Handicap prophesy

Several months ago the doors in our garage access to the elevators were newly equipped with motors and buttons for ADA compliance.  What I find odd is that the majority of non-handicapped people I see will push the button, even if doing so is no faster, even sometimes slower, than using a few extra calories to turn the handle and push the door open.  When I don't have a bag of groceries for instance - which with my cane in the other hand makes the handicap entrance a definite and useful help - I will normally open the door the 'old-fashioned' way, thankful for the extra tiny bit of exercise, physical therapy, and moment to wake up and be mindful - am I in a hurry, am I stressed about that email?  Or that phone call?

Similarly, back in my 'young and healthy' days, I would often walk the stairs instead of riding the elevator or escalator.  Actually, come to think of it, I would do that as often as not in our old apartment where we lived on the second floor:  cane held under my arm, steadying myself with the handrail.  Again, if I didn't have a bag of groceries.  But now on the 15th floor, the only time I walk it is during a fire alarm, of which we've had two so far.

The stock photo above came with the caption 'only in America,' which sounds like a German or Dutchman, more unctuous and smarmy even, perhaps, than this blog poster.  And though the escalator riding individuals in the picture don't necessarily look headed to the gym - no spandex or sweatpants - they don't look very handicapped either.  Or encumbered with shopping bags.  Perhaps they will go to the gym later.  What is it that keeps us using these labor saving technologies, when obesity is on the rise, and fossil fuel consumption endangers the ability of this planet to sustain life?  Instead, can we revel in the natural wonder and miracle of the movements of our bodies - even a human body afflicted with MS?  As I type, I am sitting on my butt, of course, and thinking about how this week 'got away from me' and I only made it to the gym once.  And perhaps it is a challenging progressive neurological condition that has allowed me to see the beauty of movement, even as my own mobility seems to be gradually diminishing.  You don't know what you've got till it's gone...

I encourage us all to hear the music of our prosaic motions - even at times when they may sound discordant or off-key - and take the stairs or turn the handle and open the door.