#SeasonalSonnets 2017: 2nd Dec

Hello my lovely readers

Sonnet number two for you! Another one which was not written before, but penned in a break from thesis work - and therefore filled with thoughts very apposite to the title of my blog. It's essentially about what it means (and has meant) to be Wordy and Wheely...

Love and spoons

Jx

2^nd December 2017

Today I ponder what my body means

whilst briefly paused from writing up my thesis;

it rarely feels my own except in dreams

so words, not workouts, have been my releases.

Eleven long years, now, have shortly passed

since comfort sat well with me exercising;

but physio’s a joy again, at last –

regaining “lost” ability’s exciting!

My muscles surely still have far to go

(much atrophy, from hurt, they must recover).

I’m merely pleased to test what I can do;

not bothered if the pace is fast or slower.

For dissipating pain has let me find

a place outside the “haven” of my mind.

Copyright Jessi Parrott December 2017

 

#SeasonalSonnets 2017: 1st Dec

Hello my lovely readers

I'm back, with a short post, a poem and a picture - because it's #SeasonalSonnets time again. I wasn't going to do it this year, out of self-care, but I've actually been writing poetry for self-care...so I thought I might as well. This first one isn't one I'd already written, but a lot of the rest will be.

It's about what has changed in the year since I started this series, my excitement for the year to follow this one, and it allows me to say, after a very long while, I'll be back again soon; tomorrow!

Love and spoons

Jx

1^st December 2017

This sonnet marks the start of a new tranche

of poems to explore the winter season

and all the ways this year has let me branch

beyond the bounds of either rhyme or reason.

Last year, I wrote of hope for a December

I’d not been gifted with for a decade.

This year, I can do more than just remember

the things I did at that much younger age.

That’s not to say the months between were perfect

(in fact they have been filled with loss and grief)

but, as some old emotions have resurfaced,

I’ve found that they’ve brought with them self-belief.

Through tackling them, my body’s in less pain;

now I can plan adventures once again.

Copyright Jessi Parrott December 2017

 

Briefly back for my birthday

Hello my lovely readers

I am briefly back to the blogosphere, for reasons you will probably guess from the title of this post, which happens to be my hundred-and-thirteenth. Therefore, without further ado (except a content note for discussion of grief and mourning):

Today is my twenty-sixth birthday. Twenty-six years more than my premature infant self was meant to be able to be alive on this earth, and nearly sixteen years since I learnt truly to value that vitality through the lesson of the loss of darling Gemma - the first of the sixteen special souls to whom I have said goodbye in the time since then. It also marks exactly six months since Shane left us, not quite three weeks since Ania slipped away, and the blur in between them and when we gathered in gratitude for Helen and Jackie. On a more macro level, of course, it is the second anniversary of the Paris attacks and (somewhat paradoxically) World Kindness Day. 

All of these coincidences remind me that, if there are things the combined physical progress and emotional upheaval of my twenty-sixth year has taught me, they are that sadness can sit side by side with joy - and that a sense of your own and others' mortality can be both a shadow and a spur to make the most of the time you’ve been granted. The pain felt in the absence of precious people is in itself a testament to the strength of the ties which tethered us together, and I for one would far rather have the happy memories alongside the grief than not have had those moments at all. Life is too short not to laugh and to love. Moreover, both those things can (must) include learning to be as kind to yourself as you strive to be to others, and acknowledging that you are also allowed to reach out for support. It doesn’t take away the hurt, but it makes it easier to bear - and you might just find, by sharing your sorrows, that you help someone else to heal too.

So, with that in mind, consider this post a thank-you note for the best presents of all, my wonderful friends and family, both those whose brilliant, beautiful bundles of molecules are bouncing around in the atmosphere and those still physically here. You are what keeps me afloat, and I am so very lucky to have you.

I'm not sure when I'll next write again (you have my eternal gratitude for your understanding about that as well), so for now, be kind to yourselves. And, if you need to, talk. It's hard, but it helps.

Love and hugs - and a picture of the blurry beginnings of this morning's stunning sunrise:

Jx

#WordyandWheelyWednesdays: A Hiatus for Health

Hello my lovely readers

A very short post this week, just to let you know that I'm taking a slightly lengthier break from blogging for my health. Physically things are pretty stable but, in part because of that, my emotions are very close to the surface. Now that my bodily pain isn't as present, which you may read about here if you'd like, there is more space for feeling everything else.

This is progress, but it's hard work, so I need to take some time.

I hope that's understandable.

I'll be back when I can - in the meantime, be kind to yourselves.

Jx

#WordyandWheelyWednesdays: A Week Off pt 3

Hello my lovely readers

I very much wanted to write a proper post this week, following on from World Cerebral Palsy Day, to get back into the swing of this blogging thing - it's the very least that you loyal regulars deserve. However, due to a combination of traipsing across the country, a heavy workload, and an *interesting* mental state, that hasn't been possible. Usually I'd apologise at this point, but yesterday was World Mental Health Day, so instead I'm merely going to state matter-of-factly that I'm taking a week off.

Love until next week (and remember it's okay not to be okay)

Jx

World Cerebral Palsy Day 2017

Hello my lovely readers

The keen observers amongst you may have noticed that have missed two #WordyandWheelyWednesdays posts - last week's and this week's. Sorry about that. Last week, I was zooming across the country and had very little time to think, let alone write. This week, I was on the final day of BBC Class Act, a course for actors with disabilities in which I had the honour to participate (a little more on that below). Hopefully, this post will make up for that absence, especially because I was going to write it as an extra one anyway.

Today is World Cerebral Palsy Day. It usually falls on the first Wednesday of October, which made it the first entry in my #WordyandWheelyWednesdays series, when I wrote about some of the things my CP has taught me. This year, with it being on a different day, I'm trying an alternative tack - in the spirit of some of the things I've learnt over the year since that first post.

These things, as is only apt in a post written on a blog called Wordy and Wheely for a day about Cerebral Palsy, have to do with both my body and brain. They are inspired by my efforts with my physicality (epitomised by my recent walk at Parallel London) and with my profession (the combination of my PhD and its practical application in my acting.) I wanted to write about them today because I've realised that they are essentially held together by my CP. After all, it's the reason I got into acting (and on to Class Act), it's why I'm academically and artistically invested in disability representation in the arts, and it's the impetus behind my unconventional forms of transportation and exercise. I said as much in last year's post, and even managed to state that I love my body, but I was just at the beginning of my journey towards acceptance. It took me twenty-five years, but I really feel like my twenty-sixth year has brought me further forward than I have been in a long time. This is due in no small part to me taking some big, often scary, risks - the most recent of which is Class Act.

This course, which I nearly didn't apply for, has been a hugely validating experience, and has made me realise (finally!) that I need to re-evaluate my general sense of self-esteem and in particular my ideas about my own potential as a performer. The opportunity to work with such a lovely and talented bunch of fellow actors, under the tutelage of some incredibly inspiring industry professionals, is something I will remember and treasure forever. Our disabilities were carefully considered, of course, but because of that they were not the primary focus for once. That balance is an important one to strike, and I'll be taking the lessons I've learnt over these three days forward in my acting and all other aspects of my life (not least my PhD!).

So, as I'm being brave, and also rapidly approaching my twenty-sixth birthday, I thought I'd share some elements of my list of 'Thirty Things to Do Before I'm Thirty'. Many of the items on this list are general (and a lot of you will already know about them from conversations), such as the languages I am learning and want to learn. Some, however, are more idiosyncratic - and quite specific to life with CP. I've therefore chosen four for tonight, with varying degrees of effort/planning/exiting-of-comfort-zones required to attain or complete.

• Be comfortable enough to sit in a manual wheelchair again. I absolutely love my powered chair (whose name is Bunbury, in case anyone doesn't know) because zooming around gives me so much independence. I was never particularly skilled at pushing myself in a manual, because of my left hand, so I often went in circles. That said, nifty little manual chairs make some elements of life significantly easier, even if I do need to be pushed...and I want to have that flexibility again.
• Be comfortable to enough to fly again. I suppose this is a natural follow on from the manual chair. I realise that flying is bad for the environment. This has helped assuage my sadness about not being able to do it. However, having family and friends in South Africa and Canada means that they have had to come to me, and I want to return the favour. I also miss the sunshine and the snow.
• Have at least one professional acting job. This is probably fairly self-explanatory. However, it has only officially made the list (which was unfinished) this week, because before Class Act I wasn't brave enough to put it there. Not that it wasn't an aim, I just didn't think it was realistic enough to put there solidly, despite all my training and efforts. Now I do.
• Be emotionally and physically ready for a relationship. This is the scariest and least comfortable of them all. I have dithered about including it (not on the list, but online, not least because I'm all too aware it can't be planned). Hence the very specific wording. This post is about being brave, though, and this week has been filled with reminders to break down the barriers set up - by ourselves and by society. I have plenty of barriers on this score and, whilst a fair few arise from internalising social perceptions of disability, just as many arise from myself. I know these are valid and understandable responses, but I also know that if I want a partner (which I do) I need to sort myself out. Which I am. Gradually. CP and all. Starting by getting my feet more firmly on the ground (or rather footplates).

 

Happy World CP Day 2017!

#WordyandWheelyWednesdays: On Having Hands to Hold

Hello my lovely readers

This week's #WordyandWheelyWednesdays entry is a return to usual service because, although I'm still grafting away with uni work, the topic is incredibly relevant to my own research. 

Last night Mama, Gramma and I went to the Globe for an event titled Against Prejudice, in celebration of Ira Aldridge. Aldridge came over to the UK from America in 1824, aged just seventeen, and soon became the first black actor to play Othello. He then went on to take over the management of what is now the Belgrade Theatre in Coventry.

This is where last night comes in. The event was comprised of a rehearsed reading of a short play written by Professor Tony Howard of the University of Warwick (one of my undergraduate tutors and an all-round awesome human), followed by a thought-provoking panel. Each panel member had a different perspective on, and connection to, Aldridge (ranging from historical to practical to personal) but all were united in their desire to give Aldridge the continued and lasting recognition he deserves. 

It is the essence of these diverse yet united perspectives (both from the panellists and from the play's cast and creative team) which forms the substance of my post today. For the underlying message (whether portrayed through Shakespeare, traditional song, or news snippets from Aldridge's time which showed the significance of his success) was one of heritage and community, coupled with a sense of incredulity. This latter emotion arose from two sources - either related to the personal joy of finding him for the first time but wondering how people had not known before, or from the more general feeling that this knowledge (even now) remains fairly niche and that, consequently, each 'new' discussion is treated as a revelation by the wider theatrical establishment. Such a paradox was referred to as the 'ten-year-cycle of rediscovery', and the abiding consensus was in making concerted efforts to ensure that the cycle is broken; of which last night's event was just one of many ongoing.

For me (as I'm sure for many other audience members), this sentiment was encapsulated in the presence of Earl Cameron, a veteran centenarian actor who took voice lessons from Aldridge's daughter, Amanda. Not only did he wow everyone with an impromptu rendition of Othello's final speech (I still have goosebumps thinking about it as I type) but he led Tony to say what an honour it was 'to hold the hand, that held the hand, that Ira Aldridge held'. Of course this was a very emotive and poignant literal statement, but it also struck me as an extremely useful metaphor for the impact of authentic, representative and diverse casting practices, hence the title of this post.

Through witnessing themselves represented, people have hands to hold, and can use those hands to reach a position from where they can then be hands to help others in future years. Such was the power of having members of the Belgrade's Black Youth Theatre in the cast, and this is where my own research and practice fits in. Whilst I am forever conscious of the privilege afforded to me by my whiteness and my educational achievements, as a wheelchair-using actor and aspiring academic, I am also acutely aware that I, too, have very few generations of former practitioners' hands to hold. (I certainly could not stand on their shoulders - I think my wheels might be a tad uncomfortable!) I long to find some, as Virginia Woolf did in A Room of One's Own, and I share the sense of delight exhibited by the panellists yesterday when I do. (Oh, the rapture when I discovered Samuel Foote, the eighteenth-century amputee actor and comic!) More than that, though, I want to be part of making change so that someone else might feel that they could use my hand if they need it.

This is why figures like Aldridge need not just to be celebrated but to be talked, and taught, about - continuously, and as a matter of course, embedded into our curricula at every level. Their stories impact everyone in society by changing the dominant narratives, providing the kind of knowledge which gives much-needed hands to hold, and could go a long way to making Aldridge's fabled 'land of freedom' a lived reality.