Something one must remember about me is the environment in which I was raised. My mother had serious mental health issues. My father didn’t want to upset her and instructed us to do the same. We all took a lot from her and that became the norm, until I blew up and fought back, screaming at her, closing my door to keep her out, never confiding in her. But that was the exception, not the rule. I was usually docile and obedient, never the trouble maker. I saw my father tolerate her verbal abuse until my brother and I were safely grown when he finally could no longer stand it and he divorced her. But that’s another story. So the peace-keeper is embedded in my core personality.

As I ventured out in the world, it was difficult for me to stand up for myself. It was not learned behavior. I married immediately after college graduation and became a dutiful spouse.

The first instance of showing backbone was during that summer of 1974, immediately after marriage. I applied for teaching positions in suburban Boston. I easily got certified in Secondary Speech (having been a Theatre Major). Getting the all-important English certification was more difficult. Though I took lots of literature courses, most of them were referenced on my transcript as Theatre courses (Shakespeare, for instance, could be either, but I registered it as a ThA course, to satisfy requirements for my major). I actually only had one straight English course on my transcript. I wrote a pointed letter to the Massachusetts Board of Education, noting ALL the literature I had read – the classics in my Humanities course, SO much Theatre literature from the earliest Greeks through Ibsen, and so on. I quickly received that all-important English certification as well, though I never got a teaching job. As noted in earlier stories, I went to work in the tech sector and never looked back. Still, I stood up for myself.

When I interviewed at ASI in March of 1978, I very much wanted that sales position. I had no experience, but made the pitch that my acting credentials made me a good public speaker, being a stage manager showed I had great follow-through and besides, I could laugh and cry on cue and would use that to my advantage too. The VP of Sales liked that argument and I got the job offer the next day. Those who know me as a professional cannot believe that I am not always that determined in all aspects of my life. I was fearless as a sales rep. But not so in my home life – a throwback to deferring to my mother to keep the peace in the household.

I suppose leaving by myself for Chicago to take that sales job was a big leap. I told Dan that I was going to take that job. He could come with me, or not. He chose not. We commuted for 16 months. We saw each other every 2 or 3 weekends. Each visit was like a honeymoon and we had a wonderful time. I had never lived on my own. I kept within a tight budget. But I also had a very close friend nearby. She and her family became my family. I saw her every week and her mother took care of me in ways that my own mother never did. While I worked very hard, I also felt nurtured and protected.

Another famous sales moment (that I wrote about for a previous prompt) was getting a contract two weeks before my due date for David in the summer of 1985 at Combustion Engineering in Stamford, CT. My manager (who had come through a difficult divorce, so became skeptical of women) decided to go on a call with me just before the 4th of July holiday. This was our first time out together, though I had worked for the company for nine months. I did all the talking, it went well, he was impressed. My main contact called the next week to say it was a done deal. This would be a big contract. But he called the following week to say the Senior VP (who hadn’t bothered to show up when I made the presentation) wanted to see the product before signing – would I come and present one last time? I was now within two weeks of my due date and HUGE (see the Featured photo – that is the dress I wore to the appointment). My contact assured me this was merely a courtesy call. The contract WOULD be signed. I told him my water could break at any time and my husband would not be please if it broke on the leather seat of the BMW. We understood one another.

Of course, the A/C broke in the BMW the night before, right after our Lamaze class, so I was a mess when I finally arrived after my 2 1/2 hour drive. I carried 45 pounds of computer equipment and needed help getting it out of my car. I went to wash up in the ladies room before setting up. The presentation went well. The VP was about to sign until he asked what version of the operating system were we running, and what version were they running. We were one version ahead of them and we didn’t know the implications. He got up and left. I was FRANTIC! I called my office, spoke with the head of development who was willing to write into the contract that we would guarantee to make our product run on their version of the operating system. I turned to my contact to see if he was satisfied, which he was. Now he had to get the VP back for the signature. I said, “I hope you are prepared to deliver this baby on this conference room table because I am not leaving without that signed contract”. Great closing line, but one doesn’t get many opportunities to use it. I did sit there for hours, but I came away with the signed contract. Tenacious.

A few months ago I wrote about a terrible car accident I had on the Mass Pike in my BMW 540i. I was injured and as I was being strapped onto the gurney by the EMT, I noticed the State Trooper putting a ticket in my tote bag. He told me that “someone had to pay for the guard rails” (if I was at fault, then my insurance paid; if not at fault, the state paid). I fought that ticket from the magistrate (who ruled against me) to the judge, who ruled in my favor. I really stood up for myself that time.

Just before I left for Martha’s Vineyard for the season, I had a run-in with my gym.

This was absolutely NOT true. I immediately sent an email to the gym manager and head of group fitness with the time of my arrival and details about running into the instructor coming into the locker room, how many mats were set up when I got into the studio, who I spoke with before class and giving a fond farewell to the instructor, who I really like, as this would be my last Barre class before leaving for the Vineyard five days later. Karen, head of group fitness, answered the email a few moments later, apologized and said my account would be corrected. In my 10 years of membership at Equinox, this has never happened to me.

So when it matters, I do stand up for myself. But normally, I go along to get along. I don’t make waves.

Neither of my children has a landline, nor network TV. One doesn’t own a TV. If he wants to watch a streaming service, he has a projection system hooked up to his computer. He projects the image on a wall or screen opposite the projector. My other child uses her TV for gaming, watching movies and such. The notion of network TV is far-fetched, antiquated for them.

We have lived in our home for 36+ years, so of course we had phones in most rooms when we moved in. There was no alternative at the time. In fact, we installed a phone system, which ties into the doorbells. It rings through the phone. This was very modern at the time, but now would require us to tear out the whole system (embedded in our walls, so a major renovation). We even had two lines – one for outgoing FAXs and also used for business calls. We dropped that line long ago.

Our cable provider is Comcast and we have their “triple play” service, that is- we get our phone, internet and cable service from them. My husband has looked at dropping one of the services, but it is MORE expensive! We also live in a rather large stone house and there is virtually no cell service in certain parts of the basement (which is finished and has a large TV in one room), so relying just on our cellphones isn’t practical. Also, we have been in the house so long, we still have certain accounts that are tied to the landline phone number.

My husband is an early adopter of technology and we bought TiVos (for three of the TVs in the house, and they are linked, so we can watch shows recorded on one from other TVs) years ago, and have upgraded them as they wore out. TiVo is the brand name of a type of DVR. All our TV is run through the TiVo, which runs through the Internet. When the Internet goes down (which seems to happen frequently these days) we lose the program guide for the TiVo, which programs about 10 days ahead, so we can set up shows to record that far in advance. We set up a “season pass” for series that we want to record over and over again, like “Jeopardy”, which we watch every week night, whether we are home or not. We can go back any time and catch up.

We can record on multiple channels at a time, have access to various streaming services, etc, though we do have to pay for each, so we do NOT have Paramount+, for example. We subscribed to Disney+ for a while, but found we weren’t watching much on it, so unsubscribed. We do not have Peacock, so cannot see the NBC shows after they initially air. But we usually record what we wish to see. We did invest in an Apple TV+ device a few years ago. I HATE the remote control and find it very difficult to control, but do enjoy many of the shows on that service.

So we are somewhere between modern and not, streaming more and more shows, but not giving up on that landline (though I never answer it these days). The only person who still uses the landline is our Martha’s Vineyard caretaker, who still doesn’t call on our cellphones. I know if someone calls on the landline, they don’t know us and I won’t answer.

Still, we won’t cut the cord.

 

“You can’t understand someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes.” — American saying, author unknown

Part of aging is the physical breakdown of our bodies. I have tried to slow down the inevitable by working with a physical therapist weekly to strengthen my aching back and core (such as it is). Ironically, it was doing a new exercise (likely incorrectly) that left me with strained groin muscles and damage to the joint between my left and right pelvic bones that caused tremendous pain when I tried to initiate walking. After a visit to the pain doctor, an x-ray, and MRI, my doctor recommended lots of rest, pain management (translation, lots of pills), and using a walker. Finding a walker to borrow was easy. Most of my friends have one, as many people in my age group have had knee and/or hip replacements, broken bones from falls, or just need one to navigate the world.

In Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, Atticus Finch tells Scout, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view, until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.”  The walker was a real eye-opener. I was shocked to discover how hard it was to navigate my condo, let alone the outside world.

My condo itself is structurally fine. An elevator building. One floor living. Doors wide enough to accommodate a walker or wheelchair. A shower with a grab bar. So why couldn’t I get around easily? We had arranged our furniture based on aesthetics alone, not worrying if visitors, several of whom use wheelchairs, walkers, or canes, had enough space to move from one part of our home to another.

Once we moved things to clear paths wide enough room to maneuver, I made another shocking discovery. Our living room is basically open concept, but I realized I could only sit in one spot on the sofa. I couldn’t navigate the coffee table. Filled with shame about how insensitive our furniture arrangement was to our aging friends, several with with physical disabilities, we started to rethink how we could make our home truly accessible.

My first venture outside with the walker was going with my husband to the Civic Center to get a handicapped placard for the car. Armed with my doctor’s form, we found the handicapped entrance, a ramp leading into the basement. It is an old building, and all other entrances involved many stairs. Once in, I caught my walker on a series of mats placed down to catch the snow/rain. When we put down mats like these at the handicap-accessible preschool I directed, we used duct tape to hold them in place and replaced them when they started to curl. Not so at the Civic Center, where they were a huge trip hazard.

When I explained what we needed to the man stationed down a long hallway at the information desk, he pointed to the staircase to the second floor and informed us we needed to go to the City Clerk or City Collector. I guess he didn’t look up at me to see the walker. Luckily, we were near the one small elevator in the building. The City Clerk sent us across the hall to the City Collector. There was a line of people waiting, but no one offered to let me go ahead of them or even to sit on a chair. When I finally reached the head of the line, the Collector told me, “We don’t do that here,” and gave me some extension numbers for other departments I could call from the house phone down the hall. Of course, no one answered. Luckily for me, the woman at the closest desk, whose job was to issue building permits, redirected me to the City Clerk and advised me to make him read my paperwork and ask for a placard, not a sticker. Finally, we were on our way.

We thought we could go into Walgreens on our way home for one item, but the only handicapped spot was already taken so I waited in the car. Just another time I was left out. At a different Walgreens the next day, we snagged a handicapped space for our COVID boosters. When we finally emerged, here’s what we found:

Yes, someone had parked in the zone next to handicapped spots that supposedly affords someone who is disabled enough room to enter their car. Luckily, I was not alone and my husband could back the car out so I could get in.

I have also discovered that many “accessible” buildings do not have automatic door openers, or if they do, it’s only on the outer door. A trip to the audiologist’s office on the first floor of a newish building is a perfect example. Getting into the office was doable as the outer door had a button for handicapped access and the inner door pushed inward. Exiting was another matter. I could not pull the office door inward and was lucky a man in the waiting room saw my plight and helped me.

I have a friend with MS who has described the many times an Uber driver saw she was an older woman in a wheel chair and just kept going. Before she was using the wheel chair, when she came to our old house with her walker, she had to enter though the backyard alley and have people assist her up several stairs to enter the house. I had a small, first-floor powder room, which must have been challenging for her to use. I also had a few steps to go from the front hall to the rest of the first floor. Of course, all of the bedrooms and bathrooms were up a full flight of stairs. One of the reasons we moved was contemplating a future in which aging made it harder to manage all of those stairs. I don’t know how I would have handled this injury if we hadn’t moved, and I am racked with guilt over not seeing how hard it was for my friend to come over as her illness progressed.

As I wrap this up with my hands cramping from arthritis, I needs to share a final thought. No matter how empathic you think you are to others who are aging and/or have disabilities, it takes actually putting yourself in the same position as someone who has a handicapping condition to understand fully how challenging life can be. For those of us lucky enough to be temporarily restricted or not suffering from a permanent disability, incidents like mine are a preview of coming attractions.

“I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.” ― Walt Whitman