via its site:
The U.S. Department of Justice recently revised the ADA Title II and Title III regulations. These regulations amend the DOJ's Title II requirements for State and Local Governments and Title III requirements for Places of Public Accommodation. Many of the regulations took effect March 15, 2011 with some requirements going into effect March 15, 2012. In response to these regulatory changes, the National Network of ADA Centers has created a Fact Sheet Series to give guidance around the specific changes. Each fact sheet focuses on a different topic, providing an overview of what the revised regulations are for that topic.
ADA Factsheet Series for Title II & Title III
1.29.2012
Pass the brie
I sometimes get emails after I write a post about my life prior to acquiring quadriplegia asking what it's doing on my blog. "It's got nothing to do with disability," the person says. "Not sure why you put it up there."
Asking me to deny the years of my life prior to acquiring my disability, however, seems to me to be just as silly as those who expect me never to refer to living with a disability in conversations. Those who do this really don't understand that my life is woven with experiences from all the years I've lived. It's not an either or to me.
I write about my experience of living with quadriplegia, how it's taught me perseverance and resourcefulness, about my strengths and weaknesses, about forgiveness, trust and gratitude, how it's made me laugh and cry and deepened my faith in myself, others and God.
But the experiences from my life prior to acquiring my disability are just as rich and varied and full of spiritual meaning in the context of my whole life. It would be ridiculous to deny those experiences.
Whenever I hear the phrase "an acquired disability", I think of "an acquired taste"- and I wonder if some of this is a language issue. Having an acquired disability is not the same as learning to like a type of cheese or even a state of being. People would laugh if you made that analogy to a nondisabled life. Living with a disability isn't a static state either. The rest of my life happens amidst all the "quad" jokes, cleaning cat hairs out of my wheelchair casters, learning to trust new aides, and figuring out a schedule that is both efficient and leaves me as much independence as possible. There is no doubt that in one sense, the "acquired taste" of living with quadriplegia becomes easier with time. There is a familiarity now to things that were at first novel and sometimes frightening. I no longer deal with the shock of realizing that some places are still not accessible and how that dynamic plays out in the rest of the world. But it isn't the same as learning to like a certain type of cheese and once and for all I am a lover of brie!
To my reader I say "It all has to do with living and doing that with a sense of humor and faith when humanly possible," whether I walk or roll. I may never acquire certain things, but I hope I never lose the perspective that we are all in this world together. I had friends with disabilities before I acquired mine and have friends without disabilities now. No matter how much I advocate for those in the disability community, I pray I never forget that many whom I count as my dearest friends are allies.
Pass the brie.
Asking me to deny the years of my life prior to acquiring my disability, however, seems to me to be just as silly as those who expect me never to refer to living with a disability in conversations. Those who do this really don't understand that my life is woven with experiences from all the years I've lived. It's not an either or to me.
I write about my experience of living with quadriplegia, how it's taught me perseverance and resourcefulness, about my strengths and weaknesses, about forgiveness, trust and gratitude, how it's made me laugh and cry and deepened my faith in myself, others and God.
But the experiences from my life prior to acquiring my disability are just as rich and varied and full of spiritual meaning in the context of my whole life. It would be ridiculous to deny those experiences.
Whenever I hear the phrase "an acquired disability", I think of "an acquired taste"- and I wonder if some of this is a language issue. Having an acquired disability is not the same as learning to like a type of cheese or even a state of being. People would laugh if you made that analogy to a nondisabled life. Living with a disability isn't a static state either. The rest of my life happens amidst all the "quad" jokes, cleaning cat hairs out of my wheelchair casters, learning to trust new aides, and figuring out a schedule that is both efficient and leaves me as much independence as possible. There is no doubt that in one sense, the "acquired taste" of living with quadriplegia becomes easier with time. There is a familiarity now to things that were at first novel and sometimes frightening. I no longer deal with the shock of realizing that some places are still not accessible and how that dynamic plays out in the rest of the world. But it isn't the same as learning to like a certain type of cheese and once and for all I am a lover of brie!
To my reader I say "It all has to do with living and doing that with a sense of humor and faith when humanly possible," whether I walk or roll. I may never acquire certain things, but I hope I never lose the perspective that we are all in this world together. I had friends with disabilities before I acquired mine and have friends without disabilities now. No matter how much I advocate for those in the disability community, I pray I never forget that many whom I count as my dearest friends are allies.
Pass the brie.
1.28.2012
Rowing class
I am in a rowboat on a lake in Bear Mountain, New York in the '70's. The boat is full of inner city kids, most of whom don't know how to swim.
I know this because there's a large sign up by the dock showing how they did on the swim test. Most are beginning swimmers or "minnows".
The boat is rocking back and forth because the "minnows" have decided to live daringly, perhaps fooled by the nickname that they are fish. They don't want to row the boat, but they do enjoy tempting fate, leaning out of it into the water although I've repeatedly asked them to keep their hands inside, life jackets or not.
I've just graduated from college and wish to see another day, so I plunk the oars in the water loudly to splash and shout at them to sit. They do, but when I turn around, surprised by their instant obedience, I see it's because we've approached an island in the middle of the lake, called Snake Island. It's rumored by the older campers to be full of deadly snakes. I let the boat drift closer and the campers look around the sides of the rowboat to see how many snakes are withering around in the water.
Minnows don't like to swim with snakes.
I lay back to enjoy the sunshine, sensing an opportunity to relinquish the oars.
"Snake Island," I say, yawning. "Maybe this is where we should have lunch."
It's easy to motivate campers to learn new skills in a natural environment full of many wonders. I bet lots of camp brochures say so.
I know this because there's a large sign up by the dock showing how they did on the swim test. Most are beginning swimmers or "minnows".
The boat is rocking back and forth because the "minnows" have decided to live daringly, perhaps fooled by the nickname that they are fish. They don't want to row the boat, but they do enjoy tempting fate, leaning out of it into the water although I've repeatedly asked them to keep their hands inside, life jackets or not.
I've just graduated from college and wish to see another day, so I plunk the oars in the water loudly to splash and shout at them to sit. They do, but when I turn around, surprised by their instant obedience, I see it's because we've approached an island in the middle of the lake, called Snake Island. It's rumored by the older campers to be full of deadly snakes. I let the boat drift closer and the campers look around the sides of the rowboat to see how many snakes are withering around in the water.
Minnows don't like to swim with snakes.
I lay back to enjoy the sunshine, sensing an opportunity to relinquish the oars.
"Snake Island," I say, yawning. "Maybe this is where we should have lunch."
It's easy to motivate campers to learn new skills in a natural environment full of many wonders. I bet lots of camp brochures say so.
1.26.2012
Sins Invalid: An Unshamed Claim to Beauty in the Face of Invisibility
via its site:
Sins Invalid is a San Francisco/Bay Area based performance project that celebrates artists with disabilities, centralizing artists of color and queer and gender-variant artists. Since 2006, our performances have explored themes of sexuality, embodiment, and the disabled body, impacting thousands through live performance.
We’ve consistently heard from people who can’t make it to the SF/Bay Area that they want to experience Sins Invalid. Enter Sins Invalid – The Film.
We are on the verge of completing a 41-minute film that reflects our groundbreaking performance work, weaving interviews of artists and co-founders alongside unreleased performance footage to serve as an entryway into the absurdly taboo topic of sexuality and disability – and we want YOU to walk through that door with us!
We’re in the final stages of production. We are committed to completing the film – so committed in fact that we are donating personal resources to move it forward. We’re stretching but we still need you to premiere this film!
If you'd like to contribute to this project, please go to the Sins Invalid page over at Kickstarter.
Sins Invalid is a San Francisco/Bay Area based performance project that celebrates artists with disabilities, centralizing artists of color and queer and gender-variant artists. Since 2006, our performances have explored themes of sexuality, embodiment, and the disabled body, impacting thousands through live performance.
We’ve consistently heard from people who can’t make it to the SF/Bay Area that they want to experience Sins Invalid. Enter Sins Invalid – The Film.
We are on the verge of completing a 41-minute film that reflects our groundbreaking performance work, weaving interviews of artists and co-founders alongside unreleased performance footage to serve as an entryway into the absurdly taboo topic of sexuality and disability – and we want YOU to walk through that door with us!
We’re in the final stages of production. We are committed to completing the film – so committed in fact that we are donating personal resources to move it forward. We’re stretching but we still need you to premiere this film!
If you'd like to contribute to this project, please go to the Sins Invalid page over at Kickstarter.
1.23.2012
In a power chair you can move mountains- almost
It wasn't until I got a power chair that I realized the unsung potential of many pounds of steel when it came to solving some independent living issues - such as moving heavy objects from one location to another.
I confess I've also used my power chair, nicknamed The Beast, to move furniture on occasion. But that's rare. The spaces I inhabit generally have an open floor design - things are pushed against the walls, leaving whatever room there is - and as every wheelchair user knows, there's never enough- to roll through. However, it does happen that a visitor or even an aide leaves forgetting to put a folding chair away or moves a heavy object that's right in the middle of the room. I quickly learned that such problems can be taken care of easily by my power chair. In fact if I angle my power chair correctly, it can even fold up a folding chair, make it cry uncle and toss it onto a pile of laundry.
This would all fit nicely into a Monty Python skit.
But the everyday tasks, those moments when as a quadriplegic I'm alone and I realize that I need to "get at" something in a heavy box, or move an object closer, is when I fully appreciate my power chair. Today a box of work was delivered. The UPS guy nicely dropped it in my front hallway for me, but I needed to work on it and I needed it near a light. I powered up the Beast, angled myself behind the box and pushed it quickly and efficiently right where I needed it. Didn't have to wait for an aide to come over or yell at a neighbor or make yet another wish for a robot. I'm already using machine power for better independent living.
A manual chair can be used in this way too. But it's much more impressive with a power chair. You can move - mountains. Not really. But almost.
I confess I've also used my power chair, nicknamed The Beast, to move furniture on occasion. But that's rare. The spaces I inhabit generally have an open floor design - things are pushed against the walls, leaving whatever room there is - and as every wheelchair user knows, there's never enough- to roll through. However, it does happen that a visitor or even an aide leaves forgetting to put a folding chair away or moves a heavy object that's right in the middle of the room. I quickly learned that such problems can be taken care of easily by my power chair. In fact if I angle my power chair correctly, it can even fold up a folding chair, make it cry uncle and toss it onto a pile of laundry.
This would all fit nicely into a Monty Python skit.
But the everyday tasks, those moments when as a quadriplegic I'm alone and I realize that I need to "get at" something in a heavy box, or move an object closer, is when I fully appreciate my power chair. Today a box of work was delivered. The UPS guy nicely dropped it in my front hallway for me, but I needed to work on it and I needed it near a light. I powered up the Beast, angled myself behind the box and pushed it quickly and efficiently right where I needed it. Didn't have to wait for an aide to come over or yell at a neighbor or make yet another wish for a robot. I'm already using machine power for better independent living.
A manual chair can be used in this way too. But it's much more impressive with a power chair. You can move - mountains. Not really. But almost.
1.22.2012
If you have to give up a pet, please take them to a no kill shelter
As the snow fell over the past several days, my cat Kady started to go to the window and cry. This is unusual for her and when I rolled over to her, I realized why. She was staring out at the snow and shaking. She spent last winter outside in one of the worst winters ever after being abandoned.
I diverted her attention away from the window and she immediately calmed down. Right now she spends most of her time playing with toys and, typical kitten-style, plays until she's exhausted and then takes a nap. Although technically she's not a kitten (she must be at least over a year old), she is going through her kitten stage now which is fun to watch.
As she played with her toys, I remembered that my other young rescue kitty, Riley, who is about a year and a half old now, went through this every time it rained. He would sit at the window and cry. He was abandoned outside an apartment complex overnight when he was four months old and showed up terrified on someone's doorstep. They immediately called the shelter. Nevertheless, when I took him in shortly afterwards, he was almost catatonic - wouldn't move from my lap and shook whenever I put him down. After a week or so, he was able to be left on his own but he clung to me for months.
Why am I writing this? I'd just like to spread the word that there are lots of no kill animal shelters now. If you have to give up a pet, please take it to a no kill shelter rather than abandon it outside. Leaving a pet outside who isn't used to it, even if they do survive, leaves them with all kinds of problems - health and otherwise, that make it even more difficult to get them adopted. Kady has arthritis, almost no teeth and permanent leg and pelvic injuries from being hit by a car even though she's barely over a year old. Riley, as much as I love him, was difficult to adopt because he needed constant human attention for a long time.
They are, by far, a few of the sweetest pets I've ever shared a home with and worth every moment and resource I've given them. But a lot of their suffering could have been avoided if they had been put into a shelter rather than abandoned outside.
For a list of no kill animal shelters, click here.
I diverted her attention away from the window and she immediately calmed down. Right now she spends most of her time playing with toys and, typical kitten-style, plays until she's exhausted and then takes a nap. Although technically she's not a kitten (she must be at least over a year old), she is going through her kitten stage now which is fun to watch.
As she played with her toys, I remembered that my other young rescue kitty, Riley, who is about a year and a half old now, went through this every time it rained. He would sit at the window and cry. He was abandoned outside an apartment complex overnight when he was four months old and showed up terrified on someone's doorstep. They immediately called the shelter. Nevertheless, when I took him in shortly afterwards, he was almost catatonic - wouldn't move from my lap and shook whenever I put him down. After a week or so, he was able to be left on his own but he clung to me for months.
Why am I writing this? I'd just like to spread the word that there are lots of no kill animal shelters now. If you have to give up a pet, please take it to a no kill shelter rather than abandon it outside. Leaving a pet outside who isn't used to it, even if they do survive, leaves them with all kinds of problems - health and otherwise, that make it even more difficult to get them adopted. Kady has arthritis, almost no teeth and permanent leg and pelvic injuries from being hit by a car even though she's barely over a year old. Riley, as much as I love him, was difficult to adopt because he needed constant human attention for a long time.
They are, by far, a few of the sweetest pets I've ever shared a home with and worth every moment and resource I've given them. But a lot of their suffering could have been avoided if they had been put into a shelter rather than abandoned outside.
For a list of no kill animal shelters, click here.
1.21.2012
Dependency, independence and interdependency
One of the blessings for me about living with a disability is that I constantly learn lessons about dependency, independence and interdependency. Here are a few of them:
1. Physical dependence is not the same as emotional dependence, a fact people sometimes confuse. This often applies to caregivers. It's crucial to maintain appropriate boundaries with those who give you physical assistance. Conversely, it's crucial for them to set boundaries with those to whom they give care. It's a two way street.
2. Independence is optimized by recognizing when and how to get help with physical dependence. This seems like a paradox at first but is learned quickly after accepting help and seeing the extra energy you have and the more tasks you can accomplish.
3. Interdependence is lacking in our society, but better recognized and practiced in disability culture. I was fortunate enough early on after acquiring my disability to travel in groups of disabled folks and saw this firsthand. Our different disabilities led us naturally to assist each other in mutual ways. Society would be much better off if more folks could experience this.
Right now my friends up at Ski for Light are getting together. I miss being with them! I think of them often and especially during the annual trips they take and am up there in spirit. I know they had snow this year. In fact, they'll be coming home over the next few days and are bringing snow back with them. Watching it fall is making me smile as I remember watching them on the toboggans on the hills up in the Poconos.
1. Physical dependence is not the same as emotional dependence, a fact people sometimes confuse. This often applies to caregivers. It's crucial to maintain appropriate boundaries with those who give you physical assistance. Conversely, it's crucial for them to set boundaries with those to whom they give care. It's a two way street.
2. Independence is optimized by recognizing when and how to get help with physical dependence. This seems like a paradox at first but is learned quickly after accepting help and seeing the extra energy you have and the more tasks you can accomplish.
3. Interdependence is lacking in our society, but better recognized and practiced in disability culture. I was fortunate enough early on after acquiring my disability to travel in groups of disabled folks and saw this firsthand. Our different disabilities led us naturally to assist each other in mutual ways. Society would be much better off if more folks could experience this.
Right now my friends up at Ski for Light are getting together. I miss being with them! I think of them often and especially during the annual trips they take and am up there in spirit. I know they had snow this year. In fact, they'll be coming home over the next few days and are bringing snow back with them. Watching it fall is making me smile as I remember watching them on the toboggans on the hills up in the Poconos.
1.19.2012
1.17.2012
Reverse inclusion and the question of disability
I ran across an interesting piece about a study done on reverse inclusion vis a vis wheelchair basketball. It spoke about how wheelchair basketball welcomes both able bodied and disabled participants- not unlike wheelchair tennis, which offers up-down doubles play.
Researchers were surprised by the participants' response along the lines of "what's the difference?" when it came to who was perceived as disabled. Some of the able bodied players were seen as disabled and vice versa.
I definitely related to the following, however, as I heal from yet another shoulder/neck injury:
Where difference was noted tended to be about specific areas, such as injury. "If a classifiable athlete injures her shoulder she cannot push her wheelchair, but if the same thing happens to an able-bodied athlete she has options. She can run or walk," says Spencer-Cavaliere. "As one participant said, '… for me it's a huge issue because that means no transfers, no wheeling.'"
Researchers were surprised by the participants' response along the lines of "what's the difference?" when it came to who was perceived as disabled. Some of the able bodied players were seen as disabled and vice versa.
I definitely related to the following, however, as I heal from yet another shoulder/neck injury:
Where difference was noted tended to be about specific areas, such as injury. "If a classifiable athlete injures her shoulder she cannot push her wheelchair, but if the same thing happens to an able-bodied athlete she has options. She can run or walk," says Spencer-Cavaliere. "As one participant said, '… for me it's a huge issue because that means no transfers, no wheeling.'"
1.15.2012
Difficult to be Wonder-less
Last night I went out to dinner with my friends from Ski for Light. We were missing Wonder, my friend's guide dog who passed away this year.
It was so strange to sit at a table with four of us, instead of four and a half.
It did not surprise me that my friend and Wonder had originally been greeted at the restaurant with ignorance and refused entrance, but had managed their way in. I had seen this happen to Wonder more than a few times at local businesses.
Too bad, I thought, that we are now wonder-less.
It rained the entire time we ate dinner. I watched a bicyclist speed by under the restaurant awnings, customers in raincoats running inside, and realized half way through I was avoiding looking under the table. Wonder-less.
My friend spoke only a few times about Wonder. She mentioned she did not get into the February guide dog class. Perhaps in the spring, she said hopefully. It is difficult to wait. It is difficult to get around.
Difficult to be wonder-less.
For me perhaps.
For her, nearly impossible.
It was so strange to sit at a table with four of us, instead of four and a half.
It did not surprise me that my friend and Wonder had originally been greeted at the restaurant with ignorance and refused entrance, but had managed their way in. I had seen this happen to Wonder more than a few times at local businesses.
Too bad, I thought, that we are now wonder-less.
It rained the entire time we ate dinner. I watched a bicyclist speed by under the restaurant awnings, customers in raincoats running inside, and realized half way through I was avoiding looking under the table. Wonder-less.
My friend spoke only a few times about Wonder. She mentioned she did not get into the February guide dog class. Perhaps in the spring, she said hopefully. It is difficult to wait. It is difficult to get around.
Difficult to be wonder-less.
For me perhaps.
For her, nearly impossible.
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