Tales from Rural Maine: What I Did With My Summer Vacation
After cursing the cold in Maine for several extra months, Peter and I decided to flee our little burg and head someplace where we knew we wouldn't need a sweater or our flannel pajamas in July. Sick of fighting the urge to turn on the space heater at night, we wanted air conditioning--and lots of it. We also wanted a vacation, a real, proper grown-up vacation. The kind where you decide you want to go someplace, just because it's fun, and then you book a flight and a hotel and a car and you go. Neither Peter nor I had ever done this, and one of the reasons we moved back to Maine was so that we would be financially free to travel, so long as I was physically able and he could get the time off work.
As I'm sure so many proper, grown-up vacations do, ours originated from an ad in a comic book.
We were relaxing on our lanai a few weeks ago. I was obsessing over Pottery Barn catalogs and Peter was reading a comic book, which advertised the new Harry Potter theme park at Universal Studios. "That's a good price," we thought. "We should go."
It seemed crazy, and yet also began to seem possible. We really *should* go.
Thanks to my osteopath in Blue Hill, I have about 75% less pain on any given day than I did when we moved here. For the first time in almost five years, on most days, I can walk and sit and function at a level that almost approximates "normal." For my birthday, we tried a test-run weekend away in Bar Harbor, and I was able to walk! Sometimes for hours, so long as I took breaks. And I didn't throw up or get a migraine or fall to pieces. I was bright and happy--and even accidentally climbed up and then down Great Head (twice!).
Unfortunately, the test-run took a toll. I didn't get the flu-like symptoms I usually get from exertion, but I was, as Peter calls it, "blurged out" after we got home. Exhausted, limping, and in constant pain, I tried for a week to recover on my own, but it was looking more and more like I'd be going into our big vacation, which we'd already booked, severely hampered.
I didn't even have the strength to mow our lawn that week, which is something I do religiously when I'm well enough. I do 30 minutes a day and feel very proud of the fact that I'm able to do this now. (At the end of the week during which I was not physically able to mow, my father was kind enough to drop in and point out that my lawn was overgrown. He speculated that our (lovely new electric) lawn mower had failed us. But no, it's not that equipment that's faulty.)
Determined to do whatever I could to get well before the trip, I called my osteopath, who some clients call "Doctor Magic Hands," and during my lunch hour one day I made the drive to Blue Hill and he fixed me right up. Four days later when it was time to fly out, I was much better. Not back to where I was before the test-run, but at least back to what I think of as livable, a place where the pain and relative sickness are not a severe detriment. I think of this place as something just below what other people probably think of as normal, but which for me is a pretty rockin' state of affairs because it means I can do stuff. If I can get to just below Regular Normal--other people's normal--then I can use will power and optimism to actually function above a normal level. If that doesn't make sense to you, don't worry. The math I use to cobble together some approximation of wellness probably only makes sense to me and Peter. But hopefully you get the general idea. (Peter says I'm the original super trooper.)
What matters most for our purposes here is that for the first time in several years, I felt well enough to travel--and also, Peter got five days in a row off work.
Let the vacation commence. (Cue our vacation song: vay-cay-shun na-na-na-na-na nah!)
While Allegiant Air cuts a lot of corners--you have to pay for everything from checked baggage to drinks and the luxury of sitting next to your traveling companion--Pete and I were both relieved to discover that in the event of a water landing, they had spared no expense. It was clear from our safety materials that should we be forced to land in the ocean, Tom Selleck would appear and produce a shank with which to cut our life raft free of the sinking airplane.
Our flight arrived on time. We claimed my suitcase (Peter fit everything he needed into a backpack) and we walked across a deadly swamp to the Alamo outpost, which reeked of sulfur, for some reason, and claimed our shitty rental.
Too tired to deal with figuring out the GPS Niki had lent us--Peter's reticence was later explained when I realized he thought Niki had lent us her geocaching GPS and that using it would involve attempting to follow coordinates in the middle of the hot Florida night--we rolled old school and used a map and some road signs to get ourselves to our "final destination," Loew's Royal Pacific Resort at Universal Orlando about an hour from the Orlando/Sanford airport. (We have long suspected that there is a tunnel between Maine and Florida and it would seem we have found it. It pops out in Sanford, Florida, in case you were wondering.)
Travel tip: On the way to Universal, we stopped at a CVS and bought a case of water for less than five bucks. Cost of one bottle of water in the park? Almost $3. Cost of a bottle of water in our hotel room? $7. Approximate savings: Enough to cover our rental car for three days.
The lovely "lagoon-style" pool looked very nice and was very large. One poolside seating area was covered in white sand, simulating a beach environment. As we were choosing our place to camp out, I said to Peter, "Let's not sit there. I don't like getting sand on my bag." To which Peter replied, "Yeah, neither do I." This cracked us up for the next three days.
As lovely as it was, the pool was really designed for children. The deepest point was 4 feet 7 inches, making diving or any real swimming impossible. It also meant that it was hot as bathwater. And smack dab in the middle was a never-ending volleyball game played with several idiotic beach balls, thus isolating swimmers on either side of the game. One could only swim (being careful not to scrape one's knees on the rough bottom, usually a treacherous 36 inches from the surface) in a small circle on either side of the game. Whoever designed that pool was really not thinking.
To balance out the lack of cooling or swimming possibilities, there was poolside drink and food service til 9 p.m., though. We enjoyed some delicious drinks--Peter, I now know, likes blue cocktails--and mediocre overpriced food from the comfort of our poolside lounge chairs, as well as the upstairs sushi bar which didn't close until 11:00.
We made a mental note to see if we could find an adults-only resort on our next vacation. And then we went to play like children.
This is Peter drinking a butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks.
We stood in line a long time to eat there, but my pear cider and Peter's butterbeer alone made it worth it. We each had fish and chips as it was the only food you didn't have to gnaw off a bone. Note: Harry Potter's Wizarding World is not particularly vegetarian-friendly. Also, they don't serve soft drinks because it wouldn't be authentic, only pumpkin juice and butterbeer--and Bud Light in its usual bright blue bottles. It was so incongruous to see all these parents walking around with both kids and open containers. What is this, mardi gras?
Best thing overheard on Day One: Parent to child (with an obviously injured hand), "I know it hurts! But get over here. We have to have fun."
Even though it was hot and humid, the snow on the rooftops of the village was so convincing, my brain got a little confused a couple of times and gave me a little chill.
The first ride we wanted to go on was "Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey." These are some of the reasons I didn't go on the ride:
I was desperate for lunch, so we headed off to San Francisco/Amity where we believed a bakery might have some reasonably-Graychase-friendly lunchtime fare. Along the way, I stopped at the worst bathroom in both parks. I still feel nauseous when I think about it. It was like the third world in there. (The gentleman in this photo is a custodial worker who was busy mopping the disgusting floor.)
San Francisco really did look quite a bit like Fisherman's Wharf, and Amity did look quite a bit like the Cape, but Universal has this disturbing habit of crafting all these realistic-looking venues, like, say Ghirardelli Square, but then they turn out to be nothing but facades. You can't actually get any chocolate. Or anything at all. It's spooky. All these fake store fronts, dozens of them, carefully made up to look like the original...but then you can't go in. You can't even look in. What's in there??
It started to rain as we walked to lunch, but, as luck would have it, there was a somewhat Graychase-friendly lunch option at the bakery, so we took our meals out to eat at a picnic table under an umbrella on the fake Fisherman's Wharf. Given the large number of tourists walking around, it was virtually indistinguishable from the original, except there were no bread bowls and no sea gulls--and "Joy to the World" blared over and over out of a sound system.
Next up was Disaster, where we got to participate in the making of a fake disaster movie. As you may know, disaster movies are one of my favorite things. The more preposterous the better. AND it was set in San Francisco. So this was right up my alley. Also, it was wheelchair-friendly, which was Graychase-friendly, since it almost always meant, "sit-or-stand-here-and-things-will-happen!"
There was a lot of neat green-screening, a super-cool effect involving Christopher Walken that *still* has me feeling amazed, and in the end, we got to ride fake underground MUNI as a flood and some explosions took place, which was pretty fun and definitely Graychase-approved.
Later we saw fake Blues Brothers advertising a show starting soon. We walked quickly in the opposite direction.
We also saw Scooby and Shaggy and the Mystery Machine a couple of times.
I think Scoob would have been able to escape the heat and duck into some air conditioning if it weren't for those meddling kids.
All of the children in Brazil were in the park during our visit by the way, traveling in packs of about 20 grouped by brightly colored shirts and led by guides with matching flags.
Peter snapped this one of some monsters while I was in the loo:
He also snapped this one of the loo:
Day Two was really fun. I went on the Jaws ride and really enjoyed it, although the terrified three-year-old wailing behind me detracted a bit from the fun. (Dear parents: what were you thinking?)
Peter did the Mummy and we both did Twister...Ride it Out, which was kind of dull and soaked my backpack. (So *that's* what Helen Hunt's been doing since she won her Oscar...)
Because we had a whole other day to finish doing things, and because we were hot and tired, we left before dinner and went back to enjoy the pool and the resort.
Unfortunately, as soon as breakfast was over, I was incredibly sick. We stayed in the room and watched the second half of Wolfman, which we had brought with us. Thank you, Netflix! When I was finally ready to be parted for more than 15 minutes from a toilet, we braved the heat and walked down to the water taxi.
I was feeling really unwell. But totally rallied. We began by taking photos in front of the big, steaming Universal globe at the entrance to the park. This photo shows a little bit of how sick I was feeling:
And this one shows what I look like when I'm rallying.
Pete was great, of course:
Truth be told, we didn't make it very far into the park before I ran out of steam. We were in the I Love Lucy exhibit when I realized I couldn't walk much further. I felt very close to fainting. I felt so weak that, honestly, if it wouldn't have been so embarrassing to collapse there, I might not have fought it. I was so tired that the idea of being unconscious on that cool, scratchy, dirty carpet held a certain allure.
While Pete went inside the Brown Derby hat shop, I sat on a bench under my umbrella, put on my sunglasses, and cried. I am an athlete. I am young and able-bodied. I am an All-State soccer player. I am fit and healthy and active. How can it be that all of those things are no longer true? How can it be that I'm too sick to do three days of gentle theme park tourism? It's been true for years, but it still has the power to devastate me. Even now, my physical disabilities are as unexpected as looking down to find myself in chains. I still believe I am the girl I was before this happened. (And on the inside, I still am.)
Sitting there on the bench across from the Brown Derby hat shop, staring at the fake rasta hair hats and watching fake Marilyn Monroe sashay down the sidewalk, I prayed the very best prayer I know. "Help me," I said out loud. "Help."
Peter returned and sat next to me. There were no good hats in the Brown Derby hat shop. I took off my sunglasses and let him see my tears. I couldn't speak. I just looked into his warm brown eyes and gently shook my head.
He took my hand. And he smiled. "It's okay," he said. "It's not unexpected."
I had a decision to make. Give up and go back to the hotel. Force myself to find some way to get through. Or rent a wheelchair. The only healthy choice was to rent the wheelchair. And I'm proud to say that's what we did.
Knowing that I was feeling very ill, we had scoped out the wheelchair situation on the way into the park. For $12, I could have a wheelchair for the day. It wasn't a burdensome expense. The rental area was only about a five-minute walk from where I sat, roasting and weeping. But mentally...it was almost insurmountable. There have been lots of times in these past few years when I should have been confined to a wheelchair, when a wheelchair would have actually given me more freedom to be in the world than keeping my sick body home. But, perhaps you can understand...it felt like such a failure, such a terrible milestone to go into that chair. I have fought with all my might for years to keep out of a wheelchair.
But there was nothing for it. Short of some sort of life-threatening situation, nothing could have compelled my body to keep moving. And I didn't want to go back to the hotel. I wanted to have fun. And not in the way that that parent with the injured child felt determined to have fun. I really was still able to enjoy myself, I just wasn't able to walk. And we could fix that. We were already seeking out the wheelchair accessible rides for my general temperament; now it would just be more literal.
We made the decision on the bench. But I didn't even feel as though I could make the walk back to the rental area. We were going to send Peter back for it, but we knew they would need a deposit and I was the only one with a credit card on me. So, I stood up. I held onto Peter and I walked back toward the entrance of the park. I wept the whole way. Silently. Hidden beneath my umbrella and behind my sunglasses, I cried for what it all meant.
As we stood in line, I began to feel that I would never pull it together. It was just too crushing a blow to get into that chair. But I had asked for help sitting on the bench outside the Brown Derby, and it came. I don't know what happens when you pray, but when I ask for help or for guidance, what I usually see are words, flashed like a sign or floating on another layer of perception. What I saw there in that stroller and wheelchair rental line were these words, Bring what you have and Be where you are.
I read them each over. I closed my eyes and let them sink in. I took a deep breath. And exhaled.
Bring what you have. So I started taking inventory. What did I have? I had sorrow. Lots and lots of sorrow. I had self-pity. And grief. I had anger. Also some fear and irritation. I had discomfort, fatigue, shame. Because there was no Express Lane for wheelchair rentals, I had some time to stand in that line. And I used it to look around inside myself at everything I had. Finding each thing, naming it, knowing and welcoming it as a tool in my box, a gift--it helped. It is an act of love to accept oneself. It is an act of love to be curious about how you feel and what you need. I stood where I was, I breathed in and out, and I took my time. I felt around, got to know, and named what I had, one thing at a time. I welcomed all my feelings like people I loved and was glad to see. Through the act of asking, What do I have? and the act of answering, I soothed myself.
And in addition to my feelings, I realized I had quite a few other useful things, not the least of which were Peter, a park pass, and a credit card.
I was still mentally cataloging my assets (ibuprofen, a map, water...) when I sat down in the chair. And now, I thought, wheels!
Even though I had calmed myself, once I was actually in the chair, I cried for a little bit longer. And I felt shy. I expected people to stare. But there were so many people pushing other people around--in strollers or wheelchairs--and there were so many other things to see, that no one gave me a second thought.
All-in-all, Peter and I had a full and fun Day Three. Pete pushed me all over and he didn't mind it a bit. I sat in my chair (I was where I was) and I waited for him just as I usually would when he went on the non-Graychase-friendly rides.
I enjoy being in theme parks with Pete. Even though I can't go on the rides with him, I love how happy they make him. And I like sitting and watching and just being there. Being in a wheelchair didn't change that--in fact, it made it nicer in a way, because I never had to look for a seat.
I did quite a bit of shopping that day looking for thank you gifts for my cat-sitters. (Pete's not a great wheelchair driver, by the way; we nearly wrecked most of the stores we went in. But even that was kind of fun since nothing actually did get broken.) And I went on the ET ride. (It has a wheelchair icon in the map.)
And, it seems worth mentioning, that while I was sitting on the bench across from the Brown Derby asking for help, I was also sitting just a few feet away from the R2 unit in which I had encoded a secret message the day before.
That message, which I whispered to R2-D2 was, "Help me. You're my only hope." And as he always does, R2 came through.
As I'm sure so many proper, grown-up vacations do, ours originated from an ad in a comic book.
We were relaxing on our lanai a few weeks ago. I was obsessing over Pottery Barn catalogs and Peter was reading a comic book, which advertised the new Harry Potter theme park at Universal Studios. "That's a good price," we thought. "We should go."
It seemed crazy, and yet also began to seem possible. We really *should* go.
Thanks to my osteopath in Blue Hill, I have about 75% less pain on any given day than I did when we moved here. For the first time in almost five years, on most days, I can walk and sit and function at a level that almost approximates "normal." For my birthday, we tried a test-run weekend away in Bar Harbor, and I was able to walk! Sometimes for hours, so long as I took breaks. And I didn't throw up or get a migraine or fall to pieces. I was bright and happy--and even accidentally climbed up and then down Great Head (twice!).
Unfortunately, the test-run took a toll. I didn't get the flu-like symptoms I usually get from exertion, but I was, as Peter calls it, "blurged out" after we got home. Exhausted, limping, and in constant pain, I tried for a week to recover on my own, but it was looking more and more like I'd be going into our big vacation, which we'd already booked, severely hampered.
I didn't even have the strength to mow our lawn that week, which is something I do religiously when I'm well enough. I do 30 minutes a day and feel very proud of the fact that I'm able to do this now. (At the end of the week during which I was not physically able to mow, my father was kind enough to drop in and point out that my lawn was overgrown. He speculated that our (lovely new electric) lawn mower had failed us. But no, it's not that equipment that's faulty.)
Determined to do whatever I could to get well before the trip, I called my osteopath, who some clients call "Doctor Magic Hands," and during my lunch hour one day I made the drive to Blue Hill and he fixed me right up. Four days later when it was time to fly out, I was much better. Not back to where I was before the test-run, but at least back to what I think of as livable, a place where the pain and relative sickness are not a severe detriment. I think of this place as something just below what other people probably think of as normal, but which for me is a pretty rockin' state of affairs because it means I can do stuff. If I can get to just below Regular Normal--other people's normal--then I can use will power and optimism to actually function above a normal level. If that doesn't make sense to you, don't worry. The math I use to cobble together some approximation of wellness probably only makes sense to me and Peter. But hopefully you get the general idea. (Peter says I'm the original super trooper.)
What matters most for our purposes here is that for the first time in several years, I felt well enough to travel--and also, Peter got five days in a row off work.
Let the vacation commence. (Cue our vacation song: vay-cay-shun na-na-na-na-na nah!)
Air travel
The flight down was awful for me, as all plane flights are, but compared to what usually happens, it was actually fine. (Again with the math of relative okayness...) There was no throwing up, no passing out, no mean flight attendants forcing me to stay in my seat with a full bladder, and no crises of any kind, just anxiety and discomfort. We flew discount airline Allegiant, which Peter quite accurately described as being like "taking a bus through the clouds."While Allegiant Air cuts a lot of corners--you have to pay for everything from checked baggage to drinks and the luxury of sitting next to your traveling companion--Pete and I were both relieved to discover that in the event of a water landing, they had spared no expense. It was clear from our safety materials that should we be forced to land in the ocean, Tom Selleck would appear and produce a shank with which to cut our life raft free of the sinking airplane.
Too tired to deal with figuring out the GPS Niki had lent us--Peter's reticence was later explained when I realized he thought Niki had lent us her geocaching GPS and that using it would involve attempting to follow coordinates in the middle of the hot Florida night--we rolled old school and used a map and some road signs to get ourselves to our "final destination," Loew's Royal Pacific Resort at Universal Orlando about an hour from the Orlando/Sanford airport. (We have long suspected that there is a tunnel between Maine and Florida and it would seem we have found it. It pops out in Sanford, Florida, in case you were wondering.)
Travel tip: On the way to Universal, we stopped at a CVS and bought a case of water for less than five bucks. Cost of one bottle of water in the park? Almost $3. Cost of a bottle of water in our hotel room? $7. Approximate savings: Enough to cover our rental car for three days.
Vay-cay-shun!
Our hotel was a mixture of posh island-themed resort and Howard Johnson. Our beds were comfy. The view wasn't bad. The room service was outrageous. And we had our own personal Keurig with which to make our morning brew. Unfortunately, there were lots of early rising families on our floor, and they all slammed their heavy, reinforced firedoors in a cacophony of unpleasant banging starting around 7 a.m. every day. They also let their children run and scream in the halls at night. (Dear Parents: We hate you.)The lovely "lagoon-style" pool looked very nice and was very large. One poolside seating area was covered in white sand, simulating a beach environment. As we were choosing our place to camp out, I said to Peter, "Let's not sit there. I don't like getting sand on my bag." To which Peter replied, "Yeah, neither do I." This cracked us up for the next three days.
As lovely as it was, the pool was really designed for children. The deepest point was 4 feet 7 inches, making diving or any real swimming impossible. It also meant that it was hot as bathwater. And smack dab in the middle was a never-ending volleyball game played with several idiotic beach balls, thus isolating swimmers on either side of the game. One could only swim (being careful not to scrape one's knees on the rough bottom, usually a treacherous 36 inches from the surface) in a small circle on either side of the game. Whoever designed that pool was really not thinking.
To balance out the lack of cooling or swimming possibilities, there was poolside drink and food service til 9 p.m., though. We enjoyed some delicious drinks--Peter, I now know, likes blue cocktails--and mediocre overpriced food from the comfort of our poolside lounge chairs, as well as the upstairs sushi bar which didn't close until 11:00.
We made a mental note to see if we could find an adults-only resort on our next vacation. And then we went to play like children.
Fun time
The two theme parks, Islands of Adventure and Universal Studios were terrific. Our first stop--and, indeed, our reason for coming--was The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.This is Peter drinking a butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks.
We stood in line a long time to eat there, but my pear cider and Peter's butterbeer alone made it worth it. We each had fish and chips as it was the only food you didn't have to gnaw off a bone. Note: Harry Potter's Wizarding World is not particularly vegetarian-friendly. Also, they don't serve soft drinks because it wouldn't be authentic, only pumpkin juice and butterbeer--and Bud Light in its usual bright blue bottles. It was so incongruous to see all these parents walking around with both kids and open containers. What is this, mardi gras?
Best thing overheard on Day One: Parent to child (with an obviously injured hand), "I know it hurts! But get over here. We have to have fun."
Inside The Three Broomsticks
Attached to The Three Broomsticks is the Hog's Head. You're not allowed to sit down in the Hog's Head, but you can get a drink and take it out to the hot and steamy beer garden. This is the view of Hogwarts Castle from the Hog's Head beer garden:
Even though it was hot and humid, the snow on the rooftops of the village was so convincing, my brain got a little confused a couple of times and gave me a little chill.
One of the best parts of staying at a resort inside the park was that we could flash our room keys to use the Express Lane, which meant that we almost never had to wait on any lines at all, whereas the other fools had to wait and wait.
The "students" at Hogwarts wear robes and uniforms that look just like the ones in the movie. A very sweet Gryffindor allowed me to follow Peter all the way up to the front of the ride line--the portraits realistically move!--and then he took me on a sort of behind-the-scenes tour of the castle that wound up near the gift shop where riders would disembark. He said not many people get to see that part of the castle, so even though it was really just some dark hallways and an elevator, I felt a little special for having not been able to take the ride itself.
Pete, by the way, said the ride was great. It simulates a journey on a broomstick, apparently.
Hogwarts Castle
The next ride, Flight of the Hippogriff, was more tame, but my tummy had been upset all morning, so I wanted Peter to do it first and tell me how it was. Unfortunately, as I was wishing him well and sending him on into the Express Lane, the guys who checked passes started heckling me to go on the ride. I smiled and shook my head. I took a step back. Shrugged my shoulders. Said I didn't really feel like it just now. But they were relentless. I rubbed my belly and made a face to indicate I was feeling a little under the weather. Sadly, they mistook my gesture and congratulated me on my pregnancy. Since pregnant women aren't allowed on the ride, I then felt there would be no comfortable way for me to take the ride even if Peter got off it and said it was easy. I would either seem an unfit mother or I would have to embarrass those guys by telling them about their mistake.
The upside is that I do sometimes prefer to be mistaken for pregnant. This just wasn't necessarily one of those times.
This is Pete at the end of Flight of the Hippogriff, which I never did get to try, even though it turns out I probably would have enjoyed it.
Accessibility
Universal Studios has coded its park maps with handy symbols, letting visitors know such helpful things as whether there is an Express Lane available for a ride or whether or not a person in a wheelchair could go on the ride. Peter, ever helpful, figured out fairly quickly that if a ride had the wheelchair icon that, odds were, it was Graychase-friendly. So we sought out those rides for me. Like this one, Poseidon's Fury, which turned out to be my absolute favorite thing in the park. "Stand here, and things will happen!"
Because I wasn't feeling well, and because my bladder fills up every twenty minutes, regardless of what I'm doing or how much I drink, I also visited almost every restroom in both parks.
For instance, while Peter was riding this:
I was riding this:
And this was one of my favorite spots:
While Pete was here:
I was here:
For what it's worth, the bathrooms at Islands of Adventure are superior to the ones at Universal Studios.
Second best thing overheard on Day One: Parent to child through gritted teeth, "Ask me AGAIN. The ANSWER will be the SAME."
These feet were made for walking
Pete wore his sandals every day and now has some very sexy tan lines on his feet.
I wore my new vegan sneakers, which I purchased during our test-run in Bar Harbor. I really can't say enough good things about these sneakers. They are cute, light-weight, contain no animal ingredients, and are made partially from recycled tires. On top of that, they are SO comfortable. Even for little old special needs me with my wonky knee and crabby back, they were great--and it's *very* rare for me to find footwear that doesn't gank my knee after a short while, let alone three days of constant foot travel. Go buy some, I say! (I got mine at Cadillac Mountain Sports, but you can get them online, too.)
Public conveniences
After cruising through the rest of the park--I even went on another ride!--we returned late in the day to Hogsmeade to do some shopping. Earlier in the day, there had been a very, very, very long line to get into Ollivander's and Dervish and Banges where you could buy wands and robes and things.
I, of course, also made my third trip to the Public Conveniences.
There really wasn't anything great to be had at the gift shop. They were all sold out of Hermione's wand. There were some cauldrons, but they were actually made of cast iron and would have made a hell of a carry-on. The robes were actually pretty cool, but also pretty pricey. In the end I settled for some Hogwarts stationery.
Inside Ollivander's wand shop.
We had SO much fun. And this was only day one!
Universal Studios
Our second day, we took the lovely free water taxi along the canal from our hotel to Universal Studios. This was one of my favorite things to do--the ride was so smooth and calm, I didn't even get a little bit sick.
The first thing we did was watch a very entertaining, although not particularly educational, "demonstration" called "Horror Make-Up Show." Realistic fake knives with fake blood are cool.
When it was over, we were shunted into the gift shop for the Terminator 2 show, which is where I encoded a secret message into this R2 unit.
San Francisco really did look quite a bit like Fisherman's Wharf, and Amity did look quite a bit like the Cape, but Universal has this disturbing habit of crafting all these realistic-looking venues, like, say Ghirardelli Square, but then they turn out to be nothing but facades. You can't actually get any chocolate. Or anything at all. It's spooky. All these fake store fronts, dozens of them, carefully made up to look like the original...but then you can't go in. You can't even look in. What's in there??
It started to rain as we walked to lunch, but, as luck would have it, there was a somewhat Graychase-friendly lunch option at the bakery, so we took our meals out to eat at a picnic table under an umbrella on the fake Fisherman's Wharf. Given the large number of tourists walking around, it was virtually indistinguishable from the original, except there were no bread bowls and no sea gulls--and "Joy to the World" blared over and over out of a sound system.
Next up was Disaster, where we got to participate in the making of a fake disaster movie. As you may know, disaster movies are one of my favorite things. The more preposterous the better. AND it was set in San Francisco. So this was right up my alley. Also, it was wheelchair-friendly, which was Graychase-friendly, since it almost always meant, "sit-or-stand-here-and-things-will-happen!"
There was a lot of neat green-screening, a super-cool effect involving Christopher Walken that *still* has me feeling amazed, and in the end, we got to ride fake underground MUNI as a flood and some explosions took place, which was pretty fun and definitely Graychase-approved.
Later we saw fake Blues Brothers advertising a show starting soon. We walked quickly in the opposite direction.
We also saw Scooby and Shaggy and the Mystery Machine a couple of times.
All of the children in Brazil were in the park during our visit by the way, traveling in packs of about 20 grouped by brightly colored shirts and led by guides with matching flags.
Peter snapped this one of some monsters while I was in the loo:
He also snapped this one of the loo:
Day Two was really fun. I went on the Jaws ride and really enjoyed it, although the terrified three-year-old wailing behind me detracted a bit from the fun. (Dear parents: what were you thinking?)
Peter did the Mummy and we both did Twister...Ride it Out, which was kind of dull and soaked my backpack. (So *that's* what Helen Hunt's been doing since she won her Oscar...)
Because we had a whole other day to finish doing things, and because we were hot and tired, we left before dinner and went back to enjoy the pool and the resort.
Day Three: Bring What You Have
Day Three dawned brightly. We discovered that the clock in our room was actually one hour ahead, so all of a sudden we had time to make it down to the pricey breakfast buffet. It was a great spread, especially if you were a meat and/or gluten eater. I stuffed two yogurt/fruit/granola parfaits down my gullet, as well as a bagel with salmon, cream cheese, tomato, and capers. Pete had something southern like biscuits and gravy and sausage or something. (I try not to look too closely when he eats things made from dead mammals. We have a tacit agreement to call everything he eats when we're out together "tofu.") I also had a glass of papaya juice which I can thankfully only guess tastes exactly like warm donkey piss.Unfortunately, as soon as breakfast was over, I was incredibly sick. We stayed in the room and watched the second half of Wolfman, which we had brought with us. Thank you, Netflix! When I was finally ready to be parted for more than 15 minutes from a toilet, we braved the heat and walked down to the water taxi.
I was feeling really unwell. But totally rallied. We began by taking photos in front of the big, steaming Universal globe at the entrance to the park. This photo shows a little bit of how sick I was feeling:
And this one shows what I look like when I'm rallying.
Truth be told, we didn't make it very far into the park before I ran out of steam. We were in the I Love Lucy exhibit when I realized I couldn't walk much further. I felt very close to fainting. I felt so weak that, honestly, if it wouldn't have been so embarrassing to collapse there, I might not have fought it. I was so tired that the idea of being unconscious on that cool, scratchy, dirty carpet held a certain allure.
While Pete went inside the Brown Derby hat shop, I sat on a bench under my umbrella, put on my sunglasses, and cried. I am an athlete. I am young and able-bodied. I am an All-State soccer player. I am fit and healthy and active. How can it be that all of those things are no longer true? How can it be that I'm too sick to do three days of gentle theme park tourism? It's been true for years, but it still has the power to devastate me. Even now, my physical disabilities are as unexpected as looking down to find myself in chains. I still believe I am the girl I was before this happened. (And on the inside, I still am.)
Sitting there on the bench across from the Brown Derby hat shop, staring at the fake rasta hair hats and watching fake Marilyn Monroe sashay down the sidewalk, I prayed the very best prayer I know. "Help me," I said out loud. "Help."
Peter returned and sat next to me. There were no good hats in the Brown Derby hat shop. I took off my sunglasses and let him see my tears. I couldn't speak. I just looked into his warm brown eyes and gently shook my head.
He took my hand. And he smiled. "It's okay," he said. "It's not unexpected."
I had a decision to make. Give up and go back to the hotel. Force myself to find some way to get through. Or rent a wheelchair. The only healthy choice was to rent the wheelchair. And I'm proud to say that's what we did.
Knowing that I was feeling very ill, we had scoped out the wheelchair situation on the way into the park. For $12, I could have a wheelchair for the day. It wasn't a burdensome expense. The rental area was only about a five-minute walk from where I sat, roasting and weeping. But mentally...it was almost insurmountable. There have been lots of times in these past few years when I should have been confined to a wheelchair, when a wheelchair would have actually given me more freedom to be in the world than keeping my sick body home. But, perhaps you can understand...it felt like such a failure, such a terrible milestone to go into that chair. I have fought with all my might for years to keep out of a wheelchair.
But there was nothing for it. Short of some sort of life-threatening situation, nothing could have compelled my body to keep moving. And I didn't want to go back to the hotel. I wanted to have fun. And not in the way that that parent with the injured child felt determined to have fun. I really was still able to enjoy myself, I just wasn't able to walk. And we could fix that. We were already seeking out the wheelchair accessible rides for my general temperament; now it would just be more literal.
We made the decision on the bench. But I didn't even feel as though I could make the walk back to the rental area. We were going to send Peter back for it, but we knew they would need a deposit and I was the only one with a credit card on me. So, I stood up. I held onto Peter and I walked back toward the entrance of the park. I wept the whole way. Silently. Hidden beneath my umbrella and behind my sunglasses, I cried for what it all meant.
As we stood in line, I began to feel that I would never pull it together. It was just too crushing a blow to get into that chair. But I had asked for help sitting on the bench outside the Brown Derby, and it came. I don't know what happens when you pray, but when I ask for help or for guidance, what I usually see are words, flashed like a sign or floating on another layer of perception. What I saw there in that stroller and wheelchair rental line were these words, Bring what you have and Be where you are.
I read them each over. I closed my eyes and let them sink in. I took a deep breath. And exhaled.
Bring what you have. So I started taking inventory. What did I have? I had sorrow. Lots and lots of sorrow. I had self-pity. And grief. I had anger. Also some fear and irritation. I had discomfort, fatigue, shame. Because there was no Express Lane for wheelchair rentals, I had some time to stand in that line. And I used it to look around inside myself at everything I had. Finding each thing, naming it, knowing and welcoming it as a tool in my box, a gift--it helped. It is an act of love to accept oneself. It is an act of love to be curious about how you feel and what you need. I stood where I was, I breathed in and out, and I took my time. I felt around, got to know, and named what I had, one thing at a time. I welcomed all my feelings like people I loved and was glad to see. Through the act of asking, What do I have? and the act of answering, I soothed myself.
And in addition to my feelings, I realized I had quite a few other useful things, not the least of which were Peter, a park pass, and a credit card.
I was still mentally cataloging my assets (ibuprofen, a map, water...) when I sat down in the chair. And now, I thought, wheels!
Even though I had calmed myself, once I was actually in the chair, I cried for a little bit longer. And I felt shy. I expected people to stare. But there were so many people pushing other people around--in strollers or wheelchairs--and there were so many other things to see, that no one gave me a second thought.
All-in-all, Peter and I had a full and fun Day Three. Pete pushed me all over and he didn't mind it a bit. I sat in my chair (I was where I was) and I waited for him just as I usually would when he went on the non-Graychase-friendly rides.
Pete waiting to get onto The Simpsons Ride.
I took this one from my wheelchair sitting in the shade of a palm tree.
I took this one from my wheelchair sitting in the shade of a palm tree.
I enjoy being in theme parks with Pete. Even though I can't go on the rides with him, I love how happy they make him. And I like sitting and watching and just being there. Being in a wheelchair didn't change that--in fact, it made it nicer in a way, because I never had to look for a seat.
I did quite a bit of shopping that day looking for thank you gifts for my cat-sitters. (Pete's not a great wheelchair driver, by the way; we nearly wrecked most of the stores we went in. But even that was kind of fun since nothing actually did get broken.) And I went on the ET ride. (It has a wheelchair icon in the map.)
And, it seems worth mentioning, that while I was sitting on the bench across from the Brown Derby asking for help, I was also sitting just a few feet away from the R2 unit in which I had encoded a secret message the day before.
That message, which I whispered to R2-D2 was, "Help me. You're my only hope." And as he always does, R2 came through.
[Cue Star Wars theme song. Roll credits.]
posted by Naomi at 12:00 PM
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