For much of the summer, my family and I have been without a dwelling. This is not to say we haven’t had homes. We have made a home wherever we have landed, and each place has taught us something. In fact, my singer/songwriter husband, Ben Thomas, even wrote a song depicting the essence and lesson of each place, from the RV campsite on Morro Bay to the sheltering trees of Yosemite to the resort-style campsite at Mt. Shasta to the windy Oregon coast to the 2nd floor of my parent’s home in the Cascade mountains.
Visual description: Joy with Yellow Lab guide dog, and two daughters, walking along trail in Yosemite National Park with El Capitan looming in the distance.
The 4 of us humans, 5 beating hearts including Roja, are a tight-knit little unit that has bonded together over the past 4 years as we navigated new territory in SoCal after leaving our established lives in the Midwest. I like to think that offers us some security as we try to ground ourselves during these very uncertain times, both in our personal lives and the world.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the word “dwell”, both in terms of the first definition usually listed, “live in or at a specified place” and also of the 2nd definition “to think, speak or write at length about a particular subject, especially one that is a source of unhappiness, anxiety or dissatisfaction”.
I have somehow mastered the incarnation of the latter definition, as I descend from a long line of ruminators, dating at least as far back as my beloved grandpa Bob. But probably much further. Based on the lamentations of poets and storytellers over the past couple thousand years, rumination is more of a human condition than a genetic defect or anomaly. Some of us just practice it more than others.
As a person living with RP, the opportunities to practice dwelling present themselves quite often.
The most head-spinning practice opportunities seem to arrive right when I’m most relaxed, when my guard is down and I’m least expecting it. One such encounter occurred a couple weeks ago as my husband, Ben and I celebrated our anniversary.
Visual description: Joy and Ben looking over the Icicle Creek River at Sleeping Lady Resort in Washington State.
Thanks to a gift from my 3 generous sisters, we were sitting on the outdoor deck at an upscale restaurant, getting served plate after plate of mouth-watering gourmet food. Besides the occasional joking and chatting with our bubbly server who I imagined smiling underneath her mask, we were surrounded only by the sounds of the nearby rushing river and the gentle rustling of trees kissing in the breeze (okay, and also intermittent slurping sounds from the lone woman sitting at a table 6 ft. from ours. Very strange and distracting.)
Amid this (mostly) quiet setting, Ben and I were relaxing like 2 newlyweds without a care in the world. And considering there are so very many cares in this world right now, it felt a bit like hitting “pause” for an hour or so. Bubbly server came with our next course— soup and salad. I picked up my glass of water to take a sip, and was careful to set my glass down gently, in the same place it had been. What I didn’t see was that the server had set my bowl of corn bisque basil soup in the exact place where my water glass had just been, so I had set my entire glass of water in the middle of my soup.
(Note: Fans of the movie, “Inside Out”, I have a fun little story for you today! As you may know, the movie is based on “Internal Family Systems” a therapy model that invites you to go inward and explore how all the different parts of you are thinking and feeling. The movie depicted the parts as “emotions” like joy, anger, sadness and disgust, which is often how parts show up. In this short recap of my morning, I note the differences in how parts of me are feeling about the same situation.)
Joy, 9-year-old daughter and guided dog walk uphill toward school.
“Shall I bring my chai tea with me?” I pondered this morning (because one always uses words like ‘shall’ and ‘ponder’ at 7:15am while trying to get out the door to walk your 3rd grader to school). Anyone who uses a cane or guide dog understands the need for just ONE more hand to carry objects or hold the hand of your child since one hand is always grasping the handle of a cane or harness. But alas, there were no extra hands to be found, as my husband left early this morning and my daughter needed to pull her wheeled backpack on our 20 minute uphill route to school. Plus, I reminded myself, my daughter would not be with me on the way back down the hill after dropping her off at her classroom, so I really couldn’t ask her to carry anything extra.
It was the warm, smooth feel of the piping hot travel mug on a cool California morning that made the final decision. The mug of sweet, spicy chai with a slight boost of caffeine was coming with me. Sure, I would have no extra hand to leash cue my guide dog, check my phone (which lay snugly in my small crossover coin purse draped over my shoulders), nor press the traffic light button. And it would take some fancy handy-work to reach into my sweatshirt pocket for kibble to treat my guided dog, Roja, at corners. But having that steaming cup of tea on this gray morning would be worth it.
My 9-year-old, who transforms into a chatterbox of theories on everything from how french fries probably got their name to whether life on other planets exists, and I strolled casually up the hill, talking away. Until we were about 2 blocks from the school and realized we only had 5 minutes to make it the rest of the way. So we paused the philosophizing and started walking at a brisk pace.
After hugging her goodbye with 30 seconds to spare, Roja and I began the trek back home, and it was only then that I realized I hadn’t even taken a sip of my chai tea yet. Not wanting to waste my efforts, I decided I better make carrying it worth it and take a sip. Apparently it must be a very insulated travel mug, as the tea was still hot enough to burn my lip. I left the lid slightly open as I walked to help cool it down, splashing little bits of chai on myself as I walked. After several minutes, it was cool enough to sip (hooray!) It had also steeped for 25 minutes and was extremely strong. So I halted Roja again and took the tea bag out.
But what to do with the dripping wet tea bag? The lazy part of me was tempted to just toss it in the grass to the side of the walkway, but the conscientious part of me didn’t want to litter (plus, there were a million cars driving in and out of the school car line who could easily see me tossing trash to the side and pass judgment). Since I still didn’t have a 3rd hand to carry anything else with, I strategically maneuvered my fingers to grasp both the mug and the dripping tea bag at once. I was sure there would be a garbage can somewhere on the route home.
With mug, tea bag and harness handle in hands, Roja and I continued our walk down the hill. Until several steps later when Roja made it clear she needed to relieve. I carefully set down the mug and tea bag, lifted her harness off her and took her to the grassy area next to the sidewalk. Roja did her business and, after sniffing around for a couple minutes, was ready to work again. I picked up the tea bag, mug, harness handle and leash and headed for the stoplight, where I managed to drop the handle and hold the leash with my arm while pressing the walk signal. As we waited for the light to change, I felt my purse vibrating and realized I was getting a call. I knew I could ignore it but the anxious part of me that remembered how an ambulance came to the school just yesterday due to a playground injury didn’t want to miss the call. Again, I held the leash with my arm, fumbled to give Roja a quick treat for stopping at the corner, unzipped my little crossover purse and answered my phone. It was an ad. I quickly stuffed it back in, realizing it was time to cross the street, picked up the handle and gave Roja the forward command. Having walked this route many times, I knew there were garbage cans near the shops I was nearing but couldn’t remember exactly where.
“Roja, find garbage,” I said, not quite sure if we were that close to one. Apparently we were not, as she just kept walking. Then I remembered the garbage at the corner near the pool. “Roja right”
Finally, the garbage can was just steps away, and I could responsibly throw away my chai tea bag without littering. I dropped the leash handle for a moment and grabbed the long string dangling from the soggy mass. Only it slipped through my fingers on to the ground. For anyone with 180 degrees of vision, this little drop would be no big deal. You would simply glance down, pick up the tea bag, toss it in the can and be on your way. But for anyone with sight loss, you understand the utter frustration of kneeling down and feeling all around for something you JUST had, only to find it has vanished from existence. Seriously? Did I just walk 20 minutes downhill grasping this dripping thing so that I could properly dispose of it, only to drop it on a cement sidewalk where one of our many neighborhood dogs could come upon it and get ill from ingesting it. The irritated, impatient part of me just wanted to forget about it and walk home. Dogs eat weird crap all the time. Would a chai tea bag really be so bad?
But that annoying, responsible part of me who speaks up at the very worst times required me to keep kneeling, sweeping my hand all around me in search of the tea bag. I shifted my weight slightly to readjust and pick Roja’s leash back up, as she had started to wander and felt something under my foot. Could it be? Could this search finally be over so I could return home and get to work?
I was never so happy to feel a cold, damp clump in my hands!
I tossed it in the garbage, picked up the handle and walked home. As I walked in my front door, the same place where only about an hour earlier I had made the split second decision to bring my mug of tea with me, I took my 3rd sip of tea. “Totally worth it,” the grateful part of me thought. All other parts remained silent.
In honor of our 40th birthdays, we’ve come up with 4 lessons we’ve learned over our 40 years of growing and living with sight loss.
Cheers to 40!
Community is essential. We live in a society in which independence is highly valued and misunderstood. Going it alone is often idealized while interdependence is minimized. We value connection and we love our tribe
Knowing when to lead and when to follow is part of finding your ease. Mobility for people with vision loss can bring up tricky questions like: Should i use a cane even though I can see decently well at times? Would a guide dog help me move about more quickly and easily? Should I take someone’s arm as I walk into the restaurant tonight? How should I respond when someone tries to grab my arm and steer me around or offers unsolicited help? Learning when to lead and when to follow is part of the journey.
Insight is one of the strongest forms of seeing. Our society places a lot of importance on physical sight, yet when we use our “third eye” to look inward, we can see ourselves and the world around us in new and beautiful ways. It takes a little bit of silence, a little bit of stillness and a whole lot of practice to find vision in the non-physical.
Dishwashers should never be left open. Our shins have 40 years worth of stories to tell.
I come from a large extended family. I am one of 4 children and my mom is the oldest of 9, so warm bodies have never been sparse on the holidays, even after half the fam moved to the Northwest. And my husband’s family, though initially smaller, has grown exponentially the past few years, both with new littles and adopted extended members, so no shortage there either. I also come from families of doers and helpers on both sides— everyone pitches in by bringing a dish to pass, assists with food prep before the meal and form s a cleaning assembly line of sorts afterwards. Continue reading “Just Keep Tossing The Salad: Blind Survival Skills in a Bustling Holiday Kitchen”→
photo description: A woman’s face (Joy!) is morphed with a man’s beard and hairline (Ben!). If you cannot visually see this photo, consider yourself fortunate, as it is fairly disturbing!
I was reminded of Benjamina last night when a cable salesman came to our door. Fortunately, we now use Netflix and don’t even have to deal with Giant Cable Company any longer, but friends still teasingly call me Benjamina from time to time, especially when there is trickery involved. Please enjoy the legendary tale of Benjamina..]
June was a month filled with travel for me. As I maneuvered my way around bustling airports and unfamiliar hotels, my marshmallow-tipped white cane leading the way, I encountered the joys and challenges of blind travel. While the majority of the public are respectful and kind, there are some rare “gems” that inspired me to write another round of thank you notes.
Dedicated to my Daring sisters who met me in Salt Lake City in early June and know how to find the humor in blind travel.
Thank you public restrooms, for having such a variety of flushing mechanisms, causing me to fumble around in a small area where the dirtiest of germs are lurking on every possible surface. I am especially grateful for the toilets that flush before I have even finished doing my business.
Yours Truly,
On the Go Joe
Thank you stranger on my left, for keeping pace with me as I walk to baggage claim. Yes, YOU, the one who thinks that I cannot see you slowing down when I slow down, and speeding up when I speed up. Thank you for being my silent companion, ensuring that I get safely to my destination.
Gratefully,
Peeping Back at You Tom
Dearest Airport Security, Words can hardly express how thankful I am for your awkward gestures, vague instructions, and patronizing tone. I may not have graduated from the same Ivy League college as you, so I am grateful that you talk to me as if I am 5 years old. The way you instantly turn on your baby voice and say “good girl, good girl” as I walk through the screening process makes me wonder if you are about to tickle my chin. But instead, you swipe my palms and send me on my way with a look that assures me of your pity.
There’s something deeply satisfying about completing a stack of thank you notes. So I can’t help but continue to write more. Hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them!
Thank you mannequins, uh, I mean, excuse me. I mean, I’m sorry I bumped you. Wait. You’re not a real person?
My friends have always played an important part in my journey through life. In college, time with girlfriends often involved dressing up in black pants paired with a flirty top to explore Seattle’s night life. Over the years it evolved into meeting up for martinis after work, and flying to Vegas for bachelorette parties. These days, we often opt for yoga pants and a bottle of wine in someone’s quiet, childless living room while pretending to discuss a book that no one actually finished reading. And I picture my future self with these same “girls”, sharing photos of grandkids while drinking tea following a 4 o’clock supper date. Continue reading “Friendship & Yet Another Airport Tale”→
If there’s one thing our mom taught us, it’s to write thank you notes. When we were kids, we absolutely could NOT play with our new toys until those thank you notes were sealed and dropped into the mailbox. So when late night show host Jimmy Fallon started writing satirical thank you notes in front of a live audience, we knew our mother would applaud. Then we read author and blogger, Jen Hatmaker’s mommy thank you notes, and we developed a conspiracy theory that our mother was somehow behind this thank you writing trend.
That got us thinking…has anyone written thank you notes from blind people? We haven’t seen any. But if we missed it, please let us know, and we will start working on our apology notes immediately.
Thank you dishwasher, for always being wide open when I’m plowing through the kitchen. I love how you announce your presence by pushing abruptly into my shins.
BAM! If there’s one thing Joy and I LOVE to do, it’s LAUGH. Sometimes we need reminders not to take ourselves too seriously, and that’s why we love this post by Lori Linna!
Wow, what an honor it is to be invited to post here in Doublevisionblog. My name is Lori Linna, I live in Wisconsin with my husband, two children and a crazy dog. The following is very similar to a post I did elsewhere and was asked to share it in honor of Blindness Awareness Month. For the record, I have RP as well as a hearing loss.
Stand-up comedian Jeff Foxworthy is known for his redneck jokes. One of my favorites goes something like this, “If your lawn furniture is also your living room furniture, you might be a redneck. “
It occurred to me a similar comedy routine could be used for those of us who have poor eyesight. While being blind is not funny, some of the situations we find ourselves in are easier to tolerate if we can find some humor in them. For the purpose of today’s post, I will use the term ‘low vision’ in place of the word redneck.
