Adelaide in prison?!!

Compassion is what you give because of who YOU are...not because of who THEY are.

Unless you find peace within yourself, you will never find it anywhere else.

                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many years ago I visited a group for the families of alcoholics, to try to better understand the alcoholism in my family.  At the same church was a meeting for Alcoholics Anonymous, and afterwards, both groups mingled drinking coffee.

This is when I met Nora...

"You're short."
"No shit.  You're black."
"No shit.  I like you!"
"I like you too!"

Though Nora was many years older than me, we became very close friends.  She was a recovering alcoholic, and oh, what a journey she had been on! 

Briefly, after many years of hard drinking, Nora was dying of alcohol poisoning in the old General Hospital.  She had been wheeled to the area for those soon to die.  Only God had more for her to do, and spoke to her.  Told her she was going to get sober, and help others.

She lived, got sober, and became a powerful speaker.

One day the Warden of a women's prison an hour out of the city asked Nora to come speak.  

She asked, "Can I bring a friend?  I don't drive and I need her to bring me, but she too, has quite a story to tell."

The Warden told her he would be thrilled to have us both.

So off to prison we went.  Neither Nora or I had ever been in a prison before.  There are a lot of guards.  And a lot of iron gates.  After the fourth one clanged shut behind us, Nora whispered to me, "I sure hope they let us back out of here!"

The women, guards, and Warden absolutely loved us.  We were asked to come back many times.  The Warden, guards, and most of all...the women, said we reached them in ways no one else ever did before.  

I think one of my favorite African American writers, Zora Neale Hurston says it best, "You have to go there to know there."  Meaning you have had to walk through it to be able to inspire...that we weren't talking "at" them with just words, but "to" them as survivors like they could be too.

Anyway, it was quite an experience for us both.

Eventually Nora married, and I continued my challenge surmounting and galloping on my horses everywhere.  Yet no matter where I moved or which hospital I was in, Nora and I remained close until her passing.

We just never know what treasures may be found through the compassion we give, dear ones.

When dwarfism sucks...

Webster's definition of adapt is to bring one thing into correspondence with another; modification or yielding to changing circumstances; bringing into harmony.

There is no other way to sugar coat it.  Life as a Little Person can really suck at times.  For some Little People far worse than others, as I have shared here what many others go through physically as compared to me.  The common denominators of what we Little People do share with each other are we live with pain, are short, encounter meanness, ridicule, and our images rudely taken on cellphones each time we leave our homes.  Here in the U.S., these photos are then uploaded to disgusting websites for the sole purpose of ridicule meanness on a large scale.  Obviously without our permission.  We're just an object.  Our humanity doesn't count.  And this sucks.

Where I live, the mailboxes are a long distance from my home.  There is a older couple who live near the mailboxes, who haven't lived here long.  No one likes them.  They apparently have nothing better to do than rush to their window or porch, when they hear someone getting their mail.  With me, they rush out to their porch and just stand there STARING and snickering.  Then after I turn the corner, they FOLLOW so they can keep STARING and snickering.  

One thing I refuse to do on my journey of encountering this crap, is not to lower myself to THEIR level.  I learned MANY years ago if I give rude people the finger or deliver an F-Bomb, their ridicule gets worse.  Or believe it or not, THEY get angry I would dare respond in such a way to THEIR rudeness!  Anyway, lowering myself to their level feels belittling to me.  I prefer to keep walking TALL and remaining silent.  It's hard, but there really is no other way to deal with such people.  And besides, these days it is dangerous due to the "justified" rage many have.

Yet I shouldn't have to deal with such stuff where I live.  Finally one day, I very heroically managed to remain calm, but politely reamed the rude couple out.  No swear words.  Told them what I go through when I leave home and I shouldn't HAVE to deal with such rudeness where I live when I try to get my mail.  What I got was silence.  But they don't rush out to their porch anymore.  They do peek through their blinds, which is a improvement of sorts.  It still sucks though.  

Prior to my becoming more and more homebound due to the severe deterioration of my health in the past few years, each time I went to the grocery store and other places, my height challenge necessitated my needing to constantly ask other customers in getting down what I needed.  It was/is amazing how much this becomes a blessing to those I ask for their help.

So often people are deep in their own thoughts and worries, then suddenly there is someone cheerfully asking for their help, who obviously has worse problems than they do.  Their faces suddenly light up.  Many times I have been told how nice it was for them to be needed.  And when I have had to ask someone for help who was not that much taller than me, THEY really delighted in the fact they ran into someone shorter than themselves who THEY could help!  You wouldn't believe all the wonderful, positive, inspiring interactions with people I have had while shopping! 

However, over the years though, I have learned there are many Little People who absolutely refuse to ask for help when they can't reach what they need.  Even with people standing right there offering to help, these individuals climb on the shelves and merchandise, knocking stuff over, to get what they need.

I don't agree with this method, yet I cannot fully fault those who do it, because I understand their reasons.  The "I can do this myself" pride is one.  Proving to the "tall-lies" one is not helpless is another.  I have had average height people ask me what they should do when they encounter a shelf climbing Little Person in action.  If they refuse to ask for help, let them be and go your way.  It's sad though, because there are not many Little People out there to begin with.  Which is why I try to inspire and educate every chance I get, even in a grocery store, because we don't get many of these chances anyway.  So if average height people have a one time encounter with a rude or negative Little Person, their impression is we ALL must be like that too, when we're obviously not.  This is why I take my Public Relations work for us seriously.😃

Anyway, tall-lies often forget WE are living in a world not made for us, that we constantly must struggle to adapt ourselves into.  Many must use hand controls to drive, or pedal extensions.  Thankfully after cars began having adjustable seats and steering wheels, I am "tall" enough to reach the pedals without extensions.  We adapt.

And our homes have LOTS of stools.  I just counted nine.  In a one bedroom apartment.  Stools are quite necessary.🤣  Not only that, but all my kitchen cupboards up above...are...EMPTY.  So are the upper shelves in my closets.  We adapt.  We have to adapt.

Dwarfism sucks with the physical challenges we endure.  Like many, my long arm and leg bones did not grow normally.  However, I/we are carrying the same muscle mass squeezed and jammed around our long bones as an average size person.  Think of this.  I am 4'3" but have the same muscle mass as a 5' 7-9" woman.  Having this amount of muscle jammed around my short long bones causes pain both neurological and arthritically.  Not even counting the severe spine pain I live with.  Many other Little People are dealing with even far worse problems than me.

These days my spinal cord inflammation disease has all but shut my bladder and colon down.  The pain and nausea are worsening from the complications and infections.  This aspect is why at times dwarfism sucks.

I still keep adapting though and keep fighting.  As long as I have breath, I will keep walking TALL and pouring all the harmony, courage, and humor into my world as I always have.  So I may go out sliding on my a$$ dear ones, but I will go out with my head held high galloping out in spirit on a winged horse.  And soon galloping across the fields of Heaven finally free from the broken body that could never break my spirit.🐎😃🐎

For a Monday...

Thank you God, for standing by me so far on 

a Monday.  With Your help, I have not been impatient, rude, unkind, critical, ungrateful, 

or even angry yet...

BUT, you see God, I must be getting out of this bed 
very soon now to begin the day and once I do, that is when I will REALLY be needing Your help most. 

PLEASE...

On the road with my horse...

I was born under a wandering star...
When I get to Heaven,
Tie me to a tree,
For I will begin to roam again,
Then you'll know where I will be.
                         
                               ~Paint Your Wagon


I thank God that I have been free to wander, free to hope, and free to love...

For my readers following me, you probably have gathered by now my journey has taken me to many places.  And it has indeed...in between the many MANY hospital stays.  I daresay because of those, I would plunge back into life and the joy of living with intensity, knowing yet another stay was coming.  Also I knew there would come a time when I couldn't live with the same intensity at all anymore due to the very deteriorating physical battles ahead.  I am definitely at that place now, but with a profound sense of gratitude I was able to experience the thrill of getting to see what was beyond each new horizon so very much along the way.  And make many dear friends...with two legs and four legs.  Of course some of those four legs went where I went.

The amazing thing is how I managed to do it all.  Even more so as a Little Person.

My friend Devon used to say, "As long as Adelaide has her horse, cat, and drawing table, she just bravely follows the wind wherever it blows.  Being physically challenged doesn't keep her from having the joy of living.  Or making things happen."

Once when still young, I followed the wind across three states pulling my horse Selah in a horse trailer behind me.  Anywhere I stopped for gas and coffee, I really shocked the hell out of people seeing this Little Person traveling alone...with a horse?!!  A cat too, actually.😃

"Lady, is that your horse?" [Can't you see I am pulling it behind me?!!🤔]

"Yep."

"How do you get ON it?!!"

Sigh.🙄

Sometimes we just have to plunge forth in life, be brave, and suck out the marrow of life.  Perhaps be even a little bit crazy too?🐎🤣🐎

The Labels...

As I have touched on before, ever since I held a crayon, in my art my horses are all free, without halters, bridles, and fences.  It didn't take long for me to understand the deep meaning as to why.  As a Little Person with a HUGE spirit or force of life bursting from within, I have always had to strive to break free of definitions placed upon me, and all of us.  We become defined by our physical appearance, where we live, what we believe, our race, sexual preference, wealth, on and on.  As I continue writing today on The Label, as it has affected MY life, I am writing on behalf of all who are affected by The Labels. 🏷

This morning the song, "I Am Woman," was playing.  Suddenly I was reminded of The Labels. 🏷  For when I have played the song on the piano somewhere, or mentioned it, I will get, "Wait a minute, YOU are a LITTLE woman though."  What?!!  WHY CAN'T I BE JUST A WOMAN TOO?!!  After all, I was engaged to a wonderful, HANDSOME 5'11" man who fell in love with me for being an amazing WOMAN who changed his life, for he had despaired of ever finding the woman of his dreams.  I just happened to be packaged in a unique body HE thought beautiful.  And oh, did I love him too.  (For anyone new, Aiden died in a accident just before we married, however I still wear the ring and always will).💕

I have shared how as soon as I leave my home, I encounter the RUDE, mean Label Givers, and have all my life.  To Little People the word midget is as deeply offensive to us as the "N" word is to African Americans.  Yet many could care less.  It is the more insidious, demeaning Label aspect I/we endure.  Though I have refused to let it define me.  If I did, I never would have become who I am.👍

Many years ago I spoke to a very nice lady (on the phone at least) about an apartment she had for rent.  She was quite impressed with my job and the fact I also owned a horse.  Was keen to meet and show the apartment to me.  When she opened the door to have Adelaide standing before her, she immediately changed.  SCREAMED at me, "What gives YOU the right to rent my apartment, you MIDGET!!!"  And slammed the door in my face.😖  

I have never had a problem getting a job...that is, until I changed my tactics when I was young.  I quickly found 
if I mentioned to most interested employers that I was 
a Little Person on the phone BEFORE meeting them, 
even though highly qualified, the job suddenly became UNAVAILABLE.  So I quit playing The Label game by 
NOT saying a thing about being height challenged.  No more problems ever getting work.  Especially after I became known for my talent as an artist/theatre set designer. 

When I was sought after as a speaker, it was because I was known as being a powerful speaker who inspired.  The Little Person negativity Label didn't even exist in people's minds.

Obviously I am physically a Little Person, there is no denying this.  However, it's when "Little Person" morphs into societies' Label with all its negativity, that IT becomes dehumanizing.  And THIS is the problem with what The Labels🏷 are.  The humanity with respect is lost.  That is, aside from the part of society who is NOT concerned with these insidious Labels.

Unless The Labels 🏷 ever change, it is up to us who are Labelled to become strong in self 🙌 respect, to love, and to believe in ourselves.  And to also be darn sure we have those around us who embrace us free of Labels.

One thing for certain though, in my whole life, I have never ever had ANYONE say anything negative about me when I am on or with one of my horses!  

And THAT is sweet...oh, so sweet, because my horses break me free.🐎😃🐎

ANNOUNCEMENT...

My dear readers!  

Sometime in the next two weeks, with Blogspot's video capability, and a LOT of courage on my part, I will be posting a video of me presenting so you may get to actually hear and see me as I am now.  Depending upon your feedback, I will try to do it more often.

I had been hesitant about doing this due to the ravages of my deteriorating health, yet realized you know this anyway.  Recently, when doing a Zoom appointment with one of my doctors who reads this blog too, he wanted to hear my hilarious blog on Southern charm he hadn't read yet, when my friend Danny's brakes went out and we drove five times around the Higgins' driveway loop, waving and smiling to them each of those loops because Danny wanted to save face yet maintain Southern charm.

After my doctor could finally stop laughing, he said, "Adelaide!  You've just got to video yourself for your readers so THEY can get to hear and see you too!  If I were reading your blog, I would LOVE seeing you and hearing what you sound like!  And you could..."

"But I look terrible!  One look and I could lose everyone reading me!"  

"...even play the piano for them on one.  And you could show them more of your art!  You've just got to do this!"

"Let me try again...I LOOK AWFUL!"

"No you DON'T!  They deserve this!"

"Punishment?!!"

"Everyone who meets you falls in love with you.  You can do this.  Dig into that courage of yours."

So I did.  Hopefully I won't lose all of you after I post it.

The other day when I again had a Zoom appointment with this dear doctor, the first thing he inquired about was not my health, but if I had dug into my courage about a video.  Knowing how very ill I have been the past few weeks with this severe urinary infection and intense nausea from the antibiotic and other complications, he certainly understood why I hadn't yet.  However, he was VERY thrilled to hear I WOULD be doing it.

So if you, my dear readers, are repulsed or unhappy when you FINALLY get to see and hear me on video, please blame my doctor for doing this to you.

Again, I will be sharing it with you sometime during the next two weeks, letting you know exactly when it will be posted.

As always, I continue to deeply appreciate all of you being on this journey with me.  You will never know how much this means, dear ones.

Little bits and pieces...

These are some interesting things (I hope) too little for a blog entire...

In recent blogs I have touched on southern charm, and life in my beloved home state of Kentucky.  However, if anyone expects to hear ME talk with a southern accent, I daresay you may be disappointed.  Why?  Because my parents are from Chicago, and an area near Chicago.  I was born there...but have lived in Kentucky since I was six, so to ME, Kentucky IS my home state.💕  Like many native Kentuckians, I have good grammar.  So, the best way to describe my "accent," is I have a very soft sort of Chicagoan one.  Still, when I am in northern states, it is pointed out to me I sound "southern."  Or get teased for being a "hillbilly."  This is when I point out to them, "If you think THIS is 'southern,' you have a treat in store for when you do hear a native Kentuckian."  And I make sure to get across the fact just because people have a unique way of speaking doesn't make them less a human or mean they are ignorant.  THEN what I get from native Kentuckians, and northerners living in Kentucky, with never any disrespect intended is, "I can't place your accent.  Why you're not from around here!  Where ARE you from?"🤣


Once a lady approached me after a talk I gave to a Women's Group.  She was a Social Worker and had a client who happened to be a Little Person.  Her client was much older than me, still lived with her parents, never learned to drive, and never went anywhere unless she was with her parents.  Her loving parents were so overprotective she became homebound.  The Social Worker thought if she and her parents could meet and talk with me this would be a catalyst of change because the Little Person had expressed to the Social Worker a longing for more out of life saying, "I wish I could live on my own but my parents say a Little Person is incapable of living a normal life."  When the Social Worker told her about me, she became very excited to meet me.  Sadly though, we never got to meet.  Fear.  The parents were horrified their daughter would even THINK to entertain thoughts of leaving.  They refused to let her ever see the Social Worker again too, convincing the Little Person she HAD to be protected by them.  Though I never met her, I often think about her, and how paralyzed she was by the fear of her parents, and her own fear, that robbed her of having a life.  Then I am damn grateful for my innate courage and determination always enabling me to rise above the terrible circumstances I grew up with, and the many physical ones, because you see, the sorrow of these let me attain far greater joy in the gift of LIVING and having a life.  And oh, what a life it has been too!😃
                          

I know I was born with the soul of a horse, because I never remember seeing my first one, yet from as early as I can remember, I have had a passion for horses far too deep for words.  And my deepest passion has always been for  wild horses, running free, living free, born free.  From the time I could hold a crayon, I began drawing them.  Never halters, bridles, or fences are ever in my equine art.  I am quite sure there must be some deep symbolism here, for though my soaring spirit has never been diminished by being a Little Person, I still am trapped in this painful broken body which constantly gets ridiculed by the mean and ignorant out there, as happens to all Little People.  My most successful, longest selling print is entitled, "Breaking Free." The drawing says it all, because this is what I have always done...lived a very soaring, daring, loving, and at times, damn fun journey regardless.  I was blessed to break 
free.🐎😃🐎


In earlier blogs I shared how when age seventeen, along with another artist the same age, we became at that time the two youngest artists ever represented by an art gallery.  We were both written up in the newspaper, which displayed our work.  Richard was an extraordinary wildlife artist, while I of course...the equine artist.  The gallery also sponsored our first series of prints too.  I had written this was my first time in the media for my art, briefly forgetting about the first time.  My first claim to fame as an artist was at age ten.  Each year in the fall was The Fire Prevention Poster Contest sponsored by the local fire department.  The prize was a Stingray Bicycle for a boy and girl, and a feature in the local newspaper with the winners and their posters.  By the way, I had been riding bikes since age six, so to have a brand new cool one would be something.  However, my parents took one look at my poster and said I would never win.  I almost didn't even submit it, after working so hard on it.  Apparently the judges really liked it, because I won!  My poster was very colorful of a matchstick with arms, legs, and face which was in flames.  I had it seated on a pile of trash.  He was holding up one hand, as in a warning, with the words, "I'm burning up because YOU didn't put me out!"  The newspaper had a photo of me sitting on the bike, holding up the winning poster I almost didn't submit.🙂


                          

Look to this day...

Look well to this day,

For it is life, the very life of life.

In its brief course lies all the realities
and verities of existence...

The bliss of growth,
The splendor of action,
The glory of power.

For yesterday is but a memory,
And tomorrow, a vision.
But today, well lived,
Makes every yesterday a dream of happiness,
And every tomorrow, a vision of hope.

Look well, therefore, to this day.

                             ‐‐‐‐The Sanskrit Proverb

Saving Patches from slaughter...

Since I have told The Ride story in the "And what a plunging forth and not backwards blog," I want to share how Patches, the little unwanted foal in dire need and I came together.  My previous horse went blind, but a lady looking for a companion for her blind horse in a safe facility, was thrilled our mutual vet told her about Havilla, so I donated Havilla to her.  I then began looking for a foal to raise and have for its' lifetime.

The farm where I boarded my horses for years was a beautiful place, owned by brothers who could be tough with their horses.  One day Paul called me, to say he had found the perfect foal, a registered six month old Quarter horse colt, he put in the box stall at the farm.  Then he warned me, "The man threw in this three month runt of a foal for me to get rid of, and it is in the stall too.  BE CAREFUL!  It's dangerous!  It took four of us and a lot of beer to finally get him!"  My heart immediately went out to the "dangerous runt."

I rushed to the farm and found the lovely fancy colt and the "dangerous runt," who had just been ripped away from his mama by four loud beer drinking men, with a heavy long rope tied around his neck, looking very dejected.  As I slowly entered the stall the "runt" began to back up, but I stepped on the rope.  He trembled.  I whispered I was only going to stroke his forehead, so he could end the day by being touched GENTLY.  He relaxed.

From the barn phone, I called Paul.  "I'm taking the 'runt!'"  He kindly replied, "What?!!  You're crazy!!!  He's dangerous I tell you!"

I said, "I'm taking him anyway!  Besides, you will have no trouble selling the fancy colt, and I will save you the trouble of taking the "runt" to slaughter."

"I still think you're making a huge mistake you'll regret!" he said.

"I'm taking him anyway.  How much?"

The next day I took sweet feed and grooming stuff with me.  The "runt" began to back up, then stopped, and didn't tremble.  While he ate, I gently groomed him, with no sign of any fear or "danger" at all.

Patches was a white pony with palomino patches, hence the name I immediately gave him, so he would not be known as "the runt."

Day three, he nickered when he saw me.

I needed to get him out of the dirty, dusty stall.  Told Paul I was turning him out.  

"What?!!  You're crazy!  You'll never be able to catch him again!"

"Don't worry," I said.  "We've got this."

I turned him out.  Day four, I arrived and found Patches on a hill.  I called him.  He stared intently.  When I went up to him, he made no attempt to run.

On day five when I called him, he neighed and came running TO me!  The "dangerous runt" was mine...and we became very VERY close.  They know when they are in danger and they know when they are safe.  Love grew Patches into a much larger pony than was expected.

When Patches was a little over a year old, I put lead shanks on each side of his halter one day.  Got on him, and simply began riding him.  THAT was all it took!

One day Paul happened to come along and see me riding Patches.  He stammered, "You're RIDING him!  How did you...I...I can't believe this!"

"Yep!  This is the 'dangerous runt' bound for slaughter.  Still think I'm crazy?"

Miz Maddalee's Integrity speech...

I was very blessed to share a friendship of eleven years with Miz Maddalee, who lived to the young age of 110 years.  At 100 years, she was still living in her own home, and mowing her yard with a push mower.  Miz Maddalee had been a school teacher for over 50 years, yet she never actually ceased teaching.

How we met is she came to hear Nora and I speak.  When she came up to meet us afterwards, we were as enchanted with her, as she said she was by us.  She was no longer driving by then and missed her bus, so I drove her home.  From that point, I visited her as often as I could.  What a fascinating lady she was!  Because she was born in 1876, she had so many stories to tell.  Yet it was her inspiring wisdom that especially touched me from her many years of living and teaching.

She told me besides the learning from books, the one thing she most tried to instill in her students, were the things not found in books.  Like integrity.  Each year Miz Maddalee gave her older students what she felt was the most important thing they could have:  her "Integrity Speech."  Curious, I had her share it with me too, and now I will share it here because she gave me a copy of it...

First, integrity means honor.  If you have a horse for sale, you are honest about its soundness.  You don't go selling a horse who you know has had lameness and not tell this to the person buying your horse. 

Integrity is being true to yourself, so you are true to others.  That you are the same person with the downtrodden as you are with the rich.  If you are true to yourself, others take notice knowing you're true to all.

Integrity means not just having a conscience but one you listen to.  If you abide by your conscience, and you strive to do what is caring and good by it, others will know this and respect you for this.

Integrity means having the courage of doing what is right.  For if you find a pocketbook or a wallet containing money and you know who it belongs to, even if others press for keeping the money, you make sure all is returned to the one it belongs.  And if you don't know who it belongs to, then you try to find who lost it.  Remember, what goes around comes around. You will be rewarded for having the integrity for doing the right thing.

Integrity is having a sense of compassion to help, even if it involves risking your life to save another one.  Like if you see a child in the road about to get hit by a car, you rush in and save that child.  You will have the integrity of having a true caring heart.

Holding onto integrity makes you have confidence because you believe in yourself.  

Holding onto integrity makes you have the determination of not giving up...a sense of purpose.

Holding onto integrity means you will have friendships, trust, admiration, and respect, because you have lived to be the best you can be.

Not long before Miz Maddalee passed away at the age of 110, I talked to her on the phone.  She immediately recognized my voice, and was just as alert as she ever was.

She asked, "My child (everyone was 'my child' to her), do you still have the copy of my integrity piece I gave you years ago?"

"Yes, Miz Maddalee, I do."

"Good.  I want you to share it with others in the world, because I think the world needs it.  Would you?"

"Yes, Miz Maddalee, I will."

And so I am.😃

  

One hilarious Sunday in the south...

I am quite sure a little laughter can always be used, and your Adelaide has a wealth yet to share...

Though Kentucky is not considered to be a deep south state, we nevertheless share some of the unique traits of the south.  Three important things here are charm, saving face, and loyalty (gossip does not apply to southern loyalty for one can gossip and still be  considered very loyal).

Also here in the south, and especially many of our horse farms, the main houses have huge verandas, where families gather on nice Sunday afternoons.  And this region is very hilly.  Another charming thing about the south is ladies are addressed as Miz Adelaide.

My just-a-friend Danny exemplified charm, and as I discovered, saving face.  Danny also tinkered on cars, but wasn't quite as good on them as he thought he was.  But he boarded a horse at the same farm as I did, which is how we knew each other.  After I learned to walk again the second time, but hadn't been allowed to drive yet, Danny very kindly drove me out to the farm with him.  He was always driving a different car though.🙃

Did I say how hilly it is here yet?  It really IS hilly.🥴

So one bright Sunday afternoon after Danny and I had been out at the farm and were heading back to town, as we were flying down a very steep hill, Danny calmly said, "Uh oh, the brakes went out again."😱

Not so calmly I replied, "What?!!  What do you mean the brakes went out?!!"

"We have no brakes."  DUH.😱

By this time we were careening down this steep hill, when Danny suddenly turned the speeding car into the driveway of the Higgins Mansion.  On the veranda were gathered all the Higgins and their iced teas.😳

The driveway had a loop which proceeded right in front of the verandah (southern spelling).  Danny wanted to drive around this loop a few times till we slowed down enough to proceed on our way.  However we #1, were not in a position to tell the Higgins what was happening because we couldn't stop TO TELL them, and #2, Danny was determined to save face at all cost.🥴

"Miz Adelaide, each time we go past the veranDAH, wave and smile, so they think what we're doing is normal."

"WHAT?!!  THIS ISN'T NORMAL."🤣

"Please just do it?  I don't want the Higgins to think I have screwed up another car."🙃

So we ended up making FIVE loops around the Higgins' driveway, waving and smiling to all the Higgins each loop like nothing was wrong, as all the Higginses waved and smiled back to us each loop with the most startled looks upon their faces.🥴

"Uh Danny, aren't they wondering WHY WE'RE NOT STOPPING?"🤣

"Probably.  But charm means if somebody comes down your driveway making five loops around the loop while politely waving and smiling in front of your verandah without stopping, you remain polite back without questioning their reasons."🙄

"You know they're going to be talking about this for decades, right?"

"Maybe."

By the time we made five loops and headed safely on our way, with the brakes miraculously working again, Danny and I left the Higgins with one final series of polite smiling waving and a toot on the car horn after a charmingly successful saving face.👍

And yes, nearly everyone in the region soon heard about the Sunday the charming Danny and Miz Adelaide made a social call from the moving car TEN loops (it became exaggerated in the many retellings) while happily waving and smiling at the Higgins family as they sat on their veranDAH happily waving and smiling back.

I began driving again immediately afterwards...🤣

Shining love...

We are put on earth a little space so 

we may learn to shine the 

beams of love.
             
              ~William Blake

Appreciating another...

As I have often shared in previous blogs, I have been blessed with many who became very dear.  From early childhood, then later when three teachers dear to me as a struggling teen living a nightmare at home, took my hand and poured their hearts and wisdom into me. Then, the dear mentor friends who entered my young life, each giving me a powerful gift of learning and love I have passed on here.  And the many dear friends my whole journey.

One gift I had even at such a young age, which yet burns bright, is knowing how to tell others what they mean, by letting them know my immense gratitude for them, and telling each one how wonderful they were/are.  For you see, we never know which way the wind may blow tomorrow, when we may not get to express our appreciation and love to those we hold dear.  With as many I have lost along the way, I am so grateful I had nailed down grasping the importance of this at such a young age, by telling others what they mean while they are alive to hear me express it.  For what are expressions of appreciation after one is gone who cannot hear them?  My friend Nora used to always say in her speaking engagements touching on this, "Give those flowers of appreciation BEFORE the funeral."

Not long ago a friend of mine came across a old box filled with letters from the 1870's to 1940's.  We spent a day reading these treasures, deeply moved by them.  There was a common thread running through them, by letting others know how much they cared, reassurances things would get better, belief in others surmounting situations, and most of all, telling each other how wonderful they are, and how appreciated.  Most of all, loved.

We no longer write letters on paper or send cards these days.  Nor are we taking the time to tell others what they mean to us, and to thank them for being on the journey of life with us.  So many times after I have sent a card or letter, I hear how much my words came at a time when needed most.  Knowing one is held in loving appreciation can go a long way...for both the recipient and the sender.

As I have often expressed here, what remains from all we are, is the love we lived, dear ones.  Now more than ever, write your flowers of love and appreciation to those who have made/make a difference in your life, past, present, near or far.  Give your flowers before the winds blow the chance away.

The Mustang Show Ring...

"An' now we have Miz Adelaide on Sadie enterin' tha ring, folks, fer tha Pony Flat Race!  Ya an' Sadie ready, Miz Adelaide?  Okay!  On tha mark, git set, an' GOOOO!!!  Lookit them agallopin', folks!  In a cloud of dust!  Why, they is aflyin', those two!  Aroun' tha barrel they goin'!  Tearin' fer home now!  WOW!!!  Miz Adelaide an' Sadie 'ave dun broke tha record by aclockin' in at an astoundin' 14.2 seconds!  Let's us all give Miz Adelaide an' Sadie a roun' of applause 'ere, folks!  Come on back in tha ring an' git yer trophy muh dear!"

Mr. Lockey and his wife owned and ran The Mustang Show Ring for years.  It was nothing fancy.  Just a kind of broken down place with strands of light bulbs around the dusty ring.  Yet for some of us kids, and adults, it was the best place ever to be each Saturday night from May through August.  There were about fifty of us regulars, and often others came now and then.  Some came just to watch.  Hamburgers, hotdogs, chips, and cokes were for sale, and the restroom facilities were behind someone's horse van.

My best friends Lacy, her brother Rob, and their horses, Vandalla, and Havoc always came too.  The three of us lived with the sadness and violence of alcoholism in our families.  And we knew how lucky we three were to have our horses who were everything to us.  Since we didn't have horse vans we three rode our horses a few miles to the show ring each week as the summer sun went down.  We also would bring bags to carry the trophies we hoped to win, and often had one or more to carry home too, along with many ribbons.

Out of concern for us though, after the show when it was very dark, either the Lockey's or other participants would follow behind us till we safely got to our homes.  We were always so touched they cared that much to do this for us!  They had to wonder where our parents were, but I suspect they had a feeling our home lives were not easy.  And why our horses meant so much to each of us.  To pay the fifty cent entry fee for each class we showed in, we each babysat and did odd jobs, besides paying the upkeep for our horses.

Since I never used a saddle, I was somewhat limited on the amount of classes I could participate in, but there were several I could.  Usually, it was the Halter Class, Bareback Class, Pony Flat Race, Egg Race.  The Egg Race was keeping an egg on a spoon as one galloped around the ring.  The last rider with an egg on the spoon was the winner.  A few times I was actually the last one who still managed to keep the egg on my spoon!

The rest of the classes were Western Classes, and Barrel Races.

Never once in the three years we showed there, was I ever called midget or ridiculed in any way, so The Mustang Show Ring is a bright chapter of my childhood I hold dearly.  I still have some of the trophies and ribbons too.

After the third year we showed there, the Lockeys had to retire due to health issues, and everyone kind of scattered away in the dusty wind.

But never the sweet memories of those summer nights at The Mustang Show Ring "agallopin'..."

Compassion personified...

I have written about Mr. Rothschild earlier here.  Briefly, he was across the room from me following my first spine surgery at nineteen, when I refused to give up walking again.  And I didn't...eventually walking again.  Mr. Rothschild had a knee surgery, was in pain, and struggling to recover.  That is, until he witnessed what I was accomplishing by not giving up.  It completely changed him, and together we walked a mini-marathon race, crossing the finish line with our doctors and nurses applauding us.

I was friends with both Mr. and Mrs. Rothschild for years.  And it is a touching part of their story I write about today, for it personifies the Compassion quote of mine I shared here two days ago.

The Rothschild's were wealthy, yet were not defined by it, nor did they "wear" it.  They lived in a regular house in a pleasant neighborhood with a lot just large enough for two horses.  Because I happened to own horses too, we were also drawn together by our shared equine passion.😃

The Rothschild's longtime maid told this story at a Memorial service for the Rothschild's when both had passed away, after living into their eighties...

Ms. Carrie emotionally told how at Mrs. Rothschild's request, she went to see her about working for them.  When she arrived, Mrs. Rothschild had coffee and cake set for them in the living room.  Not something Ms. Carrie would have ever expected at all.  Soon, her life would change beyond her dreams though.

To sum it up, Mrs. Rothschild was horrified and outraged to hear what Ms. Carrie was being paid for doing six days of work.  The Rothschild's began paying Ms. Carrie quadruple of what she was getting, and for only five days a week!

Furthermore, they set up a college fund for Ms. Carrie's son, who went on to become a doctor because of this kindness.  See the ripple effects of compassion I wrote about in my quote
yesterday?😃

Because Ms. Carrie desperately needed dependable transportation, the Rothschild's helped her get a car to further give her the chance to have a better life.  Then with their connections they later helped Ms. Carrie even get a home.

Ms. Carrie became a long trusted part of the family, remaining with them nearly sixty years.  Tears streamed down her face as she shared this.  Tears were streaming down everyone's faces hearing this.

Without my having asked them, the Rothschild's also contributed a large sum to the trust fund set up for The Ride my horse Patches and I did several years after our friendship began.  Mr. Rothschild was even part of my entourage following Patches and I that day!😃

The Rothschild's personified all that is good and kind, by using their wealth and compassion to make many positive ripple effects spreading out touching lives then and touching lives still.💕

They will forever be loved and remembered dearly for the compassion they poured forth like ripples of water.🙂💕

We all have the strength to share the burdens of those we love and those we do not know, because this is what the best of humanity does.  This is what compassion does, and no one has the power to make it stop, yet we all have the power to pour it on.  Pour compassion out like the spreading ripples of water touching all and make a bright shining difference. 
                                         Adelaide

When my surgeon cried...

The Webster Dictionary definition for compassion is the act or capacity for sharing the pain of another; a desire to help, or to spare one in trouble; expressing words of comfort, especially when one has suffered a loss; tender concern; entering one's emotional experience.

In my previous blog I touched on the Christmas week spine surgery where everything went wrong nearly paralyzing me.  Eighteen hours in I suddenly began bleeding out and they nearly lost me.  Immediately following surgery a huge hematoma began pressing on my spinal cord slowly paralyzing me.  My dear orthopaedic surgeon, Dr. Mortara rushed back in to do emergency surgery to remove the hematoma, so we were in surgery for twenty-one hours that day.

Dr. Mortara has featured in two other blogs here, where I have shared the humorous bond we had, bantering back and forth with each other.  Like when I fractured my tailbone in two places after my horse Bashum stumbled while galloping.  I feared Dr. Mortara would be upset.  Instead he came in laughing, teasing me how I couldn't just fracture my tailbone in one place, but two.  I then responded I liked to think BIG.  He not only loved my attitude, but the ways I didn't let my dwarfism define me.  And that I was a fighter.  I had been his patient for several years prior to the spine surgery, so we knew each other quite well by then.

Two days after the spine surgery in ICU on Christmas Day, I finally awoke just in time to see Dr. Mortara coming to me.  He looked terrible.  He was very anxious to see if I still had any movement in my legs.  As hard as I tried only some toes on each foot moved.  I already knew what had happened as I was the one who alerted them something was wrong immediately following the eighteen hour surgery, which is when the hematoma was discovered.

Suddenly I discovered how much I meant to Dr. Mortara as a patient because tears began pouring down his face as he struggled to say, "Everything was going so well, and then the bleeding from out of nowhere happened.  Then this...this hematoma.  You have your horse, your work, such a full life...and..."  He really began choking up, and I was choking up...not for me but him.  And profoundly touched by his compassion...moved by his tears.

Though there were tubes everywhere, I managed to grab his hand.

"Dr. Mortara, none of this is your fault.  WE are going to surmount this, okay?  I've got movement in some toes, and that is a start.  I will be focusing on my toes until they all move, then my feet, and legs.  When I leave this building, I will walk out of it.  And I will gallop on Patches again."

Then he cried harder.

Through his tears, Dr. Mortara managed to tell me though, it was because he was so moved by my comforting HIM.  He had been feeling devastated.

"Adelaide, that your fighting spirit hasn't been lost, is the best Christmas gift I have been given.  And I believe you WILL walk again.  When you leave this place, I will be there to walk with you."

Two months later, I did, and he did.  

Only due to hospital protocol I had to ride in a wheelchair TO the door.  I was symbolically allowed to do my hard won "shuffle" by then, through the doors escorted by Dr. Mortara to the waiting ambulance taking me home, with a host of nurses, doctors, and cleaning staff who had come to know me too, all clapping. 

Compassion is the most healing of all our emotions, though not everyone has it.  Yet for those who do, compassion is a quiet super power, transforming lives, and can transform the world.  Especially a beloved surgeon in ICU one Christmas Day in tears...

Knowing the moment...

Though I majored in Theatre Scene Design, part of the curriculum also involved taking an Acting course, Costuming, Light Design, and Stage Management classes too, so one had a broad sense of Theatre.  Acting majors had to do this as well.  It actually turned out I was a damn good actress.  And I wasn't a bad Lighting Designer either.  But for me, Theatre Set Design is where my heart was and always has been.💕

However, there is a very important thing we were taught in acting, and that is knowing the moment.  The knowing when to act or not to act moments in our lives.  Which actually ties in with some of my past blogs on my plunging forth, and hopefully not backwards risk making decisions I have had to make.  

We all have them...the moments of decision.  Yet sometimes we plunge forth, only the timing isn't right.  Then if we wait for the right timing, the moment goes sailing right by us.  If an actor misses the cue, or isn't prepared, the whole play can flop.  So just knowing there is a moment that is The Moment is the first step of learning when to act or not.👍

Next, one should never ever plunge forth into a moment of action when we are in the midst of negative emotions such as anger, envy, impatience, fear, or resentment.  Hold on and wait.🙂

Remember everything happening now determines the future.  So step back a moment and take a deep breath.  Try to gauge the probabilities of this decision or that one.  The same timing vital to show business is vital to our decision making whether we act or not.  Good timing in the present affects what follows.👍

In my recent blog, "A story of compassion," I touched on the story about my second spine surgery the week before Christmas, which everything went wrong during the surgery...not the fault of my surgeon, and I was paralyzed.  Thankfully though, there was still movement in my toes, and with my determination and a hard won battle, I again learned to walk over time.  What I didn't touch on, was 
why I made the decision to have the surgery done the week of Christmas in the first place.  This was major spine surgery.  Even if everything had gone right, I was 
still going to be in hospital well beyond the New Year holiday too.

In theatre, decisions are made on which productions will be done a year in advance or longer.  Sets are typically begun in the spring or sooner, for the following new season beginning in the fall of that year.  Usually the busy Christmas Season is the slow time for the designers.  Wanting to lose as little time as necessary from my work, I had to make a critical decision for what was best.  

I had another concern though.  Winters can be very unpredictable.  There was my dear Patches who at that time was only six months old.  During that same year we were in a severe drought, but I was bringing him through it.  I weighed everything.  Talked with other boarders.  As well as both the Executive Director and Artistic Director of the theatre I was working for then.

I realized I needed to work to support Patches, my cat, and myself.  And I certainly did not want to let my theatre down either.  After talking to my fellow boarders, they assured me Patches would be taken care of for me as needed during the winter.  So my doctor and I went with Christmas week to do the spine surgery.

It took me three months to get from walker to cane.  And to six months without a cane.  By the time sets needed to be prepared for the following season, I was able to do them, even while still using the cane at first.

Had I rushed into my decision emotionally, I would have based my decision on putting Patches first, even though others would look after him.  But I didn't because I made myself step back and weigh everything before I acted.  I knew my moment.😃

We have to be patient listening to and trusting in our instincts with knowing the moment.  Patience is not easy, I know.  Especially when faced with huge decisions.  Yet what is patience but wisdom and self control.

Knowing The Moment takes stepping outside of ourselves TO know The Moment and focus.  This is what actors do.

This is also what a Little Set Designer learned to do on her journey too.😃

Laughter making...

I have always tried to find ways to bring laughter to others, and since I spent a lot of time in hospitals with doctors, they often were on the receiving end...

When I had the spine surgery that nearly permanently paralyzed me, I had a orthopaedic surgeon with a sense of humor as wicked as mine.  We would often humorously banter back and forth with each other.  This is the dear surgeon who was operating on me when I had to learn to walk again the second time after major complications during surgery happened which were not his fault.

This is also the same surgeon who came to the emergency room when I had my first ever accident with a horse.  Bashum and I were galloping across a field when we disturbed some huge grasshoppers, and one suddenly flew into Bashum's eye.  He stumbled west, and I went flying high east...with my tailbone taking the brunt of my landing.  

As I drove myself to the emergency room, I feared two things:  that I seriously injured my spine which surgery had been scheduled for soon, and/or my dear surgeon was going to kill me.

He came into the room laughing hard.  Very hard.  

"I heard you went flying and had a rough landing!"

"Well the flying high in the air part wasn't too bad."  

Still laughing hard, he said, "And you fractured your tailbone.  In two places.  Most people only fracture their tailbones in one place, but you tend to go the extra mile."

"I like to think big."

Though he obviously always had concerns about his unique patient flying across fields riding her horses bareback, he loved how I wasn't defined by the dwarfism...and was one hell of a fighter.

Anyway, prior to that following spine surgery I had made a sign and laminated it.  I wanted to have a moment of fun even though I knew I would have already been knocked out.  So on the morning of the surgery, I attached the sign I made to my back with surgical tape hidden by the hospital gown.  No one knew it was there.  

It wasn't until after I was on the operating table all knocked out that they turned me over.  My surgeon opened the gown only to suddenly see in large block letters, "Remember...don't screw this up."

I was told later it took everyone several long moments before they could quit laughing and regain their composure.  

My now retired surgeon kept the sign and still treasures it very much.

"How do you get ON your horse?!!"

When people hear I own and ride horses, the question I am asked first, and more than any other is, "How do you get ON your horse?"  Usually followed by, "How do you STAY on?"  I tried saddles, but I had more trouble staying on with a saddle, both English and Western, than I ever did riding bareback.  With short legs, and all the leather, even with stirrups, when I gripped, I usually popped up like a cork, with my horse looking at me like I was crazy.  Besides, I like to feel at one when riding my horses, which I do riding bareback.  And I stay on...for the most part.🐎😂🐎

So back to how I GET on.  I had such a bond with all my horses, they understood the fact that when it came time for me to get on, they needed to stand next to something.  Usually, I would lead them next to my car, climb on the hood of the car, then get on.  But horses cannot always be depended upon to stand perfectly still for more than ten seconds, so I had to act fast.  Sometimes with hilarious results.  I cannot begin to tell you how many times I would propel myself just a bit too hard and go flying right over them to the ground, and get that crazy look, because horses can be quite expressive in conveying what they're thinking.😂

If not the car hood, I would use fallen trees, or climb on a fence, or if lucky an actual mounting block.

Dismounting was always easier.  Usually I would slide off and drop to the ground, mostly on my feet...often unceremoniously on my rear.  Again getting that crazy look.😂

Horses sometimes are unpredictable.  Sometimes they suddenly stop unexpectedly.  When this happened, I would go headfirst sliding down their neck, if I was lucky.  Occasionally though, my flying high up in the air a bit before reaching the ground with considerable aplomb could occur.🙃

Sooo, now my dear ones, you know how this Little Person got on her horses, and the ways she also "got off" of them too.🐎😂🐎

The journey...

                        Dr. Steven Kopits (1936-2003)

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.    -Lao Tzu

The journey of a thousand miles actually begins with having the courage TO take that first single step.

There are approximately 200 types of dwarfism with Achondroplasia being the most common.  Almost all obviously affect the bone structure, cartilage, and connective tissues...with 4'10" the maximum amount of height.

Eighty percent of us come from families with no history of dwarfism whatsoever, as in my case.

However, the jury is still out on which type of dwarfism I have...though I certainly have some of the Achondroplasia characteristics.  In fact, how I met Dr. Kopits and became his patient, was because I had an appointment to see his colleague, the dear geneticist Dr. McKusick at Johns-Hopkins.  Though I recovered from the bleed out and paralysis during my most recent spine surgery at that time, I was having severe problems with plummeting blood counts.  My doctors were hoping if we could nail down which type of dwarfism I have, we could possibly solve the blood count issues.  Also learn if other Little People had the same problem.  

The only thing was though, I had just been in the hospital for months while learning to walk again, missed work all that time, and gone through what savings I had.  I didn't know yet how I was going to get to Baltimore, and stay for one day and two nights.  With a courageous leap of faith, I took that single step anyway, and made the arrangements needed.  The next day I found a envelope someone put under my door.  An anonymous donor provided the airline ticket and the money to cover the room near Johns-Hopkins.

Dr. Kopits was such an extraordinary doctor for Little People, he had a waiting list of one to two years.  When I scheduled my appointment for Dr. McKusick, I learned it just happened to be a day Dr. Kopits was at Johns-Hopkins seeing patients.  I was hopeful to simply get to meet him.

I flew to Baltimore, and saw Dr. McKusick early the next morning.  As soon as I saw him, he got very excited.  He immediately noticed my hands, feet, and longish extremities.  Remember, I hadn't met any other Little People yet to know I was "unique" in this way.  Besides being on the "tall" side of dwarfism, my hands and feet are average size.  I can wear regular shoes.  Many Little People cannot and my heart aches for them deeply.  

Dr. McKusick flipped out when he learned I played the piano, was an artist, and Theatre Set Designer.
And then...AND THEN...when he learned I owned and rode horses, his jaw dropped.  At that point, he suddenly got up, grabbed my hand, and began dragging me (I had to go with my hand) for his colleagues to see.  And you guessed it...one of those just happened to be Dr. Kopits.

"Steven!  Look!  Look at her hands and feet!" Dr. McKusick said.  "She plays the piano and she's an artist!  And SHE OWNS AND RIDES HORSES BAREBACK!"

Before Dr. McKusick dragged me on, I managed to say to Dr. Kopits with laughter, "I had hoped to...oops!  Gotta go!  So happy to meet youuu!"

Dear sweet Dr. McKusick...when he completed his impromptu show and tell, had me sit down in the busy corridor.  After he walked away, Dr. Kopits and he began talking together...and looking my way.

A few moments after Dr. McKusick and Dr. Kopits spoke, Dr, Kopits came to me and asked if he could take me on as a patient, and would I be willing to wait and see him after he finished with his other patients.  WOW...like I had anywhere ELSE to go?!!  "Yes!"

We had this conversation around 9:45 A.M.  I was his last patient and saw him around 7:30 P.M. and absolutely did not mind.  One of the very first questions he asked was, "Please tell me, HOW do you get ON your horse?!!"

He had all my records and at first, could not believe I was able to walk again following the bleed out and hematoma paralysis of my most recent spine surgery.  With his nurse he spent over an hour with me.  We also discussed the new spine pain I was experiencing, which turned out to be the arachnoiditis.

Dr. Kopits asked if I could remain in Baltimore for at least four weeks.  Financially, I told him there was no way I possibly could.  He said, "Wait a moment," and made a call.

Where Dr. Kopits was staffed at the hospital in Towson, Maryland, the hospital had a Ronald McDonald kind of house on the property just for the patients and families of Dr. Kopits.  He secured a room for me.

Since neither Dr. Kopits, his nurse, or myself had eaten all day, he wanted to take us out to eat.  Hours earlier I wasn't even his patient...hadn't even met him before, and with his nurse, I had been asked to join him for dinner!  All because I took a step of courage.

The specially designed House I stayed in, had low sinks, toilets, bathtubs, etc. just for a little person 3' tall.  It was amazing.  I had to actually get on my knees when at the sink!  For the first time in my entire life I felt what it was like to be "tall."

My first Saturday in Baltimore, Dr. Kopits came and watched the Preakness horse race with me.  He hadn't seen it before!

I was seen by many doctors, including a renown hematologist, and underwent many tests.  One in particular not only revealed the arachnoiditis, but the severity of it.  And my blood counts were still out of control, necessitating many transfusions.  This is when Dr. Kopits asked if I could move to Maryland.  There was no doubt my physical future would be a very daunting one, and it grieved him.

He was a dear man...an incredible man, and a very gifted orthopaedic surgeon who deeply cared about all his patients and was beloved by all.  Sadly, in 2003, after a courageous fight, Dr. Kopits succumbed to a brain tumor.   

If I did not have the courage to take that step of a thousand miles to make it to Baltimore, I never would have known many things about my medical journey.  And most of all, never would have known such an amazing doctor.

Have courage dear ones, to take that single step.