I’m gonna move to Newtown where the people are nice

Next week I am moving to Wilson Street. It has a big sunny deck and a heat pump and feels like a home. Jessie and Laura live there. Jessie studies forget-me-not’s, and she and I have been friends since high school. Laura is a speech therapist from America who likes blue-grass music.

Wilson Street is close to the pool and town and Moshim’s Discount Grocery Store. People that live down the road include my girl Emmie, my sister Kath, my goddaughter Beatrix and her mum Heather Superjohn.

There is just one step to the front door at Wilson Street. It’ s a flat street, so I’ll be able to walk down it sometimes. It’s not the perfect house for accessibility, but it’s a hundred times better than the hundred steps in Days Bay.

I didn’t plan on moving out. Jessie just mentioned that I might want to move in. Then I realised that, with a bit of help, it would be possible. It’s never felt like that before; somewhere along the line, living independently stopped being out of the question. I was surprised and very pleased.

So I lined up a bit of help and said yes.  I can’t wait.

In praise of mobility parking

 This is my mobility parking permit.

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It’s plastic, really hard to lose, lasts for five years and cost fifty dollars. Bargain, eh? It was one of the easier things to put in place to assist me with mobility. All it took was a letter from the doctor and an application form to CCS, and it arrived in the post a week later. The permit allows me to use about fifty mobility parks around the city. Mostly this feels like plenty, though at certain times and in certain locations, it feels like there aren’t nearly enough.

Wellington City Council gives orange tag holders an hour of free parking, plus a little extra time on top of the stated limits. This means it’s not extortion every time I need to park for an hour or two in the city. I’ve also found that the parking wardens are pretty generous with me, and I think this is because of the permit. Except that time I parked in a bus stop by mistake and got towed. Oops.

I often see people without a permit in mobility parks, and it really cheeses me off. It makes a huge difference to be able to park close to where I’m going. If I’m really sore, one or two hundred metres extra walking is the difference between going to the pool or going home. Or, more commonly, it means using up two extra spoons I had reserved for finishing a blog post later. There often is another park, but I don’t think people really understand the difference that distance makes. They certainly don’t consider it when they’re parking in a mobility spot “just for a few minutes”.

My current bug-bear, though, is Countdown in Newtown, the one with all those delightful pictures of shiny white shoppers on the outside. Their mobility parks start moderately close to the entrance to the escalator, though nowhere near the lifts that most disabled people would have to use. They then proceed to get further and further away from the door, until the last spots reserved are in the back row of parking. I’ve raised this with their management three times now; they blame it on the building owner. I’m thinking of implementing some kind of embarrassing Facebook campaign.

I shouldn’t grumble too much, though. Most of the time, mobility parking is brilliant, and allows me to do things that I wouldn’t otherwise be able to do. Like today, when I could park right outside the swimming pool in Kilbirnie (kill Bernie), and just around the corner from my meeting on Featherston Street. Ergo, this blog post was brought to you by Wellington City Council, CCS, and everyone who didn’t park in the mobility spot on Grey Street. Thanks guys.

PS.I am a bit better at parking now. But only a little bit.

Cripples are hipsters too

Last January, in my disability infancy, I had a conundrum. I really really wanted to go to Camp A Low Hum, but knew that my back and shoulders would be very much opposed to the idea. Thinking of possible solutions, I emailed Blink to see what he thought about using a wheelchair at Camp Wainui. He said it wasn’t going to work;  the terrain is rough and uneven, and the stages are all over the place. Some of them wouldn’t be accessible at all. Basically, the site wasn’t set up for people with disabilities.

I decided I’d go anyway. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do everything, but figured it would still be worth going, even just to catch up with lots of  brilliant people in one very pretty location. The people and place were, indeed, pretty and brilliant, but to be honest, it wasn’t really fun. I had a lot of trouble getting to get to and from the tents, I couldn’t access lots of the stages and I had big FOMO. My muscles hurt, and I ended up self-medicating more than I’d intended just so I could join in, then feeling yucky about that, too. As I was waiting for my ride outta there, I reminded myself not to come back next year, as much as I knew I’d be tempted.

A few weeks ago my sister noticed that WOMAD were offering some free tickets for carers of people with disabilities, so I did some investigation. It turns out that TAFT, who run WOMAD, have gone to a lot of effort to make the festival accessible for people with disabilities. Not only do I get a free ticket for Emmie to come as my carer, but we’ll have a parking space right next to a special campground, shuttles running between the stages & campground every half hour, mobility scooters for loan, and special viewing platforms at three of the big stages. They’re also providing sign-language interpreters to make things better for deaf and hearing-impaired attendees. I’m so impressed.  And it’s got me thinking about responsiveness.

At some point, someone in the WOMAD picture has obviously said, “Hey, I bet there are lots of disabled people who would love this, how can we make it possible and worthwhile for them?”. I reckon that is the crux of responsiveness. Everything else, the parking, the ramps, the interpreters, they’re all important too, but not as important as asking that initial question. Now, Camp a Low Hum is on a totally different scale to WOMAD, and has a much less accessible site. It would be impossible for Blink to offer the kind of disability services WOMAD does. But it would be easy for him to ask the question, and just asking it might make all the difference for someone. Because cripples are hipsters too.