Chronic crafting: Walking stick holder.

[Image: A black wheelchair sits on green grass. It has a red patterned seat cushion and a bright red walking stick holder on the side.]

I spend a lot of time swearing at my walking stick. When I blame it for my lack of coordination and it's tendency to throw itself on the floor should I dare to lean it against a wall or desk. But most frequently my potty mouth is reserved for when I am in my wheelchair, think I have it hooked on the foot rest, only to have it dive sideways, under the foot rest, or it's classic drop and get stuck in a tram track. The slightest bump or if I try to think and breathe, and it's gone.

Times I may have sworn at my walking stick include, but aren't limited to:

At a medical appointment where first meeting a doctor.
In the poorly insulated disabled loo where I'd just managed to make my unsteady way to the loo only to hear a loud THWACK as it hits the sticky tiles.
In the local clothes store when it became hooked on a long sleeved top and was wrenched from my side before my muscles can work out how to react.
In front of my inlaws and, small children.

Such swearing is apparently unseemly, and I fear I may be adding to the angry-disabled-with-a-huge-chip-on-her-shoulder-shouldn't-she-be-all-smiley-and-inspirational, narrative.

So in an endeavour to not let the disabled side down with my surly sweary attitude and because I am completely over it falling off my wheelchair I got my craft on to find a solution. Though in my own defence swearing a lot is apparently a sign of intelligence and trustworthiness, so here's my:

Michelle's Easy Stop My F**kin' Walking Stick Falling Off My Damn Wheelchair Tutorial 

You'll need:

• 1 PVC pipe straight join
• 1 PVC pipe cap
• 2 metal hose clamps
• Paint whatever you have lying around. I used Haymes Low Sheen Exterior in Carnation. But if you don't have any, a can of spray paint would make life easier. Just make sure it's a hardy exterior paint if you want it to last.
• Paintbrush
• Flat head screw driver

Step 1.

Head to your local Bunnings or other hardware store. Get lost in the million isles. Become overwhelmed with project ideas. Make a detour to the plant nursery and buy some more coriander that will proceed to go to seed and never grow properly despite your pleas and tears. Finally head to the right isle after Mr Grumpy starts to develop his FFS face.

Step 2. 

Have your walking stick with you so that you can make sure you are getting the right size parts. Look up at the amazing array of plumbing accessories. Start to feel slightly nauseous and grey because you forgot that looking up is not your friend, and hand it over to Mr Grumpy to grab pieces. Make way out of Bunnings with necessary craft items, doomed coriander, an impulse buy of five pots of instant garden colour and, yet another bucket.

Step 3. 

If you can, buy a can of exterior spray paint. This would make life so much easier. If like me you think, "Hmm I have some left over paint. That'll do." still get the spray paint. Otherwise you will end up swearing at the paint that wont go as smooth as you imagined as you went with the cheapo brush as it was "only a small project". Apply a few layers over the PVC pipe end and PVC pipe straight join leaving time to dry in between each layer. Don't get impatient and cock it up with finger prints or drop the piece that's all dry except for that one edge which just happens to be the edge that you knock against your good dress. Additional tip: Don't be lulled into a false sense of security because it's just a small quick job so you can't be bothered with the effort of changing into old clothes. Change. You/I will always drop something.

Step 4:
Attach each piece to the side of the foot rest on your preferred side. The PVC pipe end piece goes lowest to stop your walking stick falling through. The metal hose clamps come completely apart so you can wrap them around the pipe piece and wheelchair tubing easily. A second pair of hands or much swearing will help to hold the piece in place as you tighten the hose clamps to secure the PVC pipe parts in place.

A tail may extend from the rings. This is sure to catch on everything so remove if possible. My arms of patheticness are not up to the task so I am waiting on Mr Grumpy to fix.

Leave both hose rings a little loose. Place your walking stick in the holes to help line up both parts and to find an angle that works best for you. When you're happy with the angle and line, tighten up the hose rings to stop movement.

And there you have it. No more innocent ears being sullied by my swearing. At least not for this reason. Oh and obligatory Freyja photo as she's awesome, puts up with my swearing and loves the camera.

Michelle

Walk/Roll this way depending on the day.

Claire: Exploring Dysautonomia through the Arts for Dysautonomia Awareness Month 2014

Today, for Dysautonomia Awareness Month, Claire is sharing her unique crafts and how they fit into her experience living with Dysautonomia. I rather like Claire's kickarse attitude towards Dysautonomia and life with chronic illness and how this is revealed in her talents. 

Hi I'm Claire in the UK. I was knocked off my feet, literally, by Dysautonomia 11 years ago. It took 8 years to be diagnosed by Prof Mathias and his team. Along the way I collected a few labels to add: POTS, hypermobility syndrome/EDSIII, Alpha1 antitrypsilin deficiency, COPD, and vestibular disorder. My life 11 years ago was very different as a full time teacher and single mum. But after going to hell and back, I now live in West Wales in a beautiful cottage by the sea , surrounded by good people and my ever faithful hound. I feel like I am on permanent holiday (on the good days). Every cloud has a silver lining. :-)  

Mens neckties are, to me, a symbol of bureaucracy, of pen pushers, ticking boxes and jumping through hoops. In the 11 years I have spent living with my Dysautonomia, this has been the bane of my life. Hours spent fighting, straining and stressing, trying to work the system and generally making my conditions worse when I should have been putting my little energy reserves in to being well. Trying to fit into boxes  that neck tie wearing idiots had created, that me and my collection of syndromes and symptoms could never fit into.

I took this symbol and started to play with it. To see if I could turn into to something positive. To make something useful and beautiful out of something that for me had been so negative. This being a metaphor, for my attitude to being laid low by these godforsaken syndromes. Always trying to find the good in everything. Along the way I have made bags , cushions, skirts, dresses, shawls, flared trousers and several Joseph's Technicolour Dream coats! But for me the cushions mean most. With one middle finger pointed skywards I say 'penpushers I show you my arse' and I sit on them (cushions that is). Oh and for extra special added joy Christmas stockings.

*(POTS: Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome)

For more information on Dysautonomia be sure to check out:

DINET 

Dysautonomia International 

Dysautonomia SOS 

NDRF

Syncope Trust And Reflex Anoxic Seizures 

UK POTSies

Vanderbilt Autonomic Dysfunction Centre 

Remember to head on over here to donate to my Clicking My Heels For Dysautonomia, raising money for the Greg Page Fund for Orthostatic Intolerance and Dysautonomia research, at The Baker IDI. Thanks to the generosity of many we've already raised over $2,700, keep donating and hopefully we can reach $10,000.

Taking a little time: Day 10 #NHBPM

Well despite my best efforts I took one of my two blog free days yesterday. It's a fine line between pushing through and coming a cropper. Yesterday I was well on my way to face planting or at the very least sobbing in a mental corner somewhere, so I decided it was time to take a little time, and simply be kind to myself.

For Day 10 I've taken one of the alternate topics.

How you take time for yourself

You often here the term pacing in the world of chronic illness. I used it often back when I was on the opposite side of the desk. Working in rehab it's a central tenet of practice. Mostly it's in relation to physical burnout. Walking the fine line between pushing a patient to exercise just that little bit more to ensure progress whilst also being aware that if you push that little bit too far the post-exertional malaise will mean they go backwards. But pacing isn't just physical it's mental and emotional too. And some days you just need to sit back and breathe for a while. I say this in full knowledge that my stubbornness means the whole theory of pacing goes out the window on a regular basis. If I have a good day I always try and pack in a weeks worth of activity into those 24hrs. It's so rare I want to make the most of it. Which of course leads to a huge body backlash and long recovery phase. Between the professional theory and my own history of the do to much/crash you'd think I know better. But no. Stubbornness is the winner in that game.

But yesterday I decided to grasp that fleeting moment of sanity and cry uncle. Time to take time. Thanks to my current back issues yesterday's breather was filled with mindless TV watching. Sometimes there is nothing better than sitting back and losing yourself in some trash TV or getting your geek on watching yet another scifi/fantasy program. But normally if I want some me time I get crafty or I garden.

There is nothing better than creating. From the idea stage, to the actual crafting itself, I love it. But when you finally finish a project that feeling is really special. My body is not compliant with much these days. Many of the things I would love to do are out of my reach and it's easy to get caught up in the feelings of hopelessness and helplessness. But whether it's painting, potting up plants, making soft toys for my nieces or repurposing a piece of furniture. Every time I complete a project, no matter how small, there is a real sense of achievement. And in many ways it's a case of giving my body and my health a big middle finger.

Small and therefore achievable projects are what I do for the most part. But occasionally I pick a larger project and do a little bit at a time, for a long time.

I found this old wardrobe on the side of the road during one of our twice a year Hard Waste days. This is when our council allows us to put out larger items for disposal alongside our regular garbage. I like to think of it as better than Christmas. I used to love nothing more than driving around picking up various bits and pieces (I was too unwell this year so my best friend went around for me, texting me pictures of her finds, now that's a true friend!). So much that others think of as junk, I see as potential. I see a piece and instantly know what I'll do with it.

My eldest son and his mate carried it home for me as it was too big for the car. It even had the original keys.  From the first moment I saw it I knew it was my new kitchen cabinet. Don't ask me why but I did.

I sanded my heart out. Mind you that sanding took months. I have Muppet arms with no strength. Not too mention that pesky standing and putting my arms up above my heart. Never good when you have Dysautonomia. But after months of stopping and starting and much in between resting, I managed to get off the majority of that old shellac.

Mr Grumpy, his Dad and brother reused old doors and other bits and pieces to put in some shelves for me.

 Then I ordered some paper online.

And painted. And painted. And painted.

And papered the door panels. (This involved much in the way of swearing as the highly fibrous paper shrank and bubbled when it hit the glue). Plus a coat or three of varnish to protect the paper.

Voila! My new kitchen cabinet.

In this case it took me months and months to finish. But it felt so good when I attached the final door. We use it everyday and everyday it makes me smile. Because for once I finished something, despite all the obstacles my body put in the way. It took me forever and a day but it was and is so rewarding. Every time I finish a project. Whether it is simply managing to pot up some plants, paint a pot, decorate a chair (one of my favourite things to collect from Hard Waste) or even make Christmas decorations from bits in my yard and what I had in the house, it revives me in a way I can't really explain.

Topped with my green flour tins that I found on ebay and love.

I know other chronic crafters who knit or crochet, do origami or draw. A whole range of different hobbies and talents. For each of us it is the same thing. The joy of creation. The joy of holding the finished product and saying "I did that", despite all the difficulties we face, all the obstacles our bodies throw at us. That sense of satisfaction and pride. And I much prefer putting what little energy I have into crafting and creating than vacuuming or stressing about my health. I am happy when the exhaustion or symptom increase is due to craft and not because I went grocery shopping or am pushing myself to keep my house clean. It all helps to heal your spirit one little project at a time.

Cheers
Michelle :)


Day I: Why do I write about my health.
Day 2: Find a quote and use it as inspiration.
Day 3: I don't know about this, but I'd like to.
Day 4: A chronic handbag
Day 5: Health Activist Soapbox 
Day 6: And I've done my back, because it's not like I had anything else going on.
Day 7: Setbacks. Vlog time.
Day 8: A letter to my health.


Today's musical interlude comes from Crafting Playlist of which No 10 just happens to be Kate Bush's fabulous classic Babooshka.

Recycling, Re-purposing, Reviving.

After a particularly delightful pain menage a trois, involving a three day migraine, popped jaw and zapping foot, I have been having a little trouble finding my happy place. Even I was beginning to be annoyed by my pathetic moaning and mopey self. So today I decided to say "No more!", and force myself to snap out of it.

And what do you do to snap out of a pain-filled funk? Why you finally get around to the craft project you've had in mind for months but somehow haven't managed to pull your finger out and complete.

I have a bit of an addiction to tins. I know, I know. Mr Grumpy thinks I'm nuts too, but I can't resist a cute tin. I have even been known to buy a product simply because the tin is pretty. Sometimes even when I didn't want the product inside.

Okay so these have chocolate inside, so maybe, I kinda, sorta, wanted what was in these ones.

Some tins don't need to be altered as they are already decorative.

Two of the many tins I have plans for. The red Carbonell will remain unchanged. These make perfect and lovely plant pots. Whip off the top with a can opener, hammer in a few holes in the bottom and voila! you have a decorative pot. I have a number of these on my front steps and they look fab. Bonus is they cost me $0. I buy them for the olive oil anyway. The free pot is simply a bonus.

Some like the green Bertolli tin, get the same treatment but end up painted like my red tins above. A can or two of red spray paint. Some home made stencils (I draw them on book contact, cut them out and stick them on the tin). A contrast tin of spray paint. And lo and behold, four unique and very hardy plant tins.

But today's project was much less involved and more in line with my exhausted patheticness.

My love of coffee is no secret. I start every morning with two double espressos to get my bp and hr up. This has lead to quite a collection of coffee tins, much to Mr Grumpy's annoyance. What he, my children and probably even my dogs, don't understand is that as soon as I saw these tins I had a plan. It only took me a year to get around to it.

These glossy black Vittoria tins have been sitting in the top of my pantry gathering dust, waiting for me to pull my finger out.  And finally, today, I did.

Mr Grumpy and the youngest hammered the holes and added little wire handles for me (with minimal eyerolls at my insanity), as my Muppet arms aren't quite up to that.

I have had this sad, broken, grass-infested, plastic pot of succulents sitting waiting for some TLC for some time. The succulents inside were a gift from a lovely family friend, June, who has now passed away, and I have wanted to re-plant them for ages. June had the greenest thumb of anyone I have ever known. There was nothing she couldn't grow and her garden was always glorious. She also made lovely cakes and biscuits. I'll always remember sitting as a child in her loungeroom, eating fresh ginger snap biscuits and sipping tea from proper china cups. She was a lovely lady and my mum's best friend. Miss you. June.

What started as one small plant in a little plastic dish has ended up spawning dozen of pots overflowing with tight green rosettes. These look spectacular when the tall flower stalks spring up with their handful of little orange and yellow bells.

This is an old dip tin from a farm in the area where I grew up. I have a few of these recycled around the yard and they make fabulous pots when lined with some old fly wire (we have a lot of this thanks to the dogs ripping our fly wire doors to shreds to get back into the house).

 One piece of this succulent will give me a dozen new plants.

 So pretty.

And 20 minutes later I have four new plants in black shiny tins. Recycled and re-purposed tins. Cuttings from a plant I already own. Even the potting mix is from my compost. $0 spent, apart from the tins which we would have purchased anyway for the coffee inside.

 One on the door of my famous fashion shed door.

Another three in a line down the side of the shed.

Not bad for about 30mins work. The glossy black tins look quite good against the greens and greys in the garden. And despite aggravating the migraine that I had only just managed to beat into submission, and feeling absolutely knackered, and in need of a nanna nap, I'm pretty damn happy right about now.

Cheers
Michelle :)

Merry Crafty Christmas

Well it's that time of year again. Time to deck the halls and all that jazz. Not that we have halls in our weirdly set out home. I'll deck one of my three staircases, or alcovey bits. Whatever. As long as my home looks like Christmas threw up on it I'll be pretty happy.

In honour of my crafty plan to pretend I don't have a chronic illness (some use a dissociative fugue, me, I'm trying the hot glue gun of bedazzling possibilities), I have injected a dose of the homemade to our Christmas decorations this year. Mr Grumpy is stoked of course. Or at least that's what I think his resigned head shaking was trying to convey. It is amazing what you can do with a gum tree branch, some spray paint, glitter, some bamboo, greeting cards, a hot glue gun, and a dose of the crazies/fumes from overheated glue. Take that Martha!

I do hope everyone has a fabulous day filled with love, laughter and ham, glorious, glorious Christmas ham. My mouth is already salivating at the promise of that pink salty nirvana. No doubt I will once again spend my days chasing the porcine dragon with wilful abandon until there is naught but a sad stripped white bone remaining, or a ham coma ensues. There will be other culinary delights of course, but none truly compare to the Babe version of China white, wrapped lovingly in its vinegar soaked ham bag. Oh Christmas, why must you come but once a year?

On that note of insanity I bid you all a Merry Christmas and a fantastic New Year, dear readers. Thank you for all your support this past year. This little blog has grown far beyond my expectations over the past year and it's all down to you, my fantastic, gorgeous, rocking readers. 

Big hugs and big love to you all.

Michelle :)

PS. Don't forget to head on over
to The Sit Down Cook
for some tasty, homemade spelt pasta.

And a little treat for those who like a touch of the macabre with their Christmas cheer.

Craft Like You Don't Have A Chronic Illness

My blogging has been a bit all over the shop lately. Partly due to the usual feeling like death warmed up. Partly due to apathy. And, partly due to the fact I'm trying to actually get around to some of the craft projects that have been collecting dust and dog hair all over my house.

Last Hardwaste (for those who don't have this, it's the magical time of year when you can put all your large rubbish items out on the street and the local council comes round to collect it, free of charge) I scored. I personally think of Hardwaste as a bonus Christmas. People put out some amazing 'rubbish' and I am not ashamed to stop on the side of the road and re-appropriate these unappreciated treasures. Even my children get in on the act, with an audible groan and eye roll. They love nothing better than being made to get out of the car and fossick around in someone else's junk. They have carried all sorts of treasures home for me. Tables, wardrobes, chairs, old braziers, the list is endless. I've even roped their friends into the act. Suck it up boys. I feed you. You can carry crap.

And I've found some great pieces over the years. As soon as I see a piece my mind starts whirling with possibilities. And by the time it's stored in the rumpus room I know what I'm going to do. Pity that my poxy body often refuses to go along with my plans. Makes it hard to buy paints and varnishes when you're physically incapable of driving. And even harder when you don't have the strength to lift your head from your pillow, let alone sand down some woodwork. So many of my projects take 6mths to a year to complete.

My latest project is a large pine-framed mirror that I found on the side of the road. It's huge and heavy and I already know where it is going in my loungeroom, well once it's had a bit of a make over. I'm rather proud of how it's turned out. Now I just need to get Mr Grumpy to hang it for me.

You can see by the back of the old lounge it's leaning against, it's rather large.

The frame was pretty boring so I decided it needed more than just a coat of paint. There is a poem I have loved for years. The River Merchant's Wife*, by 8th century Chinese poet Li T'ai-Po, and translated by Ezra Pound in 1915. I made a pdf of the poem, cut and pasted to fill an entire A4 sheet and had Mr Grumpy to print them out on the laser printer at work (important if you don't want the ink to run). And used these to paper the frame.

Nice and Cheap

 My high tech, can of chickpeas solution, to elevating the mirror

Unfortunately the way it was made, I couldn't remove the mirror from the frame 

so had to paper the mirror to keep off the paint and varnish.

Finally a use for all the articles from my thesis. 

"Lateralization of human nasal chemorecepetors..." is exciting stuff. No, really it is.

Quick coat of white paint to stop any remaining traces of varnish coming through. 

Also gives a better background to the white paper.

 Two days of frustration, swearing, spilt glue, and three layers of varnish later, it is finally papered.

Voila! Shitty photo of new mirror.  

How do you get a decent photo of a mirror without getting your ugly mug in it?

A weeks worth of work, a lung full of carcinogenic varnish fumes, and one new mirror. Woo Hoo!

Now for a prolonged nanna nap.

Cheers

Michelle :)

*The River-Merchant's Wife

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back. At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the look out? 
At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead. 
You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
      As far as Cho-fu-Sa.