I’m just back from a five day trip to Melbourne with PB.
It was largely a good trip – more play than work. It was nice to spend time with PB and have time not to rush. We both love Melbourne, the culture, the conversational opportunities, the coffee and the shopping.
The excuse was the birthday party of VW (read more about him here), a disco party complete with light ball and the hustle.
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The end of this piece sounds like a promotional piece. It’s not. No sponsorship is in place.
When I was in primary school I had a simple text-book on touch typing or at least typing efficiently with one hand. It wasn’t really a text-book in the traditional sense; rather a case of 100 typed pages, somewhat yellowed and simply stapled. My school at the time decided (with my parents I’m assuming) that it would be useful for me to learn to type. My hand writing though neat was incredible slow and unlikely to improve substantially with an ever-increasing volume of material through high school and later university. It was also not an efficient use of resources for my one good limb.
I remember sitting in a cozy room aged about 11 with this booklet, an electric typewriter and Mr Campbell the vice-principal of my primary school a man I liked running through what I now know as drills
frfrfrfrf fvfvfvfv
etc.
I liked those classes. That school particularly was good at making what we now know of as reasonable accommodations for me their first student with a disability without needing to know the right forms to fill in. We all just (seemed at least) to get on with it. I wasn’t left feeling bad for any of it and this was one “special” class that I looked forward to. I loved the teacher. I loved the book and I felt accomplished.
From memory those lessons did not last very long. We moved interstate soon after they started. I held on to the book everyone hoping I would continue. Things changed after that though, personally and at school. It was a different system.
I was soon trained up on dictation and voice recognition systems, given scribes for exams and other good accommodations were made. In typical style I regularly misplaced than relocated the typing book. I never used it, but was glad to look through it, almost like a year book. Eventually in one of my many house moves through my 20’s the book did its usual disappearing act and never reappeared.
Voice recognition software is very useful for some times and in some places. Academic and business writing where the thought process is more factual and formal. But typing, however badly seems a key activity. It’s very tactile and active as well as being cerebral. You can type with music playing, as I am now. If I can find keys I can find a way to make myself heard, regardless of software installed.
While using and enjoying my software solution I started periodically “googling” “one-handed typing” solutions. Just curiosity. Although most of the offices I have worked in, have been too ambient noisy to dictate super-efficiently without being quite rude. I also think more stiltedly if I have to remember to say punctuation marks. But mostly I was interested in the progress that I assumed had undoubtedly been made since the 1980’s.
I was wrong. Until recently I found very little for standard keyboards. There were options, good options I’ll bet for half qwerty keyboards, but until recently it seems no good options online for teaching myself one-handed typing on a standard keyboard. Given that I prefer writing on my laptop that’s what I need, to improve my own skills. In my case I know I’m skill deficient. I’m actually fast-ish at the “hunt and peck” method because I know basically where the keys are on the keyboard, but I need to look. My fingering is all off though. I’m slow if I try to use the right fingers and the right keys!
So what I have found and am using is Custom Typing which offers standard typing tutoring as well as one-handed (l and r). Its got programs for group work and has programs and words for children as well. There is an animated tutor (which I think is only for the standard two-handed modules 
) which supposedly provides encouragement. It’s free for a month. I’ll see if it’s still interesting/useful after that.
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Updated today with the letter that I actually sent this am
An open letter to the
Minister for Transport
the Honourable Mr David Campbell MP
GPO Box 5341
SYDNEY NSW 2001
Dear Sir,
I’m told I tell a great story whether fiction or fact. My education and experiences over many years has reinforced that telling stories is a good way to understand a new topic, or a differing point of views.
So I’m going to tell you a story. It’s a story starring me and the accessible bus network.
By way of background to this story; I use an electric wheelchair to get around and have done in one form or another all my life. I’m in my 30’s and have worked in public policy development my entire career. Currently, I’ve also got other health issues that affect my ability to sit for long periods without pain as well as fatigue. These last two are new developments which require a fair amount of planning, often taking a cumulative approach.
I’ve been using the accessible buses on the network since they were first put on at the depot in Ryde some 15 or so years ago. While I do hold a license, I have elected not to drive in Sydney as I’ve held the belief for 20 years that there is too much congestion here and an unhealthy reliance on private vehicles for a world-class city. I do use taxis but try to avoid doing so for direct routes.
Last Friday I had lunch plans in South Newtown a straight 4.4 kms from where I live. Lunch was set for 12:30pm. I got to the bus stop early for the scheduled 11:05 service which was the latest one I could catch that would get me there on time. I have learnt to arrive early because of the flow of traffic close to the Tempe depot. I have also learnt to expect anything. When an un-timetabled accessible arrived at the stop at 10:40 I decided to grab it in case this was the 11:05 arriving early, or otherwise affecting the scheduled service. The bus ride was pleasant and by soon after 11am I was sitting in the shadiest spot I could find across the road from my destination reading. It was as you may recall rather warm.
Lunch was pleasant. There was a fight happening at the bus stop directly outside our venue, so just before 2 pm I accompanied my friend south towards his car and a safer bus stop than the one at the cafe. I waited at the next one and after 5 minutes saw an almost empty 422 with a ramp came up. I stuck my hand out and it went straight past me.
Reasoning that my visibility must be poor, I went straight back to the bus stop near the cafe which is more of an interchange but directly in the heat.
I waited expecting to wait an hour. People queued behind me and looked a tad guilty when they got on buses (4 inaccessible 422’s, three or four 352s and half a dozen 370’s mostly accessible). Over the course of that hour four of those waiting were mothers with prams, one of whom gave up and headed towards the train station, while another escaped into a 370 for the air-conditioned comfort, given her child was just asleep.
As the time approached for the 3:05 service. I watched every bus that arrived, my breath catching in my throat with bursts of excitement then disappointment as each service passed. I looked at my phone only to check the time. I did not dare read lest I miss its arrival and the chance to get out of the heat. I felt embarrassed and humiliated to have been sitting there watching people arrive to go to the gym or the supermarket and then leave all fit or with a full load of groceries. I was sure it would arrive soon.
School children released just before 3pm literally flooded out of school overtaking the already crowded footpath. They boarded buses without hassle. I stood my ground. My bladder was under increasing pressure because even if I had left the stop there was no easily wheelchair accessible public toilet anywhere nearby. I have had to train my bladder to assume that for one reason or another toileting in this area is hard and to hold on, dehydrate and rehydrate where you know there is an appropriate toilet. Though stressed and uncomfortable, after an hour and a half of waiting, I lost the battle of the bladder about 3:30pm further adding to my discomfort and embarrassment.
Long before this time I had been sitting up for too long and was in severe pain as well as spasm. I had considered booking a cab, but given the time of day and the shortness of the journey as well as the awkward pickup location, decided against it. I began to feel like I should cancel all my commitments, my work, my social and civic, my recreational, even the practical things like shopping and medical. While I don’t consider myself house bound and feel I have a lot to contribute, days like last Friday make me feel quite hopeless. Some of the bus drivers assured me it was coming and I got a few apologetic glances from drivers of Route 370, for which I’m grateful.
Sir, the 3:05 422 bus scheduled to be accessible never arrived. It wasn’t that it was too full. It never arrived.
The next one I could catch was one soon after 4 pm and I was home at 4:30pm It had taken me 6 hours to have an hour and a half lunch 4.4 kms from home. The bus trip home was as pleasant as it could be, the driver kind and efficient given my obvious heat and sunburn but oblivious to the delay.
I lodged a complaint by phone with 131500 that afternoon and am awaiting a response. (Ed note Heard from depot at 1:55 pm today apology included)
In writing to you I’m trying to give you a sense of my experience. While perhaps more dramatic than most times, this is not uncommon. In order to travel from South Newtown to the CBD for work for example if I have to be at a meeting at 10am the latest bus I can catch is the 7:34am (assuming it’s ramp is working and its not full). I tend to organise my life around the bus timetable and have to build in a large buffer every time that my contemporaries without disabilities do not have to include, both in time and in money (when I cannot afford the time buffer). I must point out that these long delays do not happen every time. But as with my forward journey last Friday, it happens consistently enough that it must be built into planning my day, often leaving me embarrassingly early.
I congratulate you and the Ministry on the progress towards the Transport Standards with which I am very familiar. Statistically NSW is doing quite well. However those numbers do not reflect my regular experience locally.
While I understand that all times given on timetables are approximate, given the infrequency of some timetabled accessible services, is there any way we can assure that these ones turn up?
If we only let women or another minority on at best one bus every hour (and expected them to build their lives around it and be grateful), there would be an almighty outcry. Why must it in 2010 be any different for those with disabilities, trying to get on with life in an ecological way?
Sincerely yours,
Joanna Nicol
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Yesterday was fun.
I had a visit from a university friend and her daughters (3 and 9 months). They are gorgeous. It’s strange and pleasing to be able to talk of knowing folks for over 10 (or 20) years. I feel all old but in a good way. AS and her hubby fall into the over 10 year category.
So I was due to meet them at a local shopping centre for coffee before going on to other things. Unfortunately my health and my wheelchair were once more acting up so despite the mess I decided to invite them over.
With baby sleeping time, my guests arrived at about 11 30. Given my recent health issues my friend had offered to bring freezer meals over. I like cooking but lately I’ve just not been up to it physically. So it’s wonderful. I now have a freezer full of pumpkin soup and stir-fry.
AS in typical style also brought over an invented macadamia caramel coconut slice. Divine. With left overs for PB.
Speaking of PB he arrived home slightly early and he dropped a cardboard box parcel in my laps.
Ordering stuff from Amazon for me is rare, but fun. I don’t know why it’s rare, but its fun because I tend to forget I’ve ordered stuff by the time it arrives so its like Christmas. The postage is a bit expensive too, I order books and non critical things. So three books, all on writing arrived, two of which look great. Naming the World and A Year to a Writers life.
Christmas in late February!!
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Written after last Valentine’s Day
I’m a girl. Bottom line. For all my protestations about being modern and not “into the Hallmark Days”, yesterday was Valentine’s day.
But this year felt different. PB is a creative and enjoys surprising me and so on the day of St Valentine’s I awoke to recieve this
Well two of them actually a Parker pen and pacer, both engraved.
We then joined writer friends of ours at the local pub. Nice experiment as they have been closed for some time. It was where nearly 3 years ago PB and I “officially” started dating. The pub itself has changed and needs to re-energise.
After lunch and a quiet afternoon the evening evolved into my watching a “chick flick” on my own — The Wedding Planner and then the Australian Biggest Loser a program to which we are both “mildly” addicted.
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Interesting watching the slow waking up on my local “big shops” open.
It’s very deliberate and good for one’s sense of observation. People almost whisper out of reverence for the sleeping giant. Noise makers cast furtive and apologetic glances around, almost willing their necessary noises to be quiet. Seeking to not disturb the meditative rhythm. Stillness and warmth following the minor banging and crashing of morning evolutions. This “breathing” gets more regular, with the quiet meditation fading out as the centre continues to awaken, seeming to open in the figurative as well as the literal sense.
Soon this will be different. The centre in these early parts will soon be unrecognisabled with folks hurrying and scurrying in the 45 minute dash. Now though is this moment.
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I was looking through my NetNewsWire collection of blogs and came accross this concept on C Beth’s blog. Six word Saturday. Described more fully here, its basically to describe your life in that moment or a thing in your life in a phrase containing 6 words. During this disciplined blogging exercise I thought I’d try it.
My six words
Slightly sniffly slow Saturday sans romance.
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PB and I were watching You’ve Got Mail tonight, the result of a time limited offer on PB’s behalf (and probably Valentine inspired as well).
Two brief thoughts occur to me.
Firstly I love courtship as one of the old-fashioned polite ways that these two modern charactors exist. I can really relate to that. In fact, I was told that I was very similar in logic to the heroine, which intended or not was a huge compliment. There is a politeness to their emails even in their simplicity, and even I feel to the way they fight, which, even at their worst seem to have an integrity and civility to them. Joe’s admission that Kathleen is beautiful although she is a pill comes to mind as does the willingness over the party table to let the other finish a sentence.
The other, more simply is the village that the Upper West Side and my wish to find “my village”, in time at least.
I know it’s a cliché, but I really want to see what happens next just so I can live in that head space a bit more often.
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I like this idea.
I can relate to what Beth talks about. I have tended to be one of these writers;
There are times when my mind is filled with more blog posts than there are days in the week, when everything in my life can be easily put into a witty and/or meaningful bit of writing.
I remember just before I “seriously” started blogging a friend looked on the domain of my email address at the time (it was puzzling), expecting I think because it wasn’t a telco account that I might have a blog and telling me that it’d be a fascinating read if I did blog. I’m glad she did. I wonder though if like most bloggers, I feel a pressure to be fascinating every time. Indeed the catch cry that “content is king” is championed on many a blog. I have often waited till I had the post in my 3rd draft stage with a beginning, a middle, and an end before I have started typing or I have just ranted.
I recently applied for membership of BlogCatalog; a blog directory similar to Technorati. It was hard for me to find which category of theirs I would “fit in”. (Oh where have I heard that before?) I was rejected. I’m fine with it. I think they look at the blog on a few days in a row and it might have been during my last “bloggers block”. The email read in part:
Your blog is brand new and/or doesn’t have enough content to make it truly valuable.
If this is the case, please resubmit after you have made more postings.
Ouch… But getting more disciplined is something that I want to develop anyway.
I’ve always used my work and confidentiality as an excuse. That’s true, but it needn’t be an excuse.
So;
Blogging with discipline doesn’t mean you have to blog every day or that you can’t ever take a break. It means blogging regularly–whatever that means for you. It means sitting down and trying to develop a blog post idea instead of waiting until a perfectly-written post is already floating around in your brain.
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I’ve been thinking about the National Companion Card program since going to the theatre with a friend where the topic came up more than once, first in the booking process and after the show by a well-meaning mother and daughter duo.
Following up from this, I thought now was a good time to discuss it.
Even to those with disabling conditions, I often seem the most “severely” disabled I’m pretty confident. This is arguably owing I suppose to the fact that I use a motorised wheelchair and my speech has an interesting twang. I have strong legs, but no ability to balance for any length of time on my legs. My left arm is perhaps the most obviously affected. It spasms and it bounces around. It’s amazing what you can do with one arm! The subject of hierarchy of disabling conditions is worth exploring
Despite this I have managed to get on with “it” and hold down a successful career, keep house, maintain wide-ranging friendships and other aspects of a well-balanced useful life.
I have also managed to get by largely without a offical attendant care program, for various reasons. I’m not one of those who thought I was eligible for “care”. I have had support through periods of my life from friends and family and such.
Regardless I do not pass these eligibility criteria particularly:
It will be issued to people who are assessed as meeting all of the following eligibility criteria -
- severe or profound and permanent disability.
- unable to participate in most community-based activities without significant assistance with:
- mobility
- communication
- self care
- planning and
- where the use of aids and other technologies does not meet those needs.
- their level of support is lifelong.
In my case, the second point/s are the most salient. The medical severity of my disability is largely assessed by my doctor, as is the call that my level of support (even from my wheelchair) is lifelong.
I am quite rightly ineligible I believe for this valuable scheme.
My issue is this: However well-meaning, the assumption that anyone with me is automatically my carer is hurtful but common. I quite often have situations where as soon as I am with a person who appears not to be disabled , all questions from service providers and well-meaning strangers get directed to them.
My strangest moment of this regular occurrence happened early in the new year. A very close friend took myself and another girlfriend to see a matinée performance of Mamma Mia! as a birthday treat for herself. It was just after the main Christmas break was over for most workers. The audience was made up largely of grandparents and their grand-daughters.The show was great and a lot of fun.
While waiting for the crowds to clear at the end of the show. We noticed a bright pink cane leading its young owner and her mother up from the front of the auditorium. I tend to hone in — like a radar and at least notice other people with clear and usually congenital disability. I suspect I am not the only one who does this. This mother and daughter headed straight for the three of us, standing behind me unfortunately cornering me. After initially discussing the show and the fact the girl had been very lucky to have her father arranged seats for them in the middle so she could use what sight she has, the mother admitted that she had got in for free as the carer of her daughter and seemed both defensive and shocked that Birthday friend had paid for her ticket. There was a sense this was somehow selfish of me, until I told them that no I didn’t have a card. She proceeded to show me her daughters card and exhorted me to get one because the government “owe us something”. YG had already asked my friend “what is wrong with her” (me), having worked out I was using the chair. Mother was quite defensive.
I concluded the conversation by the assurance that I work in “the industry”, and that I would look into it again.
I left feeling small and invisible. If these are the assumptions that we carry of each other, what hope do we have?
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After reading a couple of writing related books this week including Writing from Start to Finish by Aussie author Kate Granville which advocated structure, I found this an interesting contrast. This is from Khalid Hosseini who has written two books; The Kite Runner (which I haven’t read), and A Thousand Splendid Suns, which was one of the most important books I have ever read especially for fiction. Challenging and confrontational (which was what I was seeking) but also incredibly moving and gentle.
I’m thinking the free form writing might be more my cup of Milo too.
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