On ticks and ticket brokers

Mom and I spent the day at the national fish and wildlife refuge run by my uncle/godfather.

He has been there 10 years and one of the many things he did was put in wheelchair accessible pathways. I have always meant to go, but he is leaving for a new job at the end of the month. So I had to make it now or never.

Better late than never. It was great. I could go anywhere the paths went, and they went almost everywhere.

The only potential hazards: fox poop and turtle nests. More than once, there were baseball-size holes in the packed-gravel path. Real smooth holes. My uncle said turtles dug them, laid eggs and the little guys are left to fend for themselves. I frankly don't know how we still have turtles.

I didn't see any other wheelchair users -- we hardly saw anyone really -- but that's not really the point. You can have a gathering or go hiking in the refuge and not have to worry that your friend or brother or sister might not be able to come because it isn't accessible.

It's like Clemyjontri Park, a wheelchair-accessible playground for kids in McLean. I have been a handful of times and it has always bugged me that I am the only wheelchair user there. I am being stupid, I know. That isn't the point. The point of the park, I suspect, is that kids in chairs can do everything there that their more able-bodied friends can. It's not like there has to be someone in a chair to make Clemyjontri work. It's just there if some kid in a chair wants to go to a park.

I have been thinking about accessibility because this story from the Minnesota Star-Tribune has been sitting open on my browser for a week: Sweet seats, except they're for fans with disabilities.

I found it via WHEELIE cATHOLIC. Apparently, the Twins new stadium has almost 800 seats for people with disabilities. Great! The problem is that those seats are finding their way into the hands of ticket brokers. Bad!

What I was surprised at when I first read the story was how many commenters seemed to think that people who are disabled should not have reserved seats. Unless every seat is accessible, you really have to do that. Jerks.

The trip to the refuge was almost perfect; just one problem: ticks. I didn't get any.

Mom picked off some. Claren had a few, not a great testimonial to Frontline, which I gave her less than two weeks ago. But me not a one, at least that I felt.

Even blood-sucking parasites shun me. Is it any wonder my self-esteem stinks? Ticks are now on the list.