My day started with a group phone call about Medicaid changes and how to engage our Federal representatives and the press. Ten advocates from the Eau Claire area gathered on the phone. All are worried that Trump’s changes to the Affordable Care Act will mean less money for each state and ultimately less services for individuals with disabilities. Many are worried that their loved one will end up warehoused in a nursing home because it’s cheaper than daily care in the community.
The day ended with a gathering at a local brew pub. The folks gathered turned it into another birthday party for me. The contingent included a parent and an adult child who has significant cognitive disabilities. Everybody at the table included this young man, teasing him about stealing his French fries, acknowledging his wish that the party include music (which it didn’t), etc. Funny stories were shared including describing a squirrel’s picking up a piece of pizza near the university and trying to carry it across a street for later consumption. Two dogs on leash came up to talk to my guide dog, providing some good butt-sniffing community for her.
All in all, the community that the phone call in the morning was strategizing about how to save was enjoyed. Beer and good people, Wisconsin at its best.
My birth month is upon me and I’m looking back over sixty-eight years. Life experiences and reading leave me focusing on the journey from loneliness to community.
Dorothy Day’s autobiography The Long Loneliness and an excellent biography of Rosemary Kennedy bring to mind many experiences of being “other”. This week I found myself trying to express feeling second class to a group I’m part of that is putting on a gathering for blind kids without listening to input from blind adults. I tried to be gentle and positive about the fact they are doing something, but time will tell if they hear both the praise and the request to do it differently.
My book club by phone from the state library for the blind discussed Rosemary the Hidden Kennedy Daughter by Kate Clifford Larson. Although Rosemary’s disabilities were cognitive rather than visual, several of us who grew up blind identified with her desperate but often unsuccessful attempts to fit in in her family and world. For a small example, at the recent County Democratic dinner, I won a picture book. As a sixty-eight year-old, I can smile and think “Who will I pass this book on to?” when I won a totally pictorial book about recent women’s movement demonstrations I still felt a tinge of I wish I’d won the lime-scented goat’s milk soap, but the book is mine to do good with. And I do know the perfect single mom, low-wage earner who is involved in government in her non-existent free time who will find community looking at the book.
When I went to vote, using the “handicapped” voting machine, three members of the community fiddled with it until they got it working. Then as they stood around waiting for me to finish, one of them loudly kept asking their colleagues “Now what if a normal person wants to use the machine?” By the third time she used the word “normal” to mean sighted, I’d had enough. I blurted out: “don’t worry, there aren’t any normal people in this ward.” Her colleagues laughed and she said: “Oh, you could hear me.” I remained silent, finished voting and gleefully told the friend I’d ridden to voting with as soon as we got out the door. I had a community to share that story with.
I am blessed with community in people who celebrate my birthday with me at restaurants of my choosing and give gifts of time to take me to the vet for Luna’s spring tune-up and to a flute concert I sponsored at a nursing home where some friends now live.
When my brother asked what I wanted for my birthday, I asked for a box of goodies from the grocery store where my nephew just started working. I asked for new things I wouldn’t necessarily know about in the areas of snacks, tea and coffee and ethnic meal kits. I can hardly wait to see what arrives!