle up.

Roll over

That’s not pretty, but I haven’t been found the next morning on the floor by any of my carers yet.

So Winning.

Winning

Grumble for Help

Published April 1, 2019 by helentastic67

Grumble for help

It is often a challenge for people to know when to offer help to someone with a disability and when to politely want to be asked. Ironically, I often am asked by people if they should ask at all. I am fiercely independent and I recently had a conversation on this exact same topic with my carer, whom I go out shopping with and do my only food preparation days with.

Do You Need Help

We agreed, I will attempt everything first, I might give out noisy, grumpy sounds as I struggle and when I swear a little, it’s probably still okay. But if I sound frustrated, that’s when she knows to offer assistance.

When to offer help

That’s also what I love about this particular carer.

Love carer

I’m More Than Just a Stroke

Published March 29, 2019 by helentastic67

More than just my stroke

I’m More Than Just a Stroke

There is so much judgement to having a stroke. Normally I get it by just a look sent my way from someone in passing. I usually notice it and go for the wry smile anyway. I prefer to kill with kindness.

The look

Sometimes others witness this judgement and they take care of it too. To be clear my mum personalises every single slight that happens to me. So, she reacts like it’s all happening to her. She can’t help herself.

Mum

But the carer while arranging her social engagements for the Sunday afternoon, she told her friend she had me in the morning. She described me as and in the context of “Helen’s forty-five and had a stroke.” Something about the tone she used, I responded with a “Yes?” with the end of the word lifted. Raised my eyebrows some. She sniggered a little and seemed reluctant to share.

Sniggering 1

Her friend’s judgement was swift “forty-five and had a stroke? That’s young for a stroke.”

I reminded her I’d been in my late thirties, but she informed me that he had put him (her friend) in his place, that I hadn’t been a drinker or a smoker.

Drinker and Smoker 1

Big love her way. Bless her cotton socks.

But I reassured her, I’m used to that level of judgement from complete strangers. I told her it was fine, I wasn’t even offended. I had a fairly thick skin in some ways these days and I will growl a questioning grumpy “What?” at someone who gives me a look of disrespect or I will give them a “FUCK YOU” if needed.

Fuck you

So, there are times, it’s just not worth it to need to advocate every single time someone disrespects me or I wouldn’t leave the house or answer the phone or deal with family. I would just stay home and wait to die.

Waiting to die

I do of course reward and thank people who take the time to simply step out of my way, so I can pass and I don’t make a big thing of it, so I incline my head slightly and give them a quiet thank you in their direction.

Thank you