Eeeeeeeeep! 1 days and 8 hours until I’m off to Disney!!!
#respect #different #abilities #visible #disability
(Source: iammyfather-sdaughter, via seananmcguire)
Seanan's Tumblr: Disney Magic is for everybody. -
There’s an article going around right now about how “upper crust moms” will rent handicapped guides for trips to Disney World, thus allowing them to skip queues and generally have their fun without waiting in line like everybody else. Naturally, this is upsetting to almost everyone who sees it,…
This makes me so very sad :( Disney is about Magic! I don’t care that some people cheat that’s their own karma - leave them be- I have family members whom could use the handicap pass- we just don’t feel we need to and they should be saved for others that cannot accommodate . This in no way means we get to judge the ones we see however!!! Some people’s disabilities may lay inside- we should be a little more understanding and caring in Disney the Magic is even better when you become part of it!!! Be Kinder Be More understanding LIVE THE HAPPILY EVER AFTER NO MATTER WHO YOU ARE!!!!
THIS IS A FUCKING WOMBAT OMFG
wombat nananananananananana wombat
Reblogging because the power of the wombat compels me.
I do not normally advocate keeping wild animals indoors.
I still want a wombat.
Wombats give no fucks.
Drawing Rarity: SRS BUSINESS
Me and a baby fan at Flying Colors comics yesterday. She’d brought her own markers and said she wanted to draw with me.
Why I love her… Your awesome Amy ;)
Most upsetting gif.
Oh my god this is killing me. I want to hang this gif on the wall of wear it on a shirt.
I can’t stop watching it, it’s magical
This might be my favorite gif in a very long time.
(Source: gifmyass, via fringe-element)
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost. —
Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via oliviacirce)
I wanna live inside this story.
I can’t reblog this poem enough, I adore it.