In August of 2013 I wrote the following: 


"Wobbly legs and weak arms are a bad combination."

-As said during my last doctor's visit

It finally caught up to me.

Sat in a wheelchair yesterday. A manual one. Cruised around Fanny Allen a bit. Not so much with my hands but with my feet. And other people’s hands. I think the last time I rode around being pushed by my mom, it was on a shopping cart at the Martin’s (Shop ‘n Save). A wheelchair is much smoother. It’s been a long time since I moved so effortlessly.

Of course I also see all of this another way: this is what I’ve become, a lump for someone to push along.

I had to give Walter away. Allow me to explain: Walter is a cat, my pet cat.

For about five years Walter and I have been homies, that is, we’ve lived in the same home. Excluding the month or so when he decided to live off the land.

No, he didn’t come back on his own. My neighbors Rob & Ash used their bulldog’s large metal cage to jail and transport him after they discovered him hunting mice in their barn.

He was in full wild animal mode when I got him home. Granted he was a stray when the Humane Society brought him in and it took him a long time just to learn to sleep soundly. But that day he was a trust-no one, crazy-eyes nutjob.

He was once again a wild-man when it was time to put him in his carrier for transport to his new home.

In between he was mostly a low-maintenance, albeit feisty, pal. He spent some nights on my bed, some by the woodstove, some outside, and some sleeping in whatever closet, window, or bedroom he liked. Dogs seem to have one or two sleep spots, I’m not sure that cats do.

Walter is hugely independent, like a cat. I like that.

He’s in a new home now, and hopefully he’s settling in. It’s a tiny house, a mere mile south of my chair. I’m gonna miss him.

I haven’t made a meal for myself in over a week. Haven't done that since I learned how to pour myself a bowl of cereal.

I’ve owned three cars in my life. All equipped when a five-speed manual transmission.

I learned to drive on my father’s Toyota Tacoma, a “stick”, and my first car, a blue 1993 Saab 900 S with a manual five-speed, gray cloth and a (glass) moonroof. Quickly, from cars.com, A sunroof is typically a solid body-colored panel that can manually tilt up or be removed. A moonroof is a type of sunroof, except that it’s a transparent, sliding, tinted glass panel. The majority of new cars have moonroofs, as what’s technically considered a sunroof has pretty much gone out of style.

The Saab also had the old-school power locks in which upon locking the driver’s side (by inserting the key in the door and turning, remember that?), both the passenger side and hatch would also lock. You could hear the mechanical locking mechanism snap into place.

I bring this up primarily because the manual transmission is dying. Fewer and fewer cars are even offered with a manual option. Volvo does not offer a manual on any of its cars. The new BMW 3 Series only comes with an 8-speed automatic.

More and more manufacturers have embraced the CVT, (continuously variable transmission) an automatic without individual gears. Instead it gradually moves through the “gears”. I'd like to be the first to call it the trombone of transmissions. As it does not shift, it is always engaged, is more efficient and has increased gas mileage.

Others have gone to dual-clutch, (one for odd gears, one for even) autos with 7, 8, or even 10 speeds. And of course the single-gear electric motors of the future are the final death knell to the manual transmission.

My second car was a 1990 Audi Coupe Quattro. That's what it was called. Every one of them had a five-speed manual transmission. There were not many imported as I imagine it was not a big seller. It cost $36,000 in 1990 and was a two door coupe/hatchback with a five cylinder engine. It came with lots of great features like a locking rear differential, automatic climate control, beautiful thick black leather, a power old-style metal sunroof. I sold it to a suspected (by me) drug dealer for cash. It was a constant headache and needed engine work.

I traveled to Massachusetts to find my third car because it was nearly impossible to find a manual transmission in a Subaru Legacy locally. I still have my ‘06 Legacy, and even drive it from time to time. It’s been good to me, always reliable, but is definitely showing its age.

All of this to say I’m feeling nostalgic for the days when people drove cars instead of SUVs, and a manual transmission was commonplace. And of course when people knew how to drive one.

And yes, I still drive. Not as well as I used to, but still better than some. And much better than I walk.

I wrote this in February, but it's still true

The other day I looked in the mirror and thought: when’s the last time I shaved? All the way, with a blade.

It was for Kyle and Sammy’s wedding. That was a while ago.

So if I got a wheelchair, could I throw back beers again? It’s been a while since I had more than one or two, and I could really use the calories. I imagine I’d have to get up to pee, but I might be able to handle that.

I took a moment to look at myself in the bathroom mirror, at my parents’ house, where I live because I can’t be trusted to remain upright, and to think about what I was seeing. The bridge of my nose has a red scar. My left cheek is yellowed and there is a very unnatural swelling at the top of my jaw just under my eye. My left eyelid and under-eye are a dark purple. A thought crosses my mind and I am thankful to have a full complement of teeth. I think of what I cannot see. The hairless scar on my chin that took three stitches. The longer scar just above my hairline that took nine. I brush my teeth and start to write it down.

I may be going against the general consensus on this, but I think it’s more difficult to eat more than to eat less.

Years ago I was working at the Sheraton and I saw an old friend attending a wedding. She was in a wheelchair. And then I saw her dancing. And I thought, ‘If she can stand and walk, why is she in a wheelchair?’ I actually thought it was that simple. As in, ‘huh?’

I mention this as a way of saying that many things are not that black and white. I can’t help but think, in a way I miss being that naive.

I’m afraid of that first time you see me in a wheelchair. I’m afraid I’ll cry. I’m afraid you’ll cry. I don’t want that to be how it goes.

But if we can get past that, and I’ve long ago stopped feeling people’s eyeballs staring at the freak, I can admit it would make so many things so much easier, and so much more possible.

I may soon have my legs taken away from me. I fell yet again and smacked my head. It was certainly the last straw for some things, maybe more than I’d like to admit. I put my house on the market today. Living alone has been merely a dream for a long time now, my independence mostly a fraud. Maybe it’s time to flip that switch in my mind, stop fighting it and try to find a new focus. I’ve never known what that should be.