It Takes All Kinds

Today at work I had a volunteer with a disability come in and volunteer for a couple of hours.

First and foremost: I use what is known as "people-first language". I'm no social justice warrior or super involved activist: I just believe good use of language helps beat back stigmas and stereotypes about people. Throughout this article, when referring to people who have a disability, I will use... Well that exact term: A "person with a disability". See, people-first. It's not that hard, is it?

Anyway. A part of my work is discovering, recording, and addressing transportation needs for people with disabilities. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why transportation resources would be important for these folks: Wheelchairs, walkers, and lack of sight or hearing don't make well for independent driving.

As part of my AmeriCorps VISTA* work I did lots around said above topic. So I met this person a while back, and they just joined our team to help implement the 1-Call/1-Click Transportation Resource Center (1/1 TRC).** Today they were testing out the website, and giving some feedback and looking for bugs and user experience issues.

We talked before about anything they may need to better help their volunteer work at the office, and eventually we agreed it'd be best for them to bring a personal laptop since it's already setup for their circumstances. And today I learned all about those awesome alternative setups for computers, usability, and work.

First off: A Dvorak keyboard layout-

As you can see, it's a little different. This is the "Right-Handed version, which works wonderfully for the volunteer because they can only use their right hand.

I was showing said volunteer the website I wanted them to test, and I kept slipping up and just automatically going to my QWERTY keyboard layout that I had learned on. Every little automatic result that I was trying to do h7z wq orbune un 7 ay.quen wswicq tswicq ya uwb8s7 cy.qwg***

After that, I was hunting-and-pecking typing, feeling like I was back in grade school.

Another observation/privilege check I discovered was navigating the web and technology in general. I was able to fly through Google Maps and directions, opening tabs and searching things to my hearts content. On the other side of the equation, the volunteer had to take their time navigating through the web. One hand would only get you so far when whizzing around the Windows GUI.****

Not realizing this yet, I was quite surprised when they asked for a phone book to look up addresses with, instead of just directly searching for the resources in the community via the web. Of course we found them one, and they went about their volunteer shift.

But who would have known, right?

I took the rest of the day after the volunteer left to think about my abled privileges and how they put on the blinders and shielded my view from a full 114° of reality. I took a moment to think: "Wow. I haven't even remotely considered any of what I learned today."

And then I sat back and was reminded of a line from a poem I heard once read aloud at an open mic:

"It takes all kinds lord. It takes all kinds."

*VISTA = Volunteers in Service to America

**This has basically been the last two years of my life. If you want to know more about it, just ask sometime.

***See? I just changed the keyboard to a Dvorak layout and that's what came out. Put's your QWERTY perspective in check doesn't it? (The actual thing I meant to type was this: "had me typing in a foreign mumble jumble of impsua lorem."

****GUI = Graphical user interface. Also, the volunteer could use a little bit of their left hand, but their disability prevented them from using it for complex and taxing tasks such as navigating a QWERTY keyboard and/or the web.

Points of Light & Planes

So here we are: Three weeks and one hell of a ride.

My life has been in spitz and spirals as it goes ever upwards. Planes are funny things. There is a point on the Interstate 205 Glenn Jackson Bridge where you have a great view of Mount Hood. But under the auspices of the night all that you have are the Portland city lights. And the airport.

Now not an enthusiast for the Portland International Airport. I think it's silly that there is currently a campaign to save the 20 year old carpet. (See more here for that.) But I have found it a nostalgic place for my time out here. For over half of the folks I have hosted and showed this place, I've met them, and dropped them back off at the Portland International Airport. Do I think it's America's Best Airport? Not really. I really, really hate the Jeopardy! game show font and style they use for informational signs on the TV screens. The airport is not really that big, and therefore doesn't really have any good options for those late night flights.

I do like crossing the I-205 Glenn Jackson Bridge at night, and watching the lights of the airplanes coming in though. It's a perplexing sight really. The airplanes take an approach perpendicular to Interstate 205 to land on the runways that somewhat parallel to the Columbia River. So as you see planes coming in at night, they usually sit simply as a point of light in the distance. Their shape doesn't change until they are very close to the highway and airport because, from the drivers point of view, they are flying directly towards you. And because there are usually multiple planes coming in for approaches, there are usually multiple dots of light just sitting around the highway.

This is actually the moon. It was ridiculously large that night.
I don't have a camera good enough to capture incoming planes. 

Things are different from the flyers point of view. If you take an easterly approach during the day, you pass over the Cascade mountains, and follow the Columbia River (if you can see it) into the Portland area. The view is beautiful and the plane gives great views of ultra high mountains in the region. It is a very amazing thing to see in the distance.

If you are approaching at night, despite your direction, you usually can see Portland off in the distance. As you approach the city, you start to descend, inching ever closer to this large black ribbon that cuts right through what looks to be the city of Portland. You may get a good pan of the city if you need to take a westerly approach, as you bank, but as you lower down, you get closer, and closer to that ribbon. Then you find out it's water. And that is indeed, as you thought, a massive river, and maybe this plane turns into a pontoon landing! But there is nothing to worry about. The runway is literally a quarter of a mile from the waterfront, and the plane lands safely on dry land.

Flying in and out of the region has given me that all familiar privileged feeling of landing back in a place you know. If you've flown, or even driven places, you know that feeling. That feeling that you are back in your comfort zone, one that you've missed for even a little bit, and things will keep moving, and will continue.

The Quiet Section of the Library

I find that I come here often to just simply catch up on life, write, reflect, and enjoy the shared silence among everyone. It serves as a really nice place to simply come relax and unwind after the workday.

It is raining today. I'm listening to Death Cab for Cutie, which is one of my favorite things to do when the gray envelops the world. I will admit it. I'm a sucker for cheap indie music.

It hasn't rained here in a while, and I think that is overall a good thing for the land. Snow pack and reservoirs are running low and dry, and it is well needed for all. Yet there is something that strikes me as an initial dulling of the senses as it rains. The condensed air crowds around the city and hills, and is draped over all the region for miles. It's almost a trapped sort of feeling, not letting you move around and explore. Keeping you confined to your house, your place of work, or your mode of transport.

As if on queue, a fire is lit up behind me in the fireplace, warming the area, and helping to drive the sense of a closeted cold away, and bring life into the space. The Chinook did this same thing during their winters, making sure the fires were always stoked and warming their plankhouses. There is something about the warmth of it all that counteracts the splashing sheerness of the rain.

I do like the mystery of the rain and the clouds, and how they lay low across the city. It's amazing to watch a slow crawl of gray cover the very buildings you were once looking down upon just moments earlier. But I have yet to embrace it. In light of all this, who knew there could be so many feelings for rain?

Being in the Northwest has given me many different feelings for a simple form of liquid vital to life. I never was aware that it could take on such an attitude, personality, or complexity. Who knew that such a simple condensation could bring and take life from a place, and manipulate the emotions of a person so much?

Commitment

I am rambunctious. I work to go to the deeper issues. The issues that prevent the whole harbor from moving skyward.

Many of you may know, but I am a fan of the saying "A rising tide lifts all ships."

Being at another conference, I am again enriched with the idea that there are those out there that take pride in what they do, and that they are helping others live the lives they want to. But there is still something missing.

What is it about enthusiasm that brings out a sense of hope in people? Is the working world really devoid of that many people who take their work seriously and produce a quality product for time invested? Are there really not that many passionate people out there?

I always knew being passionate was a good trait, but every time I speak somewhere, it seems as though people are really, really taken aback by my commitment to my work and my task. I know that the non-profit world moves slowly, but has the current of innovation and investment really slowed to a sludge?

I like to shake things up. I like to get at the deeper issues. Past the surface level celebrations, and into the core problems of why we need to reexamine and begin to shift the underlying paradigm behind why these issues exist in the first place.


Example:

So many people at this conference I'm attending simply act like the fact that the car-centric planning of suburbs and different communities is a solid, concrete fact and something we must deal with.

I say let's trash the car-centric view, and not put up with having to lament in the fact the public cannot simply walk to many of their community services. Let's build new communities and infrastructure to combat these core issues. We can promote community health, personal health, and a better landscape and future for all! (Not to mention the economic benefits of saving on transportation costs, and the return on investment for new businesses in pedestrian corridors!)


Or hell, let's not even trash the car-centric view! I believe the automobile is an essential part of American culture as much as any historian, but it's time we relegate it to a new spot among our everyday lives.

Let's use the automobile to go on personal exploration trips. The long haul places it was designed to conquer back in the 50's and 60's. The automobile is for personal discovery and enjoyment, not a simple, throw-away object to use to get back and forth from somewhere in a mundane cycle. Put that on transit operators and our sidewalks!*


This all leads me to my experience at the Mobility Management conference over the beginning of this week. It strikes me that I keep getting praised for "all the work that I've done" over the past year and a half, and that I have "made so much progress" with where I'm going and what I've been doing. I guess I don't quite get it.

I am not trying to be humble here. I know I've worked in great lengths and capacities to get to where I've gotten. I'm just surprised that others have taken so much notice. I genuinely do not understand why I have gotten so much praise and respect for something that I just consider a job well done that any entry level person could have done. I mean, VISTA isn't necessarily "entry level" skills, but it is a unique work style, and not very conducive to productivity and product completion.


I also don't quite get the questioning of why I am excited about developments that don't affect me. I talk about developments around transportation for seniors and people with disabilities as a little kid would talk about ice cream. I'm so excited they are happening. And then people ask "Well why are you excited? You're not old!"

I mean, come on people. It's not about me.

I've been thinking of what to do if I were to give a public comment at a C-Tran board meeting. I know doing so is very risky because of my VISTA position, and I do not want to mess that up. But if I were to do so, it would go along the lines of this:


I am Nick Ford, citizen and regular rider of C-Tran. I come to you today just to share a couple of ideas around transit and the future of your agency.

I am privileged enough to drive my car to work back and forth from work everyday, able enough to freely and easily move about, young enough to run and remember systems, and overall, would, in any other case, not need the transit system. Yet I choose to ride. Why?

I gripe about the inefficiencies and the backlogs. I complain about the comfort of the ride and the poor setup of our modern day dwellings and systems. But all that does not matter.

At a meeting recently I was asked as to why I was excited for an Honored Citizen All-Zone Day Pass. "You're not old!" someone exclaimed. See? That's why I ride transit.

I ride transit, because every time I do, it's a vote of confidence. One more rider to boost the numbers for access. One more boost to make sure that those without can.

That's the thing. It's not ABOUT ME. It's about EVERYONE. It's making sure that young family has a way to take their baby to the doctor. It's about that person in the wheelchair having a way to go to the park and enjoy a picnic on the grass. It's about the grandmother and grandfather being able to get fresh groceries to stay healthy.

See? You and I both have the privilege to do all of these things on our own, without needing assistance. But they do not. And it's not like I'm even playing them up to be inspirational stories or anything. I am looking out for their needs as human beings!

We need a system that is better. We need a system that is good. We need to bring ALL people into the transit system to ensure that folks who NEED the service get a better quality of service. We need not be selective in who the system helps. We advertise for all. We get people around, no matter their need.

So let's start planning, building, and living like it.

Walking the Path of a Novel

I was listening to a RadioLab/TED Radio Hour episode the other night about how we should look upon life, and it makes me think to those times when I live and see life.

I have often talked about this special feeling I get when I am absolutely comfortable with what and where I am living, and I feel at ease with things.

That feeling almost always happens when I travel back east to Ohio or to Warren Wilson College for homecoming. It has started to happen here, when I am out and about on a walk, hike, or geocacheing mission. I have started geocacheing, and I think that it has helped me see more of the places I'd otherwise not see. It gets me to investigate the micro level of things, and to get down and really dig into the dirt to find an cache. It also leads to points such as the image above, where you can see downtown Portland from up on the rise in Vancouver.

In that RadioLab/TED Radio Hour episode, they talked about the time and age old question of struggling with the fact of where this life leads us, and how we cope with death and the departure of what we think of as life. There was one part of the episode which really stuck out to me, and has helped calm my senses of where exactly I am going.

The speaker said that we should think of life as a book, with a beginning (birth), and an end (death), and that we should not worry ourselves with anything that came before the beginning or after the end of the book. Instead of being the outside reader of the novel, we are the characters in it, unknowing of what lies outside the story, and we should accept that. And it made total sense to me.

When we are reading a novel, watching a film, playing a game, or listening to music, there is only one method of storytelling tool that separates us from the narrative: the fourth wall. The idea that all three walls are there, setting the stage to let us look in, but the characters of the story are still separated from us and the outside world via the frontdrop, one which they cannot see past; the forth wall. Yet it is transparent to the viewer, and allows us to see through to observe the novel.

As you've probably heard before, there is a technique that takes finesse to pull off called "breaking the fourth wall", and it involves the characters of a narrative addressing and acknowledging the reader and the context outside the plot. Sometimes it's done terribly, sometimes it's done beautifully.

What has given me some calm about this though, is that as far as I'm concerned, I don't know if there is anyone reading my narrative, or if I'm living within a four walled and roofed story, but whenever I get overwhelmed, I keep in mind that the end chapter is there. And that I shouldn't worry about what lies outside my narrative, because my job is to experience the best of it that is there, and roll with the story.

But whenever I do get worried, I do at least know that all the walls aren't solid, and that windows do exist, and I can at least look outside and ponder about what may be beyond my narrative. But I try not to get too wrapped up in it all, because there is a whole novel to experience, and I want to keep on through those chapters.

The Winter Gathering

I sit here with at my triple screened desk tonight in wonder and amazement. I'm not quite sure how everything went down, but it was an amazing day.

Let me start out with a preface though:

I have been volunteering over the past half year or so with the Ridgefield Wildlife Refuge System at their educational Chinookan Plankhouse. The main season is during the summer, when the refuge is open, it's sunny, warm, and a great place to visit and walk.

Throughout the summer I am a docent who guides and interprets the Plankhouse and it's many artifacts to folks who visit. It's a very satisfactory job, culturally interpreting a traditional Chinookan structure, with many recreated and authentic artifacts inside.

I started the job to explore more about the native cultures of the area, and to learn what the Native American experience was on this side of the continent. So you probably could envision how excited I was when I was asked to volunteer at this year's Winter Gathering.



That is where my day begins.



I wake up around 8:00 AM, shower, and get cleaned up for the day. It's starting to become habit; waking up early and going to bed early. (I fight sleepiness even at this hour of 10 PM on a Saturday) Once I start driving, in a typical Northwest fashion, the rain picks up.

What a lovely day.

Once I arrive, only a handful of organizers are there, those who I have met and talked with before. I know most of them by name. I have not come prepared, for there is lots of mud. Lots of rain. But I run on the excitement of the day ahead.



Once my duties are done for the morning, I go to "hang out" in the Plankhouse, where there is a fire started in both of the pits, and folks are just beginning to trickle in and start chatting. Immediately I notice the fires, and how they bring the house to life.

I have come to have a passing friendship with the vice chair of the tribe, and as he and I talk, I can really see in him the identity of what it means to be "Chinook". He speaks of how the ceder begins to breathe, and how the light works its way onto the walls. The gathering of descendants of the ancestors helps to build the house again, and to reconstruct it's very meaning to the Chinook peoples. And I feel it too. I can see the warmth of the house coming to, radiating from the hearth.

This is in stark contrast to giving tours of the Plankhouse. When we give tours, we try to describe what it would have looked like back when Lewis & Clark came across the actual village of Cathlapotle, and how it would have functioned in the early 1800's. But there is no denying it. The Plankhouse is usually a dusty empty place usually devoid of the very culture we are interpreting.


That is why attending today was so important for me. As a steward and a volunteer docent of the Chinook culture and peoples, I want to experience the tribe today. I want to see the modern Chinook tribe. Their richness, reality, and retrospective on the past. And that is what I got today at the Winter Gathering.

I will not go into too much detail, as many parts of the Chinook culture are sacred and are not openly promoted or explained. I am extremely privileged and thankful though for the experience I saw and heard today. I acted primarily as an observer, taking it in. The only time where I even remotely participated was when I was invited to receive gifts for my volunteer service. I was allowed a chance on the floor; the sacred and blessed floor reserved for those of the tribe only. And with that invitation I received some tea and a beautiful necklace from the Chinook tribe. What amazing gifts that left me speechless.

All I can say to that is mahsie; thank you.