When Ricky James or Aaron Farthington take to the air, I am almost glad I am an old lady. Wow, I glanced over some sites, and I am amazed at what feats some will do for the thrill.

A thrill site: http://www.extremechairing.com/

With the advent of our new forward-thinking president, there is finally hope for a change in our energy policy. For too long, every time we switched on a light bulb, or turned on the TV, we have been using electricity derived mainly from a coal-fired power plant. There is a strong groundswell of voices calling for alternative energy sources as our climate changes due to carbon dioxide and toxins being released into our environment from these coal plants. Global warming is real and must be addressed with urgency.

Have you noticed that all power chairs only come in a choice of red, blue or a boring black? There are some scooters that come in a better choice of colors, but not power chairs. I own a Rascal 318 power chair, which is the usual darkish red. Last week, I was bored with the blahness of the color, so I decided it was time to make a statement with my chair! A trip to Walmart to pick up materials, and I was set. Using a three-inch paintbrush, I painted the plastic shield (not sure of the correct name for that part) a lovely purple color. It took about 3 coats to entirely cover the red. I used acrylic craft paint, crossing my fingers that it would hold up. For durability, I finished with a coat of clear polyurethane. I let it dry overnight. 

There are a many sides to me, but physically, the right one is the functional one. The left is a shadow of its former self. Let me elaborate. I have Multiple Sclerosis. This is an auto-immune disease which causes damage, called plaques or lesions, to the insulation around the nerve fibers in the brain and spinal cord. This prevents signals from traveling properly from the brain throughout the nervous system. The electrical journey is interrupted, or comes to a screeching halt, resulting in loss of feeling, uncontrollable and unexpected muscle spasms of the limbs, and a multitude of other oddball symptoms.

If like myself, you are blessed with MS, or for whatever reason you are unable to use an arm or leg then I hope my experiences are useful to you. Dressing is to be mastered and for me this is how I accomplish this endeavor.

You wouldn't think moving from Great Britain to the US would require any great adjustments, but I was surprised by the number of differences I experienced.

Let me explain. It was 1993 and my family were preparing for a big adventure, moving to Baton Rouge, Louisiana in the USA! My husband had accepted a position at LSU and so with our 3 children ages 5, 4 and our 5 month old baby, we packed our bags. I had sold the house and furniture and the remainder of our belongings, (much of which constituted Lego and train sets of course) were squeezed into a large metal trunk to be shipped across the Atlantic Ocean. Our suitcases were bulging to the max.

A mother’s Thanksgiving can mean many different things. I remember our house when I was a child.  My mother would be busy trying to make a dinner for eight kids, my father, and. I always loved the holidays when I was younger. I am the sixth child of eight. We were not poor, so we had what we needed. My father was a part-time judge and coroner, and a full-time auto body man. We grew up in Northern Nevada and Wyoming.

The holidays always remind of my mother, family, and me. My mother, who passed away a few years ago after becoming a double below the knee amputee, is always missed, especially at holidays. I always liked to help her when I was a young girl; I would make sure that all the celery sticks had the cream cheese spread smooth all the way from end to end. This year, my brother, a former chef, is here cooking for us. Thank God for that, because I am not very good at cooking a turkey. In fact, I have a tendency to leave the giblet bag inside; I have a real fear of sticking my hand in the turkey. It is really just nauseating to me. Many a turkey day has someone found extra in that turkey. I figure it has not killed anyone yet, so it must not be harmful. I was also thinking that the person who stuffs that turkey at the processing plant is for sure sticking in something where we can’t find it, just so someone like me leaves it in. Well, that is just my thought on my negligence in leaving it in there; some guy at the processing plant is messing with me.

This year at our house is sad; I am far from family, who is on the west coast. I am on the east coast, so having my brother is here is the best. I do miss my sister Alicia and her family. I really miss Tristen and Truxton, her younger sons, running around. Tristen thinks he owns my lap. Here's a photo of Tristen a few years ago at Thanksgiving. How I miss those times. It always feels more like the holidays when we are together. I miss my son, who is in the US Navy, and in Japan. He called me at 12am last night and was asking me about his Grandma Shirley’s recipe for sweet potatoes. One of our all-time favorites that Julie and I love making, and it has been a Thanksgiving tradition since Tyler was a year old. Another favorite is Green Death, a Grandma Shirley tradition that she would make for her son, my children’s father, ever since he was a young boy. Julie made that dish yesterday. It has lime jello, pineapple, and cream cheese and is so good.