Guest Post: Stop and Go

Guest post by Susan from Adventures in Low Vision

After work, I ride the bus to my husband’s office. I enjoy the camaraderie of a shared ride in rush hour despite the lack of air conditioning in the summer. I like the arrivals and departures, sensing the mood of the day in my twenty-minute travel.

As I boarded the bus last week, I passed my fare card over the sensor, greeting the driver. I tap to the middle of the bus where two vacant seats welcome my weary self.

Sure, I could settle in the area in the front of the bus for people with disabilities, but at my stop, students hop on from a college. It’s easier for me to exit via the rear door. Typically, I breeze out the door before any students deposit money into the silver farebox.

The ride, it starts well. I zone out for 15 minutes, anticipating the hard left that happens before my block. My body shifts with the turn, and I pull the cord to request my stop.

The bus slows up. Students step on as I stand to collect my bag and white cane. I glide over to the rear exit, pushing on the bright yellow handle that even my eyes see clearly. The door burps open a space, then freezes. I push again, but the door just absorbs it, refusing to move.

“It’s a push, right?” I say to the lady sitting across from me. I think she nods. I push again without success. I turn as the driver releases the brake. The bus starts rolling.

I am missing my stop because I don’t go to the gym. I open my mouth. Before I can say anything, the lady near me hollers with control, “Back door.”

We yell it together once more. The driver hits the brakes. I shoot a grateful smile to my fellow passenger as I throw my shoulder into the door. It flies open, offering me exit. I step down to the sidewalk with relief, knowing next time I’ll have to hulk it on that door.

I love it when my upper arm strength is the issue, not my dodgy vision. There’s never a dull moment on the bus.

Guest Post: Honeymoon In Edinburgh

Guest post by Elsa at Feminist Sonar.

It has been a year since I was in Edinburgh and I miss it. It’s a beautiful city, and possibly the favorite one my husband and I visited on our honeymoon? And why? Because of the people.

In one evening at a pub, we made friends with locals.

The next day we got to meet Lorna and Neil, and for the first time ever we got to spend time with another couple where one half of the partnership was disabled.

It was magical. We didn’t have to explain the things that we do to keep me safe, we got to hang out and drink scotch and there wasn’t a shred of awkwardness.

Would I change anything about my trip? More time, less stairs up to my bedroom, and not having walking pneumonia are among my favorites.

The One With Sarge’s Name In It

And so, I’m sitting here listening to the wedding mix.

I’ve stopped watching wedding shows and started eating again.  Mostly Tic-Tacs.  For nostalgic reasons.  And because I know I should eat, but I’m not actually hungry.

I’m still writing emails.  And my mother arrives on Monday.

And then Sarge and I get married on the 15th.  Think of us.

While I’m away, I shall leave you in the capable words of Elsa from Feminist Sonar, Susan from Adventures in Low Vision, and Madame Weebles.  There may even be a visit from the penguins at Becoming Cliche.

Thanks to those people for the guest-posts and to Sarge for still wanting to marry me.

Now.  I’ll come back with longer stories, and a less pithy About page.  And possibly an FAQ.

Included on that will be:

Q.  Is Sarge’s name actually Sarge?

A.  No.  It’s Neil.  (1,2, 3…Hello, Neil.)

If you knew that already, that means we like you, we really like you.  And now we like you all.

Neil and Lorna

That was us at the last wedding we attended.  I bought a new dress for the next one.

Now playing:  This song.  Which happens to be the first one I sent to Neil, from my computer to his.

A Love Letter To Pepto-Bismol

Dearest Pepto,

Thank you. You’re lovely.

We first met when I barfed at the very top of a moving Ferris wheel. I lost a friend and corn-dog that night. But you were there, in all your pink splendour. I don’t like pink as a colour, but I can certainly drink it.

Fast-forward to yesterday. All those emails. Hopefully we’ve seen the last of them. Not counting the actual replies to said emails. Which would be really useful. I can read emails, I’d just like a break from writing them. Perhaps for the rest of my life.

The emails. And then the dentist. The hygienist asked me about my dress and the honeymoon. All these questions while poking around in my mouth. Gag. Actual gag.

After my teeth seemed to be blasted right out of my head, it was date night.

The last calm, unmarried date night before craziness descends next week. Sarge and I toasted each other. With burgers.

On the way to the movies, Sarge bought some sandals for the honeymoon. Now. I have the opposite of a foot fetish. Gag. Actual gag.

With the sandals safely in the box, we went see The Big Wedding. Bit too close to the bone just now, methinks.

Around the time Robin Williams hit the water, my stomach spoke up, and I tasted the burger. Again.

And at about ten last night, I saw it. Again. Date night had turned into some quality time with Freddy, who you might remember from this post. Sarge understood. And gave us some alone time. I emerged from the bathroom at midnight, and watched exactly eight minutes and 23 seconds of Arrested Development before I had to go in again.

This time, I stayed there til 3am. It was the safest place.

Now. My friends have said that I’m the most relaxed bride-to-be they’ve ever seen. But I’m thinking the nerves had to show up sometime. Like last night. Or early this morning. At 8, 10 and from midnight to three.

We’ve established that I’m not nervous about actually being married.

And so.

Maybe it was the dentist, or the movie. Or the fact that my mother arrives next week. Or maybe it’s because someone called me Mrs Sarge’s Surname last week. And that’s not my name.

Maybe it was just a bad burger.

I traded in my morning coffee for a few swigs of your pink loveliness, Pepto. It’s been a while since we last met this way.

You’ve still got it, and thanks to you, I still have my insides.

Help a girl out for the next ten days, and then I’ll be your best friend.

Love,

Lorna xox

Just look at them, vying for my affection.
Just look at them, vying for my affection.