Liars, Hypocrites, and Jail Time Continued

That last entry was cut short by, well, technical computer/Internet difficulties and, of course, the complexities of life.  What happened to keep me away from continuing from where I left off matters little.  What does matter, though, is the story itself.

My previous entry was a speech I had written. On July 21, 2010, my friend and employee Lenny used a mega phone to read the aforementioned speech out of the office window of the Liberal (Provincial) Party Headquarters. Our peers down below, from both OCAP and DAMN 2025, cheered as we denounced the McGuinty government for cutting the Special Diet and the hypocrisy of the government's recent ridiculous spending spree. Nine other people were with us in that tiny office space, and one person hung a banner out the window. Nothing else was either touched or moved.

The action should have only taken 15 minutes, maybe 20 at the most, and then we were supposed to just leave.  Unfortunately, as Lenny neared the end of my speech, a bunch of cops burst into the room and dragged Lenny into the hall. Soon, all 11 people, including myself, were corralled us into the outer room.

Most people were cuffed and reprimanded by police, although they didn't tell people until much later what they were being charged with.  They did try to tell us that people from the Liberal Headquarters had told us to leave, but I sure never heard them.  In fact, they were very helpful to get us inside.

I was told to go sit by a wall. Two people from my group were in front of me, and everyone else was behind me.  Mostly the cops ignored me, and questioned and yelled at everyone else.  One cop asked  me if he could look in the bag on the back of my chair for identification, and I indicated my money pouch around my waist.  Fortunately, he understood, but I was anxious to get Lenny back with me so that I could communicate more freely.  My two friends in front of me helped me convey this to the cop (I could hear Lenny behind me telling them that it was against Human Rights to keep my communication assistant away from me.) I also told them that I needed Lenny with me for other kinds of assistance that day, because I had no one else scheduled. At that point, the cop actually said, "No problem, we'll call and ambulance for you and send you to the hospital." I almost exploded in fury! "No no no no no! I'm fine! I'm not sick!"

During all of this, I could hear one female officer (I'm pretty sure she was from that YouTube video, "Bubbles the Cop,")  yelling at Lenny and saying it was disgusting how I had been coerced into participating in the action. Lenny defended himself by saying that he had only been doing what I asked him to do, but the cops wouldn't listen.  By this time, Lenny was finally by my side, and I, filled with rage and indignation, spoke up and said that I had written that speech and asked Lenny to read it.  I added, "I am not a pawn!" Why was it so beyond belief for the cops that I might have  a brain in my head and want to stand up for my rights, especially since I would, in all probability, be losing a huge chunk of my monthly income?

Then I was charged with trespassing, as was Lenny. We were the only two who didn't also get charged with mischief and have to do a night in jail (I guess because it was too much work for them to find us an accessible paddy wagon and cell.)

Sometimes our ableist society kind of works in our favour.

Liars, Hypocrites, and Jail Time

Back in March of this year, the Federal budget came out, and much to people's shock and dismay, it was made known that the Special Diet money would be cut from ODSP & OW. Ironically this came upon the heels of a human rights case where the verdict for the plaintiff (people who had lost their special diet) stated that all people on ODSP and OW need their rates raised significantly. Did the government take heed?! No! Instead they completely ignored this monumental statement. Not only that, but they told us they were making these cuts so they could reduce the deficit.  

If we didn't know already what liars they were, we sure found out during the G20. They spent 1 billion on the summit without a single thought as to how hypocritical this action seemed to be! It was a slap on the face to the poor people of Ontario. In that one act of hideous extravagance, our government was, in fact, saying: “We don't care about the poor people of this country. We don't care if they live below the poverty line and have to choose between food and rent. What's important to us is to spend this enormous amount of money on 1) security and turning Toronto into a police state, and 2) hosting this non-sanctioned summit that excludes all but the richest world leaders.”

They think we are afraid of their power and brute strength. We are not! We don't forget and we don't forgive! With the utmost determination, we will not rest until the Special Diet is returned to us so that we can buy good food, stay healthy, and pay our rent! Nor will we stop fighting to get a 40% increase so that we can finally live above the poverty line!

Recently, our government spent 9 billion dollars on fighter jets and one hundred million dollars on war ships. This is truly disgusting! We need to make them see that money should be spent on providing a better environment in which people can live and thrive. The government shouldn't be trying ti think up new ways to destroying life; they should, instead, focus upon bettering the quality of life!

They promised to reduce poverty, but instead they are increasing it. They promised to close down all abusive institutions, but many still remain open. By 2025, they promised that Ontario would become what they consider to be fully accessible. Too little too late, I say!

Over and over, we must remind our government of its many promises, and we must hold them to their word. Only until then can we take back our power and dignity. Only then can the paths to our own lives be self-determined.

Thank you.

Solidarity with all prisoners!

G20 Surrealism Continued...

This is a continuation from my last blog. I feel like I need to tell my story from my own unique perspective. I feel like if I don't do this soon, I just might explode from my boiling fury at what injustices transpired during the G20 Summit.

Friday, June 25th, 2010: Members of D.A.M.N. (Disability Action Movement Now!), O.C.A.P. (Ontario Coalition Against Poverty), No One is Illegal and Grandmothers for Afghanistan were there, among dozens of other groups of activists. There was a very large contingent of D.A.M.N. that day (as well as other upcoming days) - it was so exciting and empowering to see so many people with disabilities come out to this monumental event!

We were all excited and ready to march and to cry out our frustrations with the government ignoring our pleas for financial stability, and our determination that we would be heard and that things would change for the better!

To have our voices heard, we used chants: Too many barriers, Not enough food, Sit down, roll on, fight, fight, fight! - Stair by stair, Wall by wall, We demand Access for all! - Hey hey, TTC, Public transit should be free, Ho ho, TTC, Make transit barrier free! As the scorching sun beamed down upon all 4,000 of us, baking us, we chanted and a Samba band played periodically, lifting our spirits and giving us strength to continue. It was a slow trek that lasted 5 long hours.

Let me say this: neither D.A.M.N., nor O.C.A.P., nor all of the many activist organizations who were there that day had any kind of thought of committing violence. We simply wanted to have our say, get our message to the public, and try to get as close to the G20 fence as possible. (The latter was a political statement: it was such a horrendous slap in the face, especially to poor people, that two billion dollars had been spent on the G20 instead of on social programs and reducing poverty.) King St, we'd heard, was the farthest point we could go, and that was fine with us.

We started our march from Allen Gardens at 2:30pm, and thousands of police shadowed our every step. Their looming presence was daunting, to say the least, but it didn't deter us from our mission.

Overall, it was a peaceful demonstration - on the side of the protesters, at least! At the corner of Carlton and Bay, cops suddenly grabbed some guy from the march and told him to get off the street. (I still don't know why this happened!) Apparently, the guy was young, of colour, and was Deaf. The cops didn't believe that he couldn't hear, though, and, thus, didn't allow his ASL interpreter to go with him. I was way, way ahead from this particular scene, but my peers explained to me that five friends of this young guy, who were also people of colour, tried to reason with the cops and got beaten for their efforts.

In some way, it was decided that we should keep on moving. So, we did. We marched and we marched, and several times the cops blocked our way, although we were nowhere near King St. or the G2O fence. No word was spoken by cops; we were only met by empty stares. At one point, when we were hemmed into a cul-de-sac off University Ave., there was a rumour that there was a sound canon around, so we all very hurriedly put plugs in our ears. I, myself, held my breath and waited for the attack on our ears. None came.

We started backtracking, until we, once again, reached Allen Gardens. There, we stopped and rested. Pup tents were set up, food was brought out, and entertainment was performed. There were several hip-hop singers singing about the world's injustice. I really liked their singing and dancing, but I was even happier when Simone and Ian came on. I love their music! Speeches about the extravagance of the G20 compared with the serious poverty in Toronto were read with passionate hearts. Lamia read my speech, and people seemed to enjoy it; one woman even asked if she could use it in her documentary about poverty.

Saturday, June 26th, 2010: I was exhausted on Saturday morning! It was the first morning in ages that I hadn't been to the market to sell my art. I half wanted to go to the protest I'd heard about at Queens Park, but my body said rest, rest, rest! I listened to my body and took it easy. I had a late brunch, took a hot shower, got dressed, and went out to buy a few things at the Drug Mart.

I'm not big on the whole soccer mania thing, but I let Motria talk me into watching the game between Ghana and the US at Mickey Finns. We both rooted for Ghana to win. While the game was on, Motria kept checking for updates on what was happening with the protest that day. Much to our surprise, we found out that a few of the protesters had started smashing windows of banks and iconic corporate buildings (Starbucks, American Apparel, Bell, Rogers, Tim Hortons etc - no "mom & pop" shops were touched, as later claimed by the police.) First, one cop car was reportedly torched, then another, and another. We could see cop cars go whizzing by Mickey Finns, and the TV now had vague news of the downtown riot scrolling underneath the game.

A million emotions ran through us at that time: curiosity, fear, excitement, and concern for our friends. Of the two of us though, I'm sure I was the only one who felt a certain amount of awe for the powerful symbolism that the protesters made by the smashing of windows of greedy corporations and banks. I mean, nobody got hurt, and I'm sure the corporations have enough insurance to replace a window or two.

The rest of the weekend was brutal and terrifying for the people who participated in saturday's protest - and even for those who hadn't. 900 people were arrested over the weekend, even during some of the most peaceful protests, where people sat, sang, and prayed. It has been an overreaction on a grand scale. People were corralled and beaten and threatened over and over again. Like dolphins caught in a tuna net, bystanders were ensnared. And now stories are coming up about how horrible conditions were at the detention centre. Some people were in there from 23 hours to 36 hours with no food, no water, no toilet paper. Most people had no idea why they had been arrested. Young teens were not allowed to call their parents, and women inmates were strip-searched by male cops. Disgusting treatment!

In my opinion, these strong and over the top measures were not at all warranted. People broke windows. That's a misdemeanor, at best a fine or community work. Four cop cars got torched. Again, that's a misdemeanor, at best a fine or community work. Our city streets should not have been turned into a war zone where cops could do anything they wanted!

And, where were the cops that fateful Saturday when all this shit happened? I'd seen literally thousands of them for days. You're telling me that so many cops couldn't have stopped people in their tracks and prevented all of the damage that was done. Why didn't they? Eye-witness reports have circulated that cops weren't even near their burning squad cars, nor did they show any overt concern about them at all. It has been said the squad cars, old and without any radio equipment, were planted as bait for the protesters. The cops actually wanted protesters to cause damage so they could justify spending so much money on security.

This is "Toronto the Good". This is Canada the "Peace-Keeper". What happened?! It's Canada Day, and I certainly don't know anybody who feels like celebrating this travesty of a country!

G20 Surrealism

It's been a very long time since I did a blog entry. My heart was broken two times over. First, my dear husband Rob died in September of '09, which was particularly devastating for me. And then, my best friend Aaron Shelbourne died a few months later of bladder cancer.

Nothing really seemed to matter or had any great importance to write about.

Until this weekend.

On Friday, June 25th, 2010, I went to protest against the G20 Summit in my beloved city of Toronto. Twelve, maybe fifteen different groups all met in Allen Gardens, ready to march down the streets and, hopefully, get within 5 meters of the security fence at King St. (That was as far as you could go before getting arrested. That's what we were told anyway!) to voice all of our objections (of which we had many!) to the way the government was doing things. One of our main issues was that our government had given billions of dollars in bail out money to banks and big corporations and yet had cut the Special Diet from people on ODSP (like me!) and OW - people who really need that money to survive.

I'm a member of D.A.M.N. (Disability Action Movement Now!), and this is the speech I presented on behalf of myself and the group at the end of the demo:

People, we are here today to demonstrate our strength and unity to the government officials who have tried to beat us down, tried to humiliate us, and, finally, tried to scare us with those bloody sound canons!

They want to strike fear into our hearts because they're actually the ones afraid of us, afraid that we won't stop fighting until our demands are met! And, by god, we won't!

We demand that the Special Diet be returned to the people who really need it, people on ODSP and OW, who need to buy healthy food in order to survive and thrive. People on ODSP and OW should have their monthly rates raised by 40% NOW! We need to be able to pay our rent AND buy food within the same month.

People with disabilities are forcibly imprisoned in places, like psychiatric institutions, nursing homes, prisons and detention centres. Refugee claims are commonly denied if someone is identified by the state as disabled, whether or not that person agrees with such a label. People with disabilities are kept out of much sectors of employment and also pushed into labouring in for profit sheltered workshops for miniscule pay. Prisons are full of people with disabilities. This discrimination and so much more adds up to a ensuring that so many amazing people in our city and in our world are kept in poverty, kept incredibly isolated, kept in danger and kept as tools for the profits of exploitative governments and companies. We are people and we've had enough. We demand an end to the systemic abuse and discrimination towards people with disabilities. We have a right to employment, to use public transit, to immigration status, to education, to safe and healthy food and shelter, and to freedom of movement and self determination in our own communities!

We demand that the cap on Direct Funding be lifted NOW! Every day there are many types of abuse that are inflicted upon people with disabilities who live within attendant care projects or institutions. People with disabilities should have the right to be able to say who can assist them with their daily routines and who MUST NOT! Seven hundred people have Direct Funding in Ontario; there are thousands of others who also need this funding in order to lead truly independent lives and feel safe in their own homes

I, myself, have lived within 2 separate attendant care projects before I finally received Direct Funding. I thought the first project was unbearable. The abuse was recorded by management, and then swept under the rug. I decided to move to another project, anything had to be better than what I had just experienced. I was wrong! It was different people, sure, but same types of abuse by the attendants and same do nothing attitude of the management. I felt frustrated and disrespected. I cried buckets of tears, not knowing where to turn, what to do. And then, my tears dried and my anger boiled. I went to the Toronto Star and told them about my abuse and neglect. Soon after the article came out, I applied for Direct Funding, and, amazingly, I got it within 6 months. My life did an 180 after that. I was happy, confident, and in control of my own life. The people I hired to assist me liked and respected me, and I felt the same way about them.

I now feel the same frustration and sense of disrespect as I did when I was dealing with the people at the attendant care projects. The government doesn't respect us! We keep telling them what we need and they turn their backs on us. If they respected us, they wouldn't put off making Ontario accessible by 2025! If they really respected us, they wouldn't have cut the much needed Special Diet only to spend one billion dollars frivolously on the G20! We don't need a fake lake or sound canons – we need enough money to live on! We need accessible transit and affordable housing! We need to be able to have the choice of getting Direct Funding if we need it! And, most of all, we need the respect from the people who govern our country! We need all these things NOW!

Thank you.

Solidarity with everyone who was pushed around, intimidated, beaten or detained by cops this weekend for trying to stand up for themselves, and to those who were simply caught up in the melee.

Is it any wonder I had a Mad Max-like dream last night?

Life Goes On

When my beloved cat Dandylion died almost four years ago, I painted a picture called "Life Goes On". In the painting, I'm sitting on my bed with Dandylion (who's facing away, looking at the outside world through the window) and my two new kittens, Hershey and Rascal, who are both curled up next to me. It represented the fact that, sad though it may be, life goes on, even if you're heart is broken and your life is in shatters. I'll always love Dandylion for as long as I live - nothing will ever change that! - and yet, the huge void he left in my life led me get Hershey and Rascal two weeks later.

It's different when your husband of 21 years suddenly dies. I can't just run out to the Humane Society and get a new mate, nor would I want to. Rob is irreplaceable, one of a kind!

And, as with the case of Dandylion, I realize that, even through the pain of grieving, life continues to go on, and I have to keep going along with it. It's what Rob would have wanted, after all.

So, my daily rituals continue as well: nourishment, bathing, shopping, banking, seeing to it that my household is run smoothly, that my employees are paid, that the cats are happy and healthy, and that bills are dealt with in a timely fashion. I can't totally fall apart, as much as I'd like to, because people depend on me.

To get back into the ebb and flow of the universe, I decided to do some things which were both fun and constructive. For Halloween, I dressed up as Anne Bonny (a real life female pirate.) It felt wonderful to be someone else for awhile! Without too much trouble (amazingly enough!) I had several fittings for my new (and fantastic!) seat and wheelchair, both of which will be here in mid-January. And, I've been painting, of course. Painting is like breathing to me: I couldn't survive without it.

There were serious things I had to deal with too, such as, paying bills, canceling cards, and going to ODSP.

About a month ago, I had to go into the ODSP office for a financial review. (I hate those meetings! They make me feel insignificant and lower than scum on a snake's belly). It's intimidating as hell because they comb through your finances, looking for some little mistake saying that you have a penny or over the poverty-line.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. My worker suggested to me that I should write to the City of Toronto and ask for a copy of Rob's death certificate so that I could apply for a death benefit. In fact, my worker seemed genuinely concerned for my welfare.

Yeah, right! I went back last Friday to show them my art profits for the month of November (of which they're taking 50%!) and my worker again brought up the subject of me getting the death benefit. It might be as much as $300.00. (That brightened my day! Now that ODSP was giving me less monthly income since Rob's death, I knew I could put that money to good use!) And then she dropped the bombshell: the Provincial government would pay me the death benefit and the next month the Federal government would deduct the exact same amount from my ODSP cheque. So, basically, I would get nothing - nothing for being a good and loving partner and wife for 21 years, nothing for my pain and grief for these past 3 months. When I asked her why should I even bother applying for the death benefit - she said that I HAD to!

As you know, I'm a strong woman, but I found myself weeping in the ODSP office. I felt cheated and humiliated. I'm sure that other people who get death benefits actually get to keep theirs. But, because I, and others like me, are on ODSP, we don't have the same rights, even though our needs are greater than most. Despite the government's promise to end poverty, they seem to be hell bent on keeping people on ODSP poverty-stricken for the rest of their lives!

And so, yes, life does go on. Apparently, so does the fight for positive, progressive change.

Good Grief

Within these past 14 years I've lost three close friends, both my grandmothers, my father, and have had a miscarriage.

And now, the sudden loss of my darling Rob. Perhaps the suddenness of it all and the absolute depth of my feelings for him, has made this almost impossible for me to handle.

And yet, somehow, I am managing to get through each day a little bit stronger. Sure, there are tears I shed daily; sorrow that is so intense that it is like a knife twisting in my heart; and memories - good and bad - that torture my mind and spirit; and yet, I'm slowly accepting this tragedy as reality.

The bad memories linger still. Seeing Rob laying in the hospital bed, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, his wrists tied together about his waist with linen strips (odd that!) I touched the coolness of his skin, wept uncontrollably, and, not for the last time, said goodbye to my mate of 21 years.

I tried to hold it together, to "be brave", when I had to, first, talk with the heart specialist who took care of Rob, and then, days later, when I had to make the arrangements for the memorial. Those were the hardest days of my life! I cried buckets those first few days.

Not to mention the weird stuff that had been happening around me which was torturing my very psyche. Like the loving and sentimental wife I am, I found the YouTube video of Frank Zappa (Rob had always idolized him) singing our song Love of My Life and put it on Rob's profile page on Facebook. This particular video, I noticed, had been recorded in Barcelona in 1988, the year when Rob and I first met and fell in love. This information seemed interesting to me because I know that Love of My Life was recorded much earlier, in October of 1968.

And then, there was the morning of the memorial service, when, as I tried to force a few bites of breakfast down my throat to try to keep my strength up, I opened my laptop and immediately a pop-up for SMC (Specialized Merchandise Corporation) appeared. I never get pop-ups on my computer, and to get one at that particular one from SMC, a company from where Rob tried for years, unsuccessfully, to sell their products and run his own business - well, that was too much! I wailed and screamed out my frustrations at the unfairness of it all. SMC had been a small thorn in the side of our marriage, and it seemed so terribly unfair of life to remind me of this fact!

Even more unnerving was the fact that when everybody had come back to my apartment after the memorial and the light outside my door was burnt out. Motria, who had come back before us to order pizza, told us that the light had burned itself out just before our arrival. She said that the exact same thing happened when her father died. Odd that! Do spirits of the dead reside in lights until it's time to depart?

The memorial service was the hardest on me. I had to sit there and attempt to be gracious and stoic, even though all I really wanted to do was sit in a corner and cry. Friends and family kept coming over in a stream of never-ending faces. They all hugged me and kissed me and asked "how are you doing?" (I learned to loathe that question. How the FUCK do you think I'm doing?!) Still, except for a bucket load of tears, I did ok. I was the gracious widow.

And yet, part of me was happy. So many people came to the memorial, to celebrate Rob's life and share their memories of what a great guy he was. Even his internet friends, who lived far away, sent messages to be read aloud explaining how he enriched their lives by being funny, caring, and non-judgmental.

Many of my friends kindly helped with the memorial arrangements. We had pictures of Rob put up everywhere and his favourite ball-caps that he had collected throughout the years, as well as his most worn t-shirts and his collection of rock LPs too.

Of course there had to be some sort of electronical gadgets there too or else it just wouldn't have been a memorial that was truly for Rob. Rob's Ipod played his favourite music while his Mac played a DVD on a loop. The DVD had pictures of Rob as a child with his family and friends; Rob as an awkward yet lovable teen; and, Rob as an adult, marrying me. (We both looked so happy and in love!) There were clips of him on the Open Mike with Mike Bullard Show when he was the "Viewer of the Week" and one where Rob was an extra on Night Heat. One of the more personal video clips showed Rob at home with Rascal, who was just a kitten back then, sitting on Rob's shoulder suckling on his earlobe - and Rob happily letting him!

All of this makes me very happy. So many people loved Rob; they knew, just like I did, that beneath thar scruffy, gruff exterior lay a real creampuff who would do anything for anybody. I'm happy because I think Rob would have liked the memorial. Oh, sure, I can hear him now: "Why did you go to all that trouble? It's just me, and I'm nobody!" Secretly, though, I know he would have been pleased and touched by all of the love and attention shown to him.

It has been one month and several days since Rob's death, and this past Sunday I did one last thing to honour Rob's memory: I took his ashes with me when Laura and I went to see 500 Days of Summer. Rob felt about Zooey Deschanel the way I feel about Johnny Depp, and he had wanted to see this movie so badly. Within his green velvet sack, Rob sat upon Laura's lap, he sported his Kim Mitchell cap and his eye glasses and watched the movie. I think he liked it. He didn't say much; but then Rob was always a man of few words.

A Hell of a Lot to Say

This time, although it may kill me to write about what has transpired in the last few weeks, must be set down.

My husband Rob, the love of my life for 21 years, died suddenly of heart failure on Sept. 19th at St. Michael's Hospital in Toronto.

Such a shock I've never had! The previous day Rob was sitting up in bed, laughing and kidding with everybody. He sat there, drinking coffee from his Tim Hortons mega mug and complaining about the hospital food. When I told Rob I had to go home, he said, "Ok, see you tomorrow. I love you!" I said the same thing to him, and then we kissed goodbye.

That was it.

At 3:30 and 3:45 am the phone rang. I was alone in bed and unable to answer it. It went through my mind that phone calls in the wee hours of the morning never bring good news. Still, I hoped it was something mundane like a wrong number.

When Motria came to get me up at 7:00 am, we checked the message and heard the terrible news of Rob's death.

I was shocked and devastated, but my mother and all my wonderful friends gathered around me to help me through this horrendous experience.

What do you say about a man like Robert Shane Warenda? He was wonderfully sweet and funny. He could be terribly grumpy and infuriatingly self-depreciating. In his quiet, modest way he always tried to make people feel happy and at home in our apartment by finding out what tv programs or video games they liked and providing it for them. And, when our neighbour across the hall went into the hospital for a month, Rob graciously offered to look after her cat.

We went through a lot together within 21 years. Dating, love, marriage, a miscarriage, the death of both his parents and my dad and our cat Dandylion. We saw good times too, like the time we met Robin Williams, or the time I was featured on Breakfast Television, or, last year, when we went to England together.

Our love remained constant. We loved each other, believed in each other, supported each other.

Rob, my love, remembering our life together brings tears to my eyes and painful pangs to my heart, but I know that this will pass and I know that I'll love you forever.

A Hell of a Lot to Say

And then, I was going to write about my trip to NYC in late August/early September.

Again, great fun, fantastic memories. I was just too busy to write about them.

A Hell of a Lot to Say

I haven't written in a while.

So, I was going to write in August about my 51st birthday party, which was cool and fun.

So Much to Say, So Little Time.... (Part Two)

Two weeks ago, Pride Week was happening on Church St. I love this part of summer! It gladdens my heart to be part of this festival that celebrates diversity, freedom, and acceptance.

During one of those days that the festival was on, Mom, Motria, Sarah, and I went to the annual underwear show at Cafe California. As we dined and gazed at the beautiful male models in their underwear, the hostess of the show (Candy Barr)

gave us a brief history on how gay activism started in 1969 when police raided a gay bar called the Stonewall Inn. Fed up with this type of harassment always happening to them, people started to fight back. At first it was 400, but then the numbers swelled to 2000!

This was how gay activism was born.

Upon hearing this story, I felt great admiration rise up inside of me ... and some envy too.

On June 25, 2009, I went to the latest anti-poverty meeting - and boy, was I disappointed! I had been to maybe four or five of these meetings before this and, at first, I felt very hopeful that this group was just what was needed to make positive change happen. ODSP reform and an increase in monthly funds seemed possible, seemed within our grasp.

I started being disillusioned with this anti-poverty group when I attended the meeting before the one on June 25. The main topic was whether or not we should allow "service providers" into the group. I still don't fully understand what that term refers to! Did they mean professional people, like doctors, lawyers etc? Or, were they including "service providers", such as people who run attendant care projects? (God help us all if this were the case!) And why was this the biggest question of the meeting? It had nothing to do with ending poverty.

It was more of the same at the June 25 meeting. It opened with questions about why numbers were dropping in attendance and how we could try to get more people involved. We then discussed how to further proceed. What should our main goals be? We were told by the facilitator that the Liberals had provided extra funds to low-income families with children, but still had not looked at the issues of ODSP. In fact, they told us that the McGinty government were dragging their heels on the promise of reviewing "silly rules" of ODSP (for example: 1) having a chunk of money taken away from recipients if they had a part-time job, which puts them no further ahead than before; 2) losing the ODSP pension altogether at 65, only to receive the Old Age Pension which is even less than ODSP; and 3) if a recipient has a credit card, which many people do because we don't get enough money to live on, it's viewed as extra income and, thus, frowned upon.) The fact that the McGinty government wasn't taking the plight of ODSP recipients seriously infuriated me, but no one else seemed to be bothered.

Someone suggested that we start out small by ensuring that ODSP workers treat us with respect and provide us with all of our rights and entitlements. Fair enough, I thought, this was a good idea that should be seen to ... sometime. I, personally, didn't think that this issue should be the first main goal of the group - especially since we had just heard that the McGinty government was dragging its heels on the promise of reviewing the operation of ODSP and still had not looked into the possibility of raising the rates to the poverty line - or above it!

The guy beside me suggested that we all go home and write down any thoughts about what was really important to us and where we should put our energies. I liked his idea and told him so.

And then, I suggested that perhaps we each could write a letter outlining all of our concerns and needs, and send a copy to McGinty and of all the polititians on Parliament Hill. They had to hear what we had to say and take notice of us, I said!

People nodded, sure, and some agreed with me, but they still appeared to me as overly cautious. More than once I heard someone say, "Oh, we don't want to do anything too big." The facilitator informed me that a similar idea had been brought to the table at another meeting a month back (I suppose I missed that one!) The group, she explained, was going to write our "stories" down and send them to our MPs. They were just waiting for the "storytelling template" to be designed by one of our members and sent out to everyone before we could actually start.

(It is now 20 days since that meeting and I still haven't received that "storytelling template". I somehow have a feeling that I won't be needing it, though ....)

If it hadn't crossed my mind to quit sometime during this meeting before this, it sure as hell crossed my mind now!

I always remember a few years ago when my friend Simone and I looked up disability activism in the US. What we found was a group called ADAPT (http://www.adapt.org) - and what they did was incredible!

In 1990, people from ADAPT took their protests to the steps of the US Congress. (http://news.google.com/newspapers?id=SgwQAAAAIBAJ&sjid=b4sDAAAAIBAJ&pg=6491,2252390&dq=adapt+white+house+steps+1990) To demonstrate the daily discrimination and obstacles that they faced, people got out of their wheelchairs and began to climb the steps - all 86 of them! The focus point of the protest was to show support for the Americans with Disabilities Act to be passed.

ADAPT is still doing gutsy things in order to be heard and get equal rights. Please watch this video, it's very worthwhile! Not everyone with a disabillity is forfunate enough to be able to choose where they live. (http://www.nickscrusade.org/wordpress/tag/adapt)

People with disabilities need to be heard. I feel very passionate about this! We are so hidden away from society, our stories of plight rarely, if ever, are known by the rest of the population.

On June 4, 2009, I read an article that Helen Henderson of the Toronto Star wrote. In essence, it validates what I have just said.

Last month, the province announced it has appointed consultant Charles Beer to conduct a review of the Accessibility for Ontarians with Disabilities Act (AODA).

It came into force in June four years ago, developing sets of accessibility standards and rules to be brought into customer service, transportation, information and communications, employment and the so-called built environment, which includes infrastructure. This year's review was mandated as part of the Act.

Beer, who spent a brief time as Ontario's minister of social services from 1989 to 1990, when the Liberals went down to defeat at the hands of Mike Harris, says he is still in the process of getting organized. He is expected to hand in a report by January.

Even though the AODA has been in effect for four years, "there are still a lot of people just realizing that they have to comply," Beer says.

This is disgusting! The AODA was put into place FOUR years ago, and the government is just now seeking to enforce the Act! Is it any wonder that many Canadians with disabilities feel frustrated and angry with our government's inaction?! Is it any wonder that we feel disrespected and invisible within our society?

I've written letters to MPs, appeared in newspapers many times, participated in protests, and, of course, voiced my opinions here in my blog. These are the ways I attempt to fight oppression and to make people understand what life is like for people like me. Although I am only one person, I hope I'm reaching people and educating them about what is at stake for us in order to truly be able to fit into society.

So Much to Say, So Little Time.... (Part One)

People often say to me, "Anne, you haven't written anything in your blog in a while." I immediately wince, slap myself on the forehead in frustration, and curse the annoying fact that I don't have a clone yet to assist me with all the projects that I take on.

I love working on my blog. Besides painting, it is one of the most gratifying things I do in my life. To know that people are reading what I say and becoming informed about what it's really like to live with a physical disability and live on ODSP, and to know that I also bring the occasional smile or chuckle to my readers - that's an incredible feeling!

Sometimes after an eventful day, I think to myself, Yeah, yeah, I have to write about that! But then life takes over and I find that I have 20 emails to answer, or I forgot to pick up something at the grocery store, or there's a painting I need to finish in a hurry, or I need to do the payroll for my Direct Funding employees. Sometimes, too, after a long day, I just want to chill out and do an on-line crossword and watch TV.

The things that don't get said haunt me. They itch at the back of my mind begging to be released upon the never-ending scroll of this blog.

So, here is what I propose, dear readers: tonight, I'll tell you the story about my hospital stay last week. (Yuck, I hate hospitals!) Tomorrow, I'll take a break. I know I'll be exhausted after a full day at the market and then going out with Lamia, Motria, and Mishan for dinner and a movie. (The new Johnny Depp movie: "Public Enemies" - Yahoo!) And, then, on Sunday, I'll set down the stuff that's been kicking around in my head for a few weeks.

So, last Tuesday, I was having my usual dinner out with my mother and a couple of friends. I'd had maybe three mouthfuls when I felt something get caught in my esophagus. Chicken, I thought, probably chicken.

I didn't panic. This sort of thing has happened to me hundreds of times all throughout my life. Only a handful of times have I had to go the hospital because I couldn't dislodge the food myself.

Unfortunately, this was one of those times.

On Wednesday morning, I woke up and could still feel the lump hiding in my esophagus, so I told Lenny that I wanted to go to Mount Sinai Hospital. I've been to pretty much every hospital in the downtown area for one thing or another, and I've had the best luck with Mount Sinai Hospital.

It started off ok. I got registered, and we got into an Emergency Room cubicle almost immediately. And then, the long waiting began. Nobody came to see me for three hours! So, Lenny and I played Gin Rummy on the bed all during that time.

A doctor came to examine me, finally. I told him that I'd had something (probably chicken) lodged in my esophagus since the previous evening and that I couldn't eat or drink anything because of this. He ordered an x-ray to be taken of my chest area and for me to be put on an IV drip so I wouldn't become dehydrated.

They also took blood, and then they tried to thread a tube through my nose into my throat to see what was going on down there. Neither one of these experiences felt great! I almost cheered when they told me they were going to take me, knock me out, and get the chicken out. This was one thing I was familiar with and knew what to expect.

I went into surgery at 9:30 that night. They told Rob and Motria (by this time Lenny had gone home) that they could take me home afterwards, but I knew it was a lie. They never let you just leave after surgery; they always want to keep you in overnight for "observation".

Half an hour later, the doctor came out and told Rob and Motria that the operation had been a success. They had removed all the chicken and had had to even put in staples in my esophagus in order to widen it. It was the worst case they'd ever seen.

Rob and Motria were sent home, and I spent the night in the hospital. I slept most of the night, except for the nurse who checked my vitals hourly. I didn't mind that, it was expected.

The frustration came in the morning when the nurse shoved a bedpan under me and expected me to release myself while she stood over me and said repeatedly, "Are you finished yet?" I tried to get my communication board so that I could point to the phrase: I'm fine to be by myself, please leave me alone! However, although the nurse kept handing me my board but not close enough for me to reach. Not understanding her mistake, she kept putting my board away, saying, "Well, if you don't want it..." This, of course, frustrated me even more, and I wanted to scream!

Fortunately, another nurse came in and figured how to communicate with me. Although he was a tiny bit condescending (he spoke in loud and slow tones), I appreciated his kindness and patience. He helped me to drink apple juice and to call my my mother.

All in all, it is my fervent hope that I don't have to go back to the hospital for a very long, long, long time!

Those Who Truly Get It And Those Who ... Suck

Yesterday morning, I felt extremely frustrated! Why, you might ask? Because I was writing a long email to someone at the seating clinic at Baycrest Hospital, voicing my complaints about the slowness of starting the ball rolling on getting a new seat & wheelchair. I reminded her that I had been to see her at the clinic two months ago to take measurements of my body and discuss how to proceed. (I was supposed to go back one month later to begin having the seat constructed, but the appointment got cancelled.) I explained to her that I had initially started my quest to get these badly needed items about six months ago, first with HME (Home Medical Equipment). HME kept me waiting for ages in order to get this "specialist" in to help design the seat, which he did - and it was horrible, I couldn't even sit on it! I then decided that I wanted to try the people at Baycrest, because I had heard great things about the seating clinic at there. I assumed that Baycrest would have its own team of specialists on seat construction. However, they're using the "specialist" from HME because the people from HME suggested that this might be the best route to take. I don't even know WHY HME is even involved in the seat design anymore! It sort of defeats the purpose of trying out the seating clinic at Baycrest, don't you think? And, of course, nobody showed me any respect by asking me if 1) I wanted HME involved with the seating (they can be in on the selection of the new wheelchair, no problem!) or, 2) if I wanted to wait for the "specialist" again! And, everybody involved seems to have ignored the fact that I've been telling them that my current seat gives me terrible back and shoulder pain.

And then, when I sent the email to the person at Baycrest, I got an automated response saying that she was on vacation until Monday. I almost screamed! Why did the process of getting any type of assistive device take so bloody long?

Like I say, I felt extremely frustrated. I was close to tears, face to face with all these roadblocks.

However, I had a date with Motria and Laura, and I was really looking forward to that. The plan was to meet at Milestones restaurant for dinner and then go see a movie. It was raining and Motria called to see if I wanted to cancel, and I said, "Oh Hell! A little rain never stopped me!"

So, at 4:00, armed with my raincoat and my joystick condom, I braved the rain and drove my chair down to Milestones. I arrived early, and since I didn't want to sit outside getting even more wet, I went inside.

Well, I was face to face with the maitre d', so I thought, "okay, why not try to converse with this guy, and try to get a table?" Amazingly enough, I had no trouble doing this at all! And then the waiter came over and asked if I wanted a drink. At first he asked if I wanted pop, or water or coffee, and all I could think was I want BOOZE! I patiently spelled out "C-O-R-O-N-A" and he finally understood. He got me the beer, pushed in the lime and opened my menu. A few minutes later he came back and took my order.

I was so incredibly happy! I felt respected. They treated me like any other customer, and I really appreciated that. It occurred to me, "isn't it odd that the system which is supposed to be supportive of my needs isn't nearly as accommodating as a regular restaurant." HME and Baycrest hospital sure could learn a lot from Milestones!!!

Well, anyway, Motria and Laura came a few minutes later to join me. We had a fantastic meal, and we chatted and laughed the whole time. Then we went to see "Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian" at the IMAX theatre. It was a blast!

The evening ended much better than the day had started.

Dog Eat Dog at Woof Stock

So, this past Saturday was the Woof Stock festival at the St. Lawrence Market. I don't like Woof Stock. Yes, I love dogs, but the festival sucks, especially for vendors like me who stay inside because all the potential customers stay outside.

Well anyway, at 8:30 am while I was sitting and waiting for Laura to show up and assist me with selling my wares, this couple came by my cart. The man seemed genuinely interested in my art, and even said, "Wow!" However, his female companion very snobbily said, "Oh these artists at the St. Lawrence Market are a dime a dozen."

Bitch! Little did she know how close she was to having me chase her down and run her over! I wasn't in a great mood and I hadn't had my coffee yet.

Her comments stung me and still hurt to this day ... I'm thirsty - I need a drink of Whiskey to wipe out the memory. Or maybe a Corona, like Johnny Depp drinks (it says so in Vanity Fair). How could that woman say that about artists? With those few nasty words she disregarded all the hard work and struggle we go through. I don't know about her, but I stay up until maybe 2 or 3 am working on a painting. And, like other artists, I try to make my art as unique as possible. I mean, who ever heard of an artist like me? I paint with my index finger, and sure I paint dogs and cats, but I also paint the struggles people with disabilites go through.

Dime a dozen my ass! It's more like bastards are a dime a dozen. If I had the money I'd buy all the bastards and send them off to another planet.

Closure.........

So, this past Saturday, after working 8 hours at the St. Lawrence Market, I decided to go and confront the Maple Syrup Man and try to return the maple syrup I had bought from him the week before. (I had thought about simply using it on pancakes etc, but I just couldn't bring myself to do this because I didn't think I could enjoy it after all of the emotional turmoil I had felt.)

I didn't swear at him or try to act confrontational. With Laura's assistance, I told Maple Syrup Man that I was returning his syrup because I had felt offended by his comment re my inability to manage my own money. (He didn't know me or anything about my life! How could have put such a false label upon my being?) I also told him that I'd never buy anything from him again.

Maple Syrup Man didn't apologize, nor did he accept responsibility for the mental anguish and humiliation that he caused me. In fact, he flatly denied saying anything at all about my inability to handle my own money.

(Laura and I looked at each other in disbelief. We had both heard him with our own ears! How could he deny what he had said?)

Maple Syrup Man then tried to defend himself further by stating that he had only meant to complement Laura on the way she "took care of me".

Mentally, I screamed and ranted in my head. Didn't he realize that that comment was offensive too? Would he have gone up to the assistant of, say, Donald Trump, and commend them on how well they were "taking care" of Donald? I think not! I run my own art business; I manage my own attendant care business; I take care of my household, making sure there's enough food and essentials in our home. I'm a bright, capable person, and yet, that single comment seemed to put a dark shadow over all of my accomplishments.

Laura and I rolled our eyes and headed home; we knew there was no reasoning with Maple Syrup Man. He just had his own way of thinking. At least I had closure by returning his maple syrup.

But there is an even sweeter ending to this story; today Sarah brought me a huge jar of maple syrup. When she and her family heard that story of the Maple Syrup Man they put aside the maple syrup from their farm in Ottawa, just for me.

Thank you Sarah and family!

Horoscope-smoroscope

So, this was my horoscope for today:

Leo (July 23 — Aug. 22)

You are lucky. It's not clear what you've done to deserve this but Venus, the love planet, has something amazing in store for you.

Sounds fantastic, right? Of course. Now, I'm not one to put any stock in horoscopes - they're just for fun! However, for the past month or so, the Star's predictions have been eerily dead on. So, feeling slightly ridiculous, I was guardedly optimistic that today would be a good, if not great, day for me.

I should have known better. My lottery ticket didn't even have a single number (I almost always win at least a free ticket); it was cold and blustery and miserable on the way to the market; and, sales, sadly, were down today too. Oh, yeah, and the violin player drove me to distraction! He is such a terrible player!

Still, I remained optimistic. Happy, even.

Laura and I left at 4pm to head home. Motria was waiting for me there with a burger and Iced Capp. However, Laura and I crossed the street and started going along the perimeter of the north market where I spotted this guy selling maple syrup. Feeling like a treat, I chose the smallest and cheapest bottle ($3.50). Much to my amazement, the guy told Laura that he had a "severely disabled son" and that she shouldn't let me spend my money foolishly like his son was always doing.

I wanted to stay and tell him off. Laura wanted to stay and tell him off. Instead, knowing we had to hurry, we continued on. However, we periodically stopped to fume about that jerk. It was so incredibly rude to me, he didn't know me from Adam! I could have been rich - he didn't know! And that's odd that he let me buy his wares, then told Laura not to let me waste my money! We also felt sorry for his poor son, being labled by his own father as "severely disabled" and apparently a spendthrift.

As you can tell from my previous blog entries, this sort of thing happens to me frequently. Usually I can deal with people who don't understand, by either shrugging it off and leaving, or trying to reason with them. However, because of the week I had, this was not easy for me to just shake off.

It was a week full of hopeful things with bad things attached to them. First I learned of the government institutions closing down this week - fantastic! (check out the story in the Star: http://www.healthzone.ca/health/article/610878. Great article, except that they don't mention the abuse that went on in these institutions for 200 years.) There was a film made recently about the clients of these institutions, and their stories were truly shocking. One person tried over and over again to escape, and he did, but he jumped on top of a train and slipped off and got his legs cut off. Still, that didn't stop him from trying again. It makes you wonder how terrible it must have been to live in one of those institutions. It also makes you wonder what kind of society we live in that we would allow this to happen for 200 years.

This past Thursday and Friday, I attended a conference hosted by the ODSP Action Coalition. Again, this was a very hopeful step. People believed in reforming ODSP, and giving dignity to its recipients. However, some things disturbed me: for example, I learned that hardly anybody can afford both rent and food. I also learned that 80% of people on ODSP who get married have their marriages end in divorce, because ODSP takes money away from one partner. No other social assistance program does that. It also disturbed me that most of the group seemed cautious about how to proceed. Their attitude was that we shouldn't ask for too much, because the government won't give it to us. One woman thought that she was so bold when she yelled out that we wouldn't stop until we had reached the poverty line. I told her no, no, no, we need to go past it and get a living wage!

Also, this week I had one of my friends tell me he wanted to die, and that really upset me because I love him. It upset me, too, because I know where this all comes from; his past was terrible, and he has very little support in his life. Society has failed him in many ways. I love him, and I won't let him give up. I've been in the that darkness, too. I've realized, though, that if people like my friend and me give up, then that's two less people to fight on - and we will fight on, no matter how many jerks there are.

In closing, if you're ever at the north part of St Lawrence Market and you see the guy selling maple products, do me a favour: either boycott him or tell him not to be so rude to his paying customers. Or tell him that Anne Abbott says, "fuck you!"