tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88213885356968972692024-03-13T14:14:12.124-06:00OneArmGirlOneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.comBlogger260125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-8702671040170026802022-03-22T13:25:00.001-06:002022-03-22T13:25:07.601-06:00new space, same number of arms<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESn4nMY-8wDpqPi0EwXtUT9aGmbapsGIb93L2KoIXOo3PFG1j9M1ixGPWJrwqV5Ssg8JsFGYH1q-smiYpC3qQTMqD8j-VkXpQySp690SSnz_dBIVy59F39wB7V_kzWbgLLVCdx-gxP6GA6CbVZFahAwgad5G14CMaJFSMfZdpm-9eMWKhEKAoT6j8/s746/joeybitesarm-COLLAGE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="746" data-original-width="746" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESn4nMY-8wDpqPi0EwXtUT9aGmbapsGIb93L2KoIXOo3PFG1j9M1ixGPWJrwqV5Ssg8JsFGYH1q-smiYpC3qQTMqD8j-VkXpQySp690SSnz_dBIVy59F39wB7V_kzWbgLLVCdx-gxP6GA6CbVZFahAwgad5G14CMaJFSMfZdpm-9eMWKhEKAoT6j8/w200-h200/joeybitesarm-COLLAGE.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: courier;">Hello! It's me, OneArmGirl. My blog has a new home at <a href="http://TheOneArmGirl.com">TheOneArmGirl.com</a>. I'm still working out the kinks and living off free website hosting for as long as I can, but if you're looking for some fresh posts, I've got you covered. Please come on over, stay for tea (if you don't mind making your own). And never fear, the Blogger account will remain intact as the archives for TheOneArmGirl.com.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Also, PLEASE follow me on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/onearmgirl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">FB</a>, <a href="http://Instagram.com/onearmgirl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Instagram</a>, and yes, <a href="http://Twitter.com/TheOneArmGirl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Twitter</a> for new post notifications and other fun content.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-46446017939690233182019-07-05T11:06:00.003-06:002019-07-05T11:21:50.792-06:00as the confetti settles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">It's been a week since amputee circus camp came to an end.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Credit: Michael East</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">After five full days of playing and training, it all climaxed in a bang of confetti for the finale of our performance at the Ontario Contemporary Circus Showcase in Toronto.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">The piece featured each camputee on her chosen apparatus: fabric, hoop, and Erin's celebrated hanging wheelchair. The one brave camper dude brought down the house with his hula hoop, tossing it into the air and catching it with his nub arm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">We certainly accomplished a lot in one week. We laughed-e.g. "Does anyone remember where I put my legs?"-We cried, in frustration and recognition, and we prevailed with no camper left on the ground. But though we were drawn together-literally grouped-over the commonality of limb difference, I was struck by our diversity. Even our physicality spanned a spectrum, and no two of us had lived the same experience in our bodies. I didn't find, as I expected, that working with other aerialists with missing limbs was particularly helpful in skill development because we were each so differently abled.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camputees</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Instead, we had so much to learn and consider from one another because of our differences. I learned from Talli how one moves through the world with no arms; from Bonnie the importance of wheelchair accessibility and how often it is lacking; and from several that not all prosthetic legs are created equal. These are things that I never consider, that no one ever considers, until one is confronted by it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">On Saturday, our courageous teacher and camp co-leader, Tina Carter of Airhedz in the UK, was invited to a panel discussion around the question of accessibility in circus. She invited each of us to forward our ideas. But I think there are no concrete answers here. The most important thing is openness to learning from one another and believing that we all have important things to contribute, in circus and elsewhere. </span><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Accessibility is a state of mind. That's where it begins...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">OneArmGirl </span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-83740258726592043182019-06-26T15:58:00.000-06:002019-06-26T16:00:02.802-06:00away to the circus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pzQKci2LgZY/XRPp4_1I_qI/AAAAAAAAB6A/fHroepO-XB4e-gsSSePlZzJwxU7d0wprwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pzQKci2LgZY/XRPp4_1I_qI/AAAAAAAAB6A/fHroepO-XB4e-gsSSePlZzJwxU7d0wprwCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_7482.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Hello there! I know, it's been a minute...or several years, whatever. Explanation? Well, I could say I ran away to the circus, which is kinda true, but I didn't run so much as take a plane, then a bus, then a train...and it wasn't several years ago, it was Saturday...and it's not Barnum and Bailey, it's circus camp...and no ordinary circus camp...it's amputee circus camp, or as we campers have affectionately termed it, Camputee 2019!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">This is actually the second annual Amputee Circus Camp, hosted in Kingston, Ontario, at Kingston Circus Arts by the lovely and talented Erin Ball. Erin lost her legs below the knee several years ago. She was an aerialist before her accident, and she has continued with a mission to bring others with limb difference and disability into the world of circus.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">So here I am. Just getting to hang out with other limb-less or partially-limbed folk from all over is novel enough, much less have the opportunity to play together on fabric, trapeze, and other aerial apparatus. It's surreal. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Erin and Talli</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">There's a good variety of us with partial arms or legs or both. Very few times in my life have I had the pleasure of being in the majority when it comes to limb deficiency. And to find as many other folk with limb differences who are ALSO interested in circus arts is close to impossible. But then, "impossible" is a word we don't give much credit around here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Of course we are all serious about circus and working so hard our entire bodies are aching with soreness, but the comedic potential in such an environment is astronomical. Just one peek: in the Starbucks drive-thru the other morning with Bonnie and Talli, both with lower limb deficits, we missed the ordering spot and I offered to jump out and ask the car behind us to back up, only to discover the child-lock was preventing me from exiting the vehicle...me, the one most able to jump out. Don't fear, coffee was ascertained eventually, an international incident averted.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl </span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-69396465525753544342018-03-31T09:18:00.003-06:002018-03-31T09:18:59.011-06:00good enough<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">As a self-diagnosed recovering perfectionist, I've discovered a fantastic new life motto: good enough.</span><div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BZ2qGBzxcLo/Wr-mr06LYaI/AAAAAAAAB3o/HAj1HHN9mfMYSvRM90sGkMnruElKf_AoACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_4510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BZ2qGBzxcLo/Wr-mr06LYaI/AAAAAAAAB3o/HAj1HHN9mfMYSvRM90sGkMnruElKf_AoACLcBGAs/s320/IMG_4510.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I recently decided to 'go back' to school by taking one course in anatomy at the local community college. After completing the necessary registration steps and </span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">procuring a student ID, I found myself in the book store reminiscing about old college days, exorbitant book costs, and ridiculously long lines. These days we have a thing called the internet where one might purchase any book, any or all additions, and have it delivered to one's door in two days. When I was last in school, the internet was for messaging your roommate across the room because it was so novel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Textbooks are still absurdly expensive, but as a new student in my late 30s, school is a novel experience. Going back to school is one of those rare opportunities that one has to do it all over again, but differently this time. And even though I found myself with the same old stomach full of winged caterpillars on the first day, it does feel different. Mostly I just don't care nearly as much this time around. Teachers do not reflect who I am and test scores do not determine my self worth. I laugh in the face of extra credit. Ok, maybe my ears still prick up at the mention of bonus points--let's not get crazy, I said I'm a recovering perfectionist here. But I kinda feel like I'm 'playing' school, like it's a big game or an experiment--how well can I do with less effort? And I'm having fun--a word never associated with academic pursuit before in my life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I woke up this morning thinking about my new approach to school, that there's a definite line between agonizing over perfection and stopping at good enough. This was not a part of my vocabulary in early school days. As silly as it may sound, I only knew how to strive without end, to study obsessively until you're certain you will know the answer to every question, to read a paper over and over again until your vision blurs--practices that seem verging on psychosis. At least, it's no way to live. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">'Good enough' means putting in what is commensurate with what you are getting out. I'm finding I retain more learned information when I stop to consider it's actual relevance to me and my life, how it may benefit me or those in my circles. And that goes for everything in day to day life, work or play. As a reformed 'exceptional' student, it's astounding that it's taken me this long. I got good grades most of my life, but I studied for the test, I wrote what the teacher wanted to read. I was scholastically successful, but not life-accomplished.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It's just not worth measuring up anymore to anyone else's expectations. I'm the only one who will account for my life and how I spend my time. Good enough is whatever counts and not a second more. That's what I (now) call perfection.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
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OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-6900195697674647642017-07-31T22:47:00.000-06:002017-08-02T10:03:03.341-06:00cool arm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">When one of her unicorns loses a leg, 6-year-old Arwen remains nonplused. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">"Oh well," she says, "you can still do things without a leg."</span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Gi0yjxy2qFw/WYAC6jYwUZI/AAAAAAAAB2o/oxPOhCBG_yMRk43MTd46jzmXzwyj8X3mwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_1171.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1540" data-original-width="1600" height="307" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Gi0yjxy2qFw/WYAC6jYwUZI/AAAAAAAAB2o/oxPOhCBG_yMRk43MTd46jzmXzwyj8X3mwCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_1171.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Several years ago, Arwen attended an outdoor aerial gig in which I performed. Her mom tells me that when Arwen saw me on the fabric, she was hooked. Every time I see her mom, she reminds me: "Arwen talks about you all the time...she thinks you are so cool."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Last week, at the circus arts studio that her mom runs, Arwen reminded me herself when she walked over to me and said, "I like your little arm. I think it's cool."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">"Thank you!" I said giddily, "I think it's cool too."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">In a nutshell, this is what I do. Or, it's what I want to do: to let little girls (and boys) know that having one arm...or leg or ear or toe is OK, and more than OK...it's cool.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I'd say it's my vocation, but that sounds like taking too much credit. It's more like something that happens when I'm around. And also, I guess, because I don't just sit on the couch and eat potato chips. No offense to those who do, but I just don't like potato chips that much. PS: If you can eat potato chips with your toes, it's time to get off the couch...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">But of all the emails I compose, meetings I attend, formal teaching I do, I really believe this is the most important work--the work of being fully who I am, being 'cool' in my body.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">It's not the sort of career one generally goes into. Not a lot of informational trifolds in the career counselors office on being one-armed. Not much money in it, I guess.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">But when a small person like Arwen, with so much love and life ahead, reminds me what I'm doing here, it feels right. It's simple, sometimes aggravatingly so, but I can't think of anything more rewarding I'd rather be, or do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
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OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-31377943743434198162015-08-11T13:21:00.000-06:002016-01-28T08:33:48.819-07:00balance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">For the third time in two weeks, I've been asked if I have difficulty with balance. This time it was in relation to my sometimes involvement in gymnastic horseback riding, in which I've been known to stand on a moving horse.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">The answer is, yes, of course I have difficulty with balance. Anybody trying to stand atop a trotting horse or climb on fabric hanging from the ceiling or just take a beginning ballet class is going to find themselves challenged by gravity.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bzWG_J33wIU/VcpKs_poSKI/AAAAAAAABvs/9o3OsMHuvHY/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bzWG_J33wIU/VcpKs_poSKI/AAAAAAAABvs/9o3OsMHuvHY/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Painting by Noam Lazarovitz</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">But I am not being asked this question because I partake in certain disciplines that require balance, among which is also cycling with a dog attached to one side of my bike. People are asking because I've got one arm and they are curious if my asymmetry is an issue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">And the answer to that is no, not really.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I'm no PhD, but I've had a lifetime of balance practice. And if anything is true, I've been balancing as long as I can remember. For example, you may easily find me balancing a tray of food or a jug of milk (or a baby) on my raised thigh whilst opening a door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">"I'm going to write about balance," I told my new massage therapist. I was spurred on by what seems to be widespread ignorance of physics and physique.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">"Oh, you mean actual balance," he said, "not like internal or spiritual balance."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">No, that I have great difficulty with...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Physical balance is way easier. When a medical professional asked me this week about my potential imbalance, she was not talking mental. I sheepishly explained how each person must have their own midline based on individual physique, a sense of balance that develops over time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">She looked at me, nodding, "Yeah, I guess you're right."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">But even if you cut someone's arm off, they aren't going to suddenly fall over. Not in my experience, anyway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I dare say I may have superior balancing ability out of sheer necessity. Can I walk a high wire from one skyscraper to another, probably not. But it's a little offensive to have my balance called into question so frequently. I guess I could throw the question back at people while shoving them to test their balance...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">But I suppose the pen is also mightier than the push.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-23099075697011211372015-06-12T10:13:00.000-06:002015-06-15T06:45:25.068-06:00down time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">If your summer is going anything like mine, you are finding yourself more and more active. Coffee dates, horseback riding, teaching, fundraising--all very enjoyable, splendid things to do, but at the end of nearly every day I find myself sun-weary and muscle sore (including the brain muscle).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">When I was a kid, I was terminally afraid I was missing out. If it was at all exciting, I wanted to be a part of it. This pervasive anxiety over not doing enough or not being enough or not being where I needed to do something continued into adulthood.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Then I got sick, so sick all I could do was lounge around my parents' house. I found myself in the middle of the very nightmare that stalked me. But I learned something critical during my convalescence: even when I was doing nothing, I was still doing something. I was still breathing. I was still seeing and feeling. I was resting. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">This shift in my thinking about the intentionality of rest was revolutionary. I learned to value the down time. I was no longer missing out or wasting hours of my life--I was existing at a slower pace.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Days like these, as I find myself busy (now practically a curse word in my vocabulary) again, I long for that blessed rest. So I'm trying to carve out oases of creative relaxation into my routine, to allow myself the freedom to just take the afternoon off, drive to the mountains and watch a hummingbird buzz back and forth from perch to perch.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I can't think of a better use of my time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-13920848626427673942015-04-16T14:37:00.001-06:002015-04-19T20:40:09.907-06:00the bike incident<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Not long ago a good friend sent me a video of a double arm amputee successfully changing a flat tire on his bicycle. This week I tried to put a tire just filled with air back on my bicycle and failed. Thankfully no one was taping it, so you won't see it on YouTube anytime soon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Granted bicycle maintenance is not something I've put a lot of time into, but with my dog looking forlornly up at me after several days of pathetic walks, I trotted down to the basement with great expectation.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I trudged back up with my unwieldy and uni-tired bike. Already exhausted, I assessed the situation before me. Thankfully, I had saved the hardware I'd removed with the second tire, careful to remember the order in which it needed to go back on. This only proved so helpful, however, as I attempted reassembly. I soon discovered that even if I could get the tire nearly into position, it was still impossible to open the breaks wide enough to fit around the tire.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">After tinkering with oily parts to no avail, I pondered my predicament for several moments and made a command decision. I would take the bike, tire, and other necessary pieces back to the bike shop where I'd had my tire pumped up and ask them to put the tire on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">So I carried the bike, which seemed to have grown heavier somehow, down the alley to my car parked on the street. But the real challenge turned out to be getting the bike into the backseat of my sedan. Just when I thought I had it most of the way in, the front end would swivel and catch on the door frame. I cursed the handlebars. The break lever hit me on the jaw. I went to the other side of the car and attempted to pull it through. Then back over, nudging and pleading, seriously questioning life decisions that had led to this moment, not having a boyfriend being one of them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Finally, the bike settled in just far enough for the door to close. Too exhausted and sweaty to drive anywhere by this time, I walked grumpily back to the apartment, seriously considering the possibility that bicycles are secretly trying to ruin our lives. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">That's when I saw my neighbor Dave's wife walk out of the house next door and remembered that Dave is a sometimes serious mountain biker and probably not only could put my tire back on, but probably could have filled it with air in the first place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I wisely decided to eat lunch and walk the dog before taking the bike back out of the car. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Yesterday, Dave stopped over and put the tire back on my bike in about two minutes. He also encouraged me to come to him in future before I decide to lose my marbles trucking it to the closest repair shop (well, he might have left out the part about my marbles).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OK, man who changes his tires without arms, you got me. I'm just glad I know how to ask for help.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-83926337475535573752015-03-17T12:56:00.000-06:002015-03-17T13:02:08.807-06:00rehab<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I wasn't given any physical therapy after I got my cast off in January, so I've instituted my own rehab routine, mostly consisting of aerial dance and horseback riding. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In five weeks of wearing the cast, my range of motion decreased significantly and my grip was pathetic. I tried to lift myself up onto the lira (hoop), something I'd done easily in November, but was unable to stand the weight of my whole body. My finger felt like it might snap. So, I slowed down a bit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I've been doing finger stretches, squeezing exercise balls, and completely letting go of spooked horses that take off suddenly across the arena.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I don't think rehab is something anyone enjoys much. A friend who took a nasty fall of her bicycle resulting in a broken femur last year is still waiting for her normal energy level to return; an aerial dance friend just told me she's been grounded for a month because of bruised ribs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">While I was still in the cast, I went to see the movie <i>Unbroken</i>, which tells the survival story of US Olympian and WWII bombardier Louis Zamparini, whose plane was shot down in the ocean, followed by his imprisonment in Japanese prisoner of war camps. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The movie was good, but at the end I was surprised to learn that it is based on a best-selling book by Laura Hillenbrand. Many may not know that Hillenbrand, who also wrote Seabiscuit, suffers from debilitating chronic fatigue and dizziness, and rarely leaves her home. As an athletic college student, she became ill very suddenly, dropped out and became dependent on care from her boyfriend. She wrote Seabiscuit and Unbroken--both tales of astounding physical achievement against the odds--after she got sick.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I remember reading what is, to my knowledge, the only article she's written about her illness. She became so dizzy while writing Seabiscuit, she would sometimes hold her head up with one hand so that she could continue typing with the other.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">All of this came back to me as the movie credits rolled. I can't even manage to post to my blog regularly, I lamented. And this woman writes best-sellers from her bed.</span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Have you ever wished you were housebound so that you might accomplish more? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I had to ask: </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Would Hillenbrand have ever written a word if she had never gotten sick to the point of not being able to do much else?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The value of life is often equated with productivity, but certainly not being bed-ridden. It's easy to feel like rehab is working to get back to a place where you once were. But what if it it more like re-shaping into something completely new?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl </span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-71788580089973493242015-02-20T19:33:00.001-07:002015-02-20T19:33:29.091-07:00a limping angel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I went to see Cirque du Soleil recently for the first time. I was enchanted by the aerialists to which I aspire, but was most intrigued by one dancer who danced on crutches the entire show.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I found myself wondering if he actually had a physical impairment that required the crutches or if it was just part of the show. His moves were so smooth, his transitions so seamless, he seemed to almost fly around the stage.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But a hunch sent me to Google the next day. His name is <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/02/24/dergin-tokmak-polio-victi_n_1299210.html" target="_blank">Dergin Tokmak</a>. From Germany, Tokmak contracted polio when he was a baby, but dreamed of becoming a dancer--influenced most heavily by breakdancing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">When he learned Cirque du Soleil was actually looking for a dancer on crutches for the 'limping angel' in Varekai, he decided to audition. Now he's touring the world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I guess it's tempting to be impressed by how much someone with a physical disability has accomplished in the dance world, but I wonder how many show-goers don't even know Tokmak is handicapped.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Rather than dancing in spite of his handicap, his dance seems inspired by it. His uniquely strategic, flowing movement is made possible by the crutches which, like wings, carry him just above the stage.</span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The angel's limp has become a dance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
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OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-88985069674357083572015-02-06T16:19:00.000-07:002015-02-06T17:28:29.210-07:00free at last<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I'm free! As of Monday this week, the cast is off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">You may have noticed I've been a bit absent the last five weeks. Perhaps it was because my one and only hand was in a cast, or maybe I just took the opportunity to sit on my butt all day, catching up on the latest season of Maron. And you'll never know.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8tVMeflbIOs/VNVKqnG8I6I/AAAAAAAABsE/d9ROSW7G4M0/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8tVMeflbIOs/VNVKqnG8I6I/AAAAAAAABsE/d9ROSW7G4M0/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forced vacation</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I missed my hand while I was in the cast. I certainly missed not being able to type or bathe myself, but mostly I missed my palm. Yes, I missed my palm. Or more accurately, I missed feeling things with my palm. I missed running my hand down my dog's back and pulling my friends into a hug. Without my palm, I felt cut off from a world of sensations. I was isolated, all because of one pinky finger fracture. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I was not in the cast long enough to learn how to do everything with my feet, but I certainly developed the dexterity of the three fingers available. I spent a lot of time thinking about people without arms and how much I rely on mine. And I had plenty of time to think while waiting on the toilet for someone to come wipe my butt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">While the permanent loss of another appendage would certainly send me into a spiral of depression, I was vaguely aware that, eventually, I evolve. I would become the no arm girl, I would own it. What other choice would I have? It's a sobering thought, yet amazing to realize the human body's capacity for adaptation. And even more amazing, the adaptation of the mind, always the slower, harder member.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But instead, I'm enjoying my freedom. I love washing my own face--I have never felt so happy to bathe myself. I'm walking my dog again. And driving is the greatest gift I've ever been given. I am master of my domain once again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Still, if you ever have the opportunity to break something, or get sick, or somehow end up temporarily laid up, I highly recommend it. You will find yourself astonishingly grateful for your health.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-66279360302975662342015-01-03T12:10:00.000-07:002015-02-20T19:11:27.732-07:00short-handed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I suppose it was bound to happen. I was tempting fate. Living on borrowed time...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">At the beginning of this week, I fractured the bone and dislocated the knuckle of my right hand pinky finger. Doesn't sound major but when your right and only hand gets put into a cast, you've got a bit of a dilemma.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I was out at the barn working with one of our new horses, when he spooked and ripped a lead line through my fingers, leaving my littlest fifth finger pointing at an angle that it was not meant to do naturally.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The doctor at urgent care realigned, to put it nicely, my finger and braced it. On Wednesday the orthopedist fixed it up with a beautiful purple cast and sent me home with some wishful thinking instructions like don't use your hand. He had no idea what he was asking.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And so I find myself sitting on my best friends couch, unable to accomplish even the most menial task like drinking my morning coffee without assistance. I've never broken anything before much less the one and only good hand I have. No offense to poor Finneas who is now pulling more than his share of weight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We are making history here at OneArmGirl.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But sometimes your life takes a drastic turn and you must seize the opportunity to learn to do as much as you can with your feet. That must be a famous quote somewhere.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The thoughtful reader may ask how it is that I am even writing this post right now when typing is clearly out of the question, aside from hunting and pecking with one of the two fingers that are still usable.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Voice-activated dictation is a beautiful thing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">So I continue to write and e-mail, though driving and bathing myself are out of the question. Any horse activities and aeriel shenanigans are also on hold.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">On the bright side, I now have plenty of time to binge watch Scandal on NetfliX and catch up on serious news stories like "The Top 10 People Who Didn't Make a Difference in 2014" from <i>The Onion</i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My New Year's resolution is to increase my rate of bone growth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-57544767521062768432014-12-04T05:14:00.003-07:002014-12-04T05:50:46.748-07:00no hands<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">My last week in Israel, I was privileged to take a riding lesson from Uri Peleg, a nationally renowned horseman and promoter of natural horsemanship techniques. It changed my life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But first, we have to go back a few years...ok, more than a few...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I took my first riding lesson when I was about nine. If you are not familiar with English style horsemanship, imagine black velvet helmets, tall black boots, and plenty of snobbery to go around (my apologies to the English, I'm sure their intentions were pure). Unfortunately, I showed up wearing western boots. I should have read the signs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I sincerely appreciate my training in English riding for the attention to detail and meticulous care for equipment and horse, but managing my reins would prove to be a lifelong frustration.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Lacking in the area of upper extremities, keeping my reins at the correct length to accurately communicate with my horse was nearly impossible. If it was exhausting for me, I can only imagine the irritation of my ride. But knowing only to work harder to achieve what I wanted in life, I persevered...until I quit several years later, believing I wasn't good enough.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">So, when friend and fellow riding instructor, Nomi showed me a video of her friend Uri riding and working cattle without any reigns at all, I was mesmerized. The rusty gears started to turn.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Sitting astride an appaloosa called Winter at Uri's Ramot Ranch, nothing was working. Winter was not responding in the way I wished to anything I'd been taught to do on a horse. It was like finding yourself behind the steering wheel of a car, but having lost everything you knew about driving.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Thankfully Uri didn't laugh, but started to teach me a new riding language. This new language uses various gentle but specific leg cues to move forward, back, and turn to the left or the right--reins used as a last resort. It is astonishingly simple, and logical in that you ask the horse to move as guided by your legs and body position. The difficulty was getting off the worn path in my brain of using rein language. I literally had to hold onto the saddle horn to keep my hand from moving.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But as I started down the rocky new path of communicating in the natural horse tongue, I felt a slow but steady wave of liberation. Every time Winter responded immediately and exactly as I'd requested, weights of old frustration fell away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">We stopped at the top of a green plateau and looked down over the entire Sea of Galilee. If you've ever felt your life changing in the very moment it does, you know the excitement.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">On the way down, I held my grateful hand up over my head, palm waving.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Look, no hands! I smiled to Uri. He smiled back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I should have fisted it in victory.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-48109775503442855912014-11-22T08:28:00.000-07:002014-11-29T10:32:32.864-07:00beauty<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"You're so brave, Tashoo," Noam tells me when she sees small children at the resort swimming pool staring and pointing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I tell her my secret is to not look away, to stare back, and maybe give them a wave with Finneas.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"That way they can't make me the strange one," I say.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Noam says she would like to kick them into the deep end.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But there are larger implications when skimpily-clad, slim young women saunter about everywhere you look in this holiday hot spot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Every photo I take of Noam and show to her, she wrinkles her nose and says, "Ugly. I'm so fluffy."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"You can't change how everyone sees you, you can only decide to be OK with yourself," I say.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I watch a woman, or girl, walking toward the water, her long perfect back growing out of her symmetrical hips straight up to meet her relaxed, carefree shoulders. I'm so jealous.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I never had a back like that. At her age, scoliosis was already crippling my genetically shortened torso. Regardless how carefree my now thirty-something, emboldened spirit might be, my spine will never reflect it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Yet, I'm angry with Noam's self-criticism and her doubts about finding a man who will appreciate her body. It leaves no room for her wise-beyond-her-years grounding and easy-going, light-hearted nature. When she says, "I love you, Tashoo," it means more to me than most because her sincerity is palpable.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Neta is Noam's mom. I like the way she drives her truck over the rocky volcanic Golan farmland, one arm resting on the door, the other, with several leather bracelets, casually guiding the wheel. She lets her hair hang long, parted in the middle, like I imagine she has done for a long time. Her work-tough boots move up and down on the pedal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Her shoulders are broad and strong, but she walks easily without any evidence of stress. Her soft voice and easy laughter exude a natural calm. She brings peace into a room.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am struck by her beauty. This is the kind of woman I want to be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">One of the brave.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl </span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-67440445921075074472014-11-17T11:12:00.000-07:002014-11-17T11:12:17.967-07:00the old country<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Hello. I'm writing to you from the Golan Heights in Israel, where the world began, more or less.</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I have been here in Israel for nearly a week. The jet lag is mostly gone, but after a long day of ranching yesterday, followed by an after dark trek to local hot springs on the Israeli/Syrian border (complete with Jurassic Park style fence), I'm feeling a bit tuckered out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I'm eating as much humus as I can tolerate; holding as much Hebrew as I can keep in my head; and generally loving the temperate climate--though my hair is still adjusting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Tomorrow we head to the south, to the beach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">More to come...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl </span></div>
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OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-26855311628541601032014-11-07T08:38:00.001-07:002014-11-07T08:39:11.399-07:00places<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It's showtime! AirDance New Mexico presents Other Worlds tonight at 8pm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ok, that's my shameless plug. If you are weary of art featuring me and other company members, in white amidst a flowing red fabric, it will all be over soon. Well, until I pull them from my stock photo file for future posts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In other news, I am going to Israel. Yes, I'm nearly as surprised by this news as you are. My dear friend Nomi, who is also a therapeutic riding instructor, lives with her family and horses in the land where everything began. I wanted to go to Israel one day, but as usually happens, that day came sooner than I figured.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I hope to post here while I am away, but it may be a little spotty as I search for time and wifi. Please hang in there. I need you. I really do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Love.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"> </span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-26365927255411861852014-10-28T16:02:00.001-06:002014-10-28T16:02:07.615-06:00plates<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I've had a considerable number of plates in the air as of late, and that does not include the ransacked kitchen left in the wake of Little Gen's determined </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">cupboard cockroach</span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> hunt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">There's just so much going on between the end of the riding season, increased dance rehearsals, and watching for the mail carrier to deliver $600 worth of brasiers for Little Gen's disability.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Lost you? See <a href="http://www.theonearmgirl.com/2010/06/genevi.html" target="_blank">this early post</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Fittingly, I was in the middle of changing into rehearsal gear when the package did arrive, and answered the door in nothing but a dance leotard. After the embarrassment subsided, I felt cool, like the kind of person who does art for a living.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"When I think of grace, I think of you," my friend Michelle once said. Obviously she hasn't seen me lately.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Though it does seem that I've always had, or earnestly practiced, a certain grace in moving through the world. </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">When I was eight, my ballet teacher told me I was a natural. </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I maintain I decided to be graceful rather than have my smallish arm blamed for clumsiness. Grace was my cover.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In college, I carried my cafeteria tray with the greatest of care. A mouse might run over my toes (and I happen to know of one such incident in said cafeteria), but so help me, my plate would never hit the ground.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Still, people generally assume that balance is not my forte. When I toured the weight room at a local YMCA, the trainer seemed overly concerned that I not lose my balance on the machines. I moved slowly and deliberately, trying to humor his fears that I might, at any given moment, topple over from a light breeze. Never mind the 30+ years I've had to develop an understanding of physical equilibrium. I decided not to mention that I'm an aerialist.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Truthfully, I probably have better balance than most. I know exactly what is required to hold a stack of china plates on my knee whilst opening a cupboard door. Balance is essential to my survival. I dare say, I am on the cusp of human evolution in weight distribution. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So, the next time you see me, standing on a moving horse, holding a platter, atop which a glass ballerina performs pirouettes--do not fear, she's in good hands....err, hand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">In the meantime, I'll keep my eye on the plates.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-53155818509562078032014-10-18T00:14:00.000-06:002014-10-18T00:14:07.062-06:00becoming<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The fact that it is nearly 12am on Saturday morning, making this post already a day late, attests to my desperate attempt to catch up on a week that beat me to the finish line.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It's been a full one of excitement, sadness, challenge and liberation. But at this late hour, I will just leave you with the following from Kathleen Norris on the tension of being fully alive:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"Between these two poles, it seems to me, we seek to become complete: between shedding our self-consciousness and taking on a new awareness, between the awesome fears that shrink us and the capacity for love that enlarges us beyond measure, between the need for vigilance in the face of danger and the trust that allows us to sleep."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">May we all continue to fight the good fight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span><br />
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OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-36311292304443737312014-10-10T13:40:00.003-06:002014-10-10T13:42:17.930-06:00successful suffering<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"You can't pity someone you're in awe of," a priest once said of the first resident in his home for AIDS patients.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I read this today in Kathleen Norris' Cloister Walk, which I am proud to say I am just two chapters from completing. It struck me as precisely the ingredient to successful suffering.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Successful suffering? Yes, I said it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In the midst of typical lunch serving mayhem at the Friary yesterday, an older woman stopped to tell me how frustrated she was with her son when he was younger and seemingly unable to lead a productive life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"I see people dealing with so much and working so hard," she confided, "and I'd think 'What's wrong with my son?'"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"I guess we all have our own journey," I considered aloud, remembering my own harsh lessons.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">When I was younger, I refused to allow anyone to feel sorry for me, warring against pity with personal achievement grenades. It was never good enough for me to survive, I meant to conquer. Thus motivated, even self-pity rarely entered my fortress.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Unfortunately, this drive opened the door to an achievement addiction that I'm still trying to kick. But that's another story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; text-align: left;">Managing two mugs and a pot of coffee for a table of presumably homeless people, one woman piped up "I'm so sorry about your arm."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"Really?," I said, "I'm not."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In case you missed it: a homeless woman was feeling pity for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The truth is, I don't mean to inspire awe, though it's a nice side effect. </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But there does seem something special about pain that can inspire greatness--greatness which, otherwise, might have remained undiscovered.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-54210052174220697532014-10-03T15:53:00.003-06:002014-10-03T15:53:59.168-06:00odds and ends<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">It's been a busy week here at OAG headquarters.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The riding season is coming to a close soon, but we are hot on the trail of a new home and new horses for next year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It's strange to think that last year, at this time, I was a month into my Connecticut training to be a therapeutic riding instructor. Now here I am, with nearly a year of experience to call my own.</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6U5XffuuQ8M/VC8Y85PgzRI/AAAAAAAABpI/R0XlJ_kIwdo/s1600/DSC02414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6U5XffuuQ8M/VC8Y85PgzRI/AAAAAAAABpI/R0XlJ_kIwdo/s1600/DSC02414.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I'm happy to be home this Fall. Autumn in New Mexico means the end of endless hot summer afternoons and the beginning of roasting green chile.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">The next aerial dance show is around the corner, with just over a month to go. Partner Zach and I are working on a lira (hoop) piece this time, with loads of unintentional creativity as per our usual enterprise.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">And somewhere in between all the other goings on, I've taken Keeper the dog back to school. Agility school, to be precise. She's a very apt student, when she wants to pay attention. I imagine I'll be called in soon for a parent/teacher conference where I'm told she's very intelligent if she would just apply herself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Dragon Boy's Mama and I decided to stop eating sugar for one week. I've only almost fallen off the wagon once for a pumpkin spice latte, but I called my sponsor and persevered. I'd like to think my tummy is already receding.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I feel bolstered by the progress I see in my life, if only in small increments. And the bite in the air reminds me that change is invigorating.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For the first time in two years, I want to cut my hair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-10231713411776547132014-09-25T14:10:00.001-06:002014-09-25T14:10:50.933-06:00you did it<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Congratulations! In the past week, the OAG Facebook page reached and passed 300 likes. I called and you answered. I summoned and you came. Now follow me, you 300+, into the fray, onward to victory! We rise at dawn! We take the Persians! They may take our lives, but they will never take OUR FREEDOM!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Uh, we should probably stop for coffee first.</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T1hmrNYDG2I/VCR0GMeU5zI/AAAAAAAABo4/rXvfwmuDz8w/s1600/Photo%2Bon%2B9-25-14%2Bat%2B1.45%2BPM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T1hmrNYDG2I/VCR0GMeU5zI/AAAAAAAABo4/rXvfwmuDz8w/s1600/Photo%2Bon%2B9-25-14%2Bat%2B1.45%2BPM.jpg" height="320" width="246" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I would like to take this occasion to announce that, henceforth, I will try posting to this blog on Fridays, rather than Thursdays. I say 'try' so as not to set myself, and you, up for disappointment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">But I will certainly do my best. It's really the least I can do considering the growing number of my supporters.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">A big thanks to all you faithful readers who have hung in there for the long-haul. It's just so much nicer writing to someone. If it weren't for you and a debilitating case of writer's guilt, I don't know where I'd be right now. Probably log-running in a lumberjack competition.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Here's to you!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl </span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-26157077377597677882014-09-18T14:52:00.000-06:002014-09-18T14:56:31.966-06:00300<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I don't know if any of you have noticed, but we are nearing a momentous milestone here at OAG headquarters; we are a mere four likes away from 300 on the OneArmGirl Facebook page!</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4uKQC_iQa0I/VBtE43co1_I/AAAAAAAABoo/jt1Fj5Bgn3g/s1600/Photo%2Bon%2B4-1-14%2Bat%2B1.41%2BPM%2B%232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4uKQC_iQa0I/VBtE43co1_I/AAAAAAAABoo/jt1Fj5Bgn3g/s1600/Photo%2Bon%2B4-1-14%2Bat%2B1.41%2BPM%2B%232.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For the scoffers out there, I know 300 likes is inconsequential to most popular blogs, but considering I started this thing for my mother, I guess we're doing alright.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">In addition to Mom, my fans have grown steadily over the years, like by precious like, only ballooning once over a certain <a href="http://www.theonearmgirl.com/2010/06/warning-may-contain-adult-content.html" target="_blank">'appearance' I made on an amputee fetish site</a>. Thus I have had the chance to appreciate every one of you, even those of you still holding your breath for some soft core amp porn. I'd start breathing, if I were you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Can we do it? Can we reach 300 likes this week? With or without guilt-tripping our closest neighbor into believing she needs to know all about the life and times of a certain one-handed blogger?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I think we can.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">If you haven't already, become a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/OneArmGirl/311955665492133" target="_blank">OneArmGirl Facebook fan</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-21157761602791102222014-09-12T19:04:00.001-06:002014-09-12T19:08:06.634-06:00going circus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Last week I took part in an outdoor benefit performance. Partner Zach and I re-enlisted some of our moves from the last show, developed some new stuff, and let it fly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Here is my signature feat:</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A45yA4IXVJo/VBOX9baUa1I/AAAAAAAABoQ/K4VqoU4-_8M/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A45yA4IXVJo/VBOX9baUa1I/AAAAAAAABoQ/K4VqoU4-_8M/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I am able to climb the fabric and hold myself with one arm weaved between the two ribbons because Zach is basing me at the bottom, creating tension. Thus, it is called a tension climb.</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FwMeAxl5ERU/VBOU_8EtsMI/AAAAAAAABoI/mn1ErrBIlTg/s1600/photo%2B2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FwMeAxl5ERU/VBOU_8EtsMI/AAAAAAAABoI/mn1ErrBIlTg/s1600/photo%2B2.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Here I am climbing the fabric. Notice the little girl in the foreground mimicking our moves. I used to be that little girl, triple-axel-ing around the living room during the Winter Olympics. I climbed around the trapeze bar my dad hung on our homemade swing set, holding 'dangerous' poses for the imaginary audience below. Did my dad ever imagine what seed he was planting?</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1gvDaznkYv0/VBOYrPrXceI/AAAAAAAABoY/_sNCJ3qQES4/s1600/IMG_5779.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1gvDaznkYv0/VBOYrPrXceI/AAAAAAAABoY/_sNCJ3qQES4/s1600/IMG_5779.jpeg" height="241" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Dreams do come true.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-11785121495546908782014-09-03T10:40:00.001-06:002014-09-14T20:33:41.053-06:00happy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I am often told I have a good attitude for someone with a disability.</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hgcguErVSBI/VAdDHyJezNI/AAAAAAAABnw/-F1dSOh7bqU/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hgcguErVSBI/VAdDHyJezNI/AAAAAAAABnw/-F1dSOh7bqU/s1600/photo.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I know people mean well, but it's a little insulting when someone assumes the physical difference that I was born with must be the greatest tragedy of my life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Unhappiness is not rationed to a select few. It's readily available to all. You only have to pick your reason. Heck, you don't even need a reason.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I could get down about my disability, but why be so narrow-minded? There are so many other things to choose from</span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">: breakups, rudeness, and famine, to name a few.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Lately my attitude has been less than optimistic. It hasn't been exactly bad, just sort of stuck in the doldrums. I've stopped expecting good things, which is almost worse than being angry or upset, signs of passionate feeling. This dispassion is hard to kick.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I don't feel like I have a legitimate reason for my disappointment. Sure, there are a handful of things that haven't gone the way I would have liked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This week I was excited to find a horse that would be perfect for our therapeutic riding program, only to learn it had been sold the day I made an inquiry.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I'm responsible for some of my blues. I've hurt people I care about because of my own selfish needs. And the worst part is I'm mostly upset because of how it makes me feel.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I took a picnic lunch to share with my cousin yesterday. He wasn't home, but his tenant Ramon was. I sat with Ramon under the shade of a cottonwood tree as he told me about his life journey from Cuba where he was nearly aborted before he was born, to working for Sears as a delivery driver. It certainly had not been easy, but happiness and contentment seeped out of him. Sitting next to him, I felt like the most negative person on the planet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The only cure I've found for a poor outlook is looking more closely--examining the small, simple pleasures in my life. I will never forget how when I was struggling with physical illness and feeling strapped on every side, the one thing that I looked forward to each day was a bowl of yoghurt with raspberries and honey. To this day, I have never tasted yoghurt so good.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">On Monday, Father Daniel called to invite me to a baseball game.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"We are taking the bikes," he said. It was all I needed to hear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">On the back of a motorcycle driven by a Franciscan priest, the sun and wind blessing my cheeks, I wondered how I got so lucky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl</span></div>
OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8821388535696897269.post-51243370661143089072014-08-22T19:29:00.003-06:002014-08-24T10:57:40.337-06:00boys like girls<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I met my friend Peggy for a coffee date.</span></div>
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<span style="clear: left; display: inline !important; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">Peggy survived polio as a child and we've both lived in bodies that people notice. Fueled by caffeine, we engaged in conversation like new recruits in warfare, swapping stories as if we might explode before we got them out.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Then we got to adolescence.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"I asked my mother if boys would like me," Peggy said. "And she said, 'The right boy will'."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I smiled. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"Did <i>you</i> worry about boys liking you?," she wondered.</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c4UE7kRQF4M/U_fuE-LGxSI/AAAAAAAABnc/Kbj_CwXHIns/s1600/IMG_6107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c4UE7kRQF4M/U_fuE-LGxSI/AAAAAAAABnc/Kbj_CwXHIns/s1600/IMG_6107.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I've spent a lot of time thinking about this. I've written an entire essay about it for my memoir. And I feel like a total traitor saying this, but the answer is no, not really.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Truthfully, I have never worried that my physical differences would keep boys away, much the same way I never believed anything else was out of my reach because of my lacking arm. And I don't know why, because I've worried about nearly everything else my entire life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I have certainly suffered unrequited love for specific boys, but lots and lots of girls worry about not being good enough to love (boys too, for that matter). So I'm tempted to think physical difference is just one reason we give to excuse ourselves for lack of interest from the opposite sex.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Plenty of boys have been friendly toward me throughout my lifetime--and most of them have not interested me romantically. If I was interested and he wasn't, I usually told myself he was missing out or that it made no sense to like someone who didn't like you back (I was a child strangely grounded in logic).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I haven't had many boyfriends...some might argue no boyfriends...but it isn't for lack of interest. In fact, my arm seems the opposite of a deterrent, often the very thing that makes me approachable. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">I used to think only quality guys would want to be with me because they'd have to settle for minus one on the arm ledger. But as I've discovered recently, I am also attractive to selfish jerks who could care less about my amazing personality. So, apparently, you can have that too if you like, arms or no arms.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Peggy's mom might have told her any boy should be so lucky to capture her interest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"I found out boys do like me," Peggy says now, a twinkle in her big brown eyes, looking back over more than forty years of life experience.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Of course they do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">OneArmGirl </span><br />
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OneArmGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05254125875133978152noreply@blogger.com1