Safe & Sound blog

Here I am, composing this blog as I sit at my gate at Bergstrom International Airport in Austin. Hanni just made good use of the airport dog park, if you know what I mean, and is now resting happily at my feet. And me? I’ve got headphones attached to my ears as I type away at my talking computer.

It’s official. I’m a geek.

I suppose I’ve been influenced by the conference I just attended. John Slaten Access University, (Access U) is an annual conference/workshop about accessible technology – it’s put on by a non-profit in Austin called Knowbility. A few years ago I sat on a panel with Knowbility’s Executive Director and co-founder Sharron Rush. Ever since then, Sharron has been trying to get me down to Austin to speak at Access U.

This year it finally happened. Easter Seals agreed to fund my trip as part of the Technology Opportunities Project (TOP) grant I worked on with them. I gave a speech about the TOP grant on Tuesday — my mission was to show attendees the many ways accessible websites can really make a difference in a person’s life. It was an easy speech to give – all I had to do was tell the truth! Thanks to the efforts of programmers and website developers who value the importance of accessibility for the blind, I google to do my research, I’m able to fill out online forms on my own, I flip through websites to find information about events, times, locations and on and on. All that stuff the rest of you do using your eyes and a mouse? I do that by using my ears and keyboard commands.

And hey, without website accessibility, I wouldn’t be able to blog. Hmmm. Not sure that’s a plug for or against accessibility for the blind!

In addition to giving a speech, I attended a few sessions at Access U, too. It was heartening to be around so many people with an active interest in keeping the web accessible.

All in all I had a great time. Hanni, too. She wasn’t the only guide dog in the bunch this time – she shared the spotlight with two other guides who were there helping their own blind partners. I have a funny feeling the guide dogs exchanged secrets under the desktops while we blind geeks typed away at our computers.

Uh-oh. They just called our flight. Gotta go. Here’s hoping there are no storms in Chicago this time!

Last Wednesday Hanni and I took a commuter train to St. Pius X — a Catholic School in the Chicago suburbs. my nephew Ben’s kids go there, their great aunt came to talk and answer questions for Riley, Haley, Colin and their schoolmates. And then yesterday Hanni and I boarded a commuter train again, this time I talked to kids at the West Suburban Montessori School in Oak Park.

The questions kids ask from school to school vary, but whether we’re at a city school, a country school, a public school, whatever, one thing they all want to know is this: how old is Hanni? The answer always gets the same response from the audience– Eight-year-olds squeal with joy to discover Hanni is the same age they are.

Sometimes the kids want to know how old she is in human years, too. Turns out the idea that every dog year equals seven human years is a myth. Hanni is not 56 in human years yet. Not according to a converter on a Flat- Coated Retriever site, at least.

“To work out the human age of a dog or other pets many people will multiply their age by seven years. This is not that accurate, as differing breeds of dogs will age at differing rates. For example, many smaller breeds of dogs such as a west highland terrier will live well into their late teens, whilst larger dogs may only live to about ten years. “

Did you catch that “whilst” word in there? That website is from Britain, and my talking computer reads it using a robotic British accent. It’s like having Michael Caine at my fingertips. Imagine.

But back to dog years. The site points out that dogs mature quickly in their early years – a medium-sized dog (Hanni weighs 63 pounds) will be 14 human years by their first birthday, a two-year-old dog her size is the equivalent of a 21-year-old human. No wonder Hanni was so goofy when I met her. She was about to turn 21!

Thereafter for every actual year, add on…5 years for a medium dog breed or 7 years for a large dog breed.

Big dogs age faster? I’ll stick with calling Hanni a medium-size dog. That means she’s 51 in human years.

Hanni and I don’t have any more school visits scheduled for this academic year — our upcoming events are more for grown-ups. At each of these, I plan to announce this new calculation of Hanni’s age in human years. We’ll see if all the 51-year-olds squeal with the same exuberance those eight-year-olds do.

The guy at Logan Airport security recognized Hanni. “Didn’t you guys come through here this afternoon already?”

We did. But shortly after our 5:15 flight left the jetway, the storms started in Chicago. So we sat on the runway. It wasn’t until I heard the landing gear come out near O’Hare that I found the courage to count the total time Hanni and I had been on board. Nine hours.

The pilot gave us periodic updates on the storm while we waited. He welcomed us to listen to the air traffic controllers on our headsets. As awful as it all was, just sitting there, waiting, I must say: in a very odd way, the ordeal was uplifting, too. The passengers, and the crew, and the pilots, were all good people. No one got belligerent. No one broke into the liquor. No one squatted in the aisle to defecate in protest.

Now, Hanni might have wanted to squat in the aisle, but she held it in. Until 9:15, that is. That’s when the pilot announced that all flights in and out of O’Hare had been grounded. We went back to the jetway.

Our flight still wasn’t cancelled, the pilot told us. “Feel free to get off the plane to stretch your legs,” he announced over the loudspeaker. “But don’t go too far from the gate.”

I ignored that warning. We couldn’t stay close. Hanni had to go outside! My wonderful, loyal, brave and patient Seeing Eye dog held her own while phone calls were made to determine whether the security gate was already closed, could Hanni and I get back to our flight if we left the airport for a bit, what are FAA regulations on this, blah, blah, blah. A very kind Logan employee finally came to our rescue, accompanying Hanni and me outside the security area. Once outside, we took three quick steps to the right, and…relief! Right there on the cement sidewalk.

Hanni was much lighter on her feet when we went through security that second time. She and I were back to the gate in plenty of time to board again, the plane pulled away from the jetway, and there we sat. For two-and-a-half more hours.

By this time, the passengers were all getting to know each other. Prohibited from talking endlessly into handheld phones, or pounding away on laptop keyboards, or engaging our thumbs in text messaging, well, we entertained ourselves the old-fashioned way. Talking. To each other. Imagine. Conversations. With real people. Like I say, it was downright uplifting.

Many commented on Hanni’s stellar behavior. Eventually I had Hanni lead me to the back of the plane. I took off her harness then and encouraged anyone who wanted to pet her to come on back. I think it helped all concerned. Maybe after Hanni retires from her current job she can volunteer as an airplane therapy dog.

Move over Marlee. Flo is back.

After spending a month last winter in the hospital mending from cracked ribs and a fractured pelvis, my mom celebrated her 92nd birthday doing what she loves: dancing.

Flo fell in her apartment in December. She went through rehab at the hospital, then had a physical therapist come to the house for a while. Since then, she’s been rehabbing on her own, going through the exercises prescribed by the physical therapist every day, and adding a bit more on her own. One day she would take a couple steps with her walker, the next she’d head down to get her mail by herself. She figured out how to get down the hall with a walker to do her laundry, how to take the garbage out, how to get outside on her own when my sistr Cheryl came by to help her run errands.

Last weekend, Flo joined us in Louisville to celebrate her birthday. She danced. Both Friday and Saturday nights. A highlight: on Friday night a complete stranger approached and asked her to the dance floor. She is still beaming. “He was a good dancer!”

Note: one does not have to be able to see to tell if someone else is beaming. You can feel it in the air.

My dog did not join Flo on the dance floor –Hanni has two left feet. Hanni did honor Flo when we all got back to the hotel, though. I shared a hotel bed with Flo, and when the belle of the ball climbed into bed next to me Saturday night, she couldn’t help but boast. “Hanni is sleeping on my side of the bed tonight,” Flo whispered.

I wasn’t surprised. Hanni has a nose for talent.

Kids – and adults –often ask if Hanni goes right on the plane with me when we travel. She does.

On board, she sits with her butt under the seat in front of me, her head cradled between my feet. She’ll be doing exactly that on Sunday, when we fly home from Louisville. Before that, though, she will have been on four long car rides (she sits at my feet at the front passenger seat), two train rides and one bus ride. Planes, trains, and automobiles. Buses, too. All in one week! Hanni’s a trooper.

Our big travel week started with a speech to honor volunteers at the Mid-Illinois Talking Book Center in East Peoria on Monday. When I couldn’t find convenient transportation to and from that event, my niece Janet offered to drive. Baby Flo – Janet’s youngest daughter — came along, so we made sure to find a hotel with an indoor pool. Hanni and Baby Flo are just about the same height, so they had lots to talk about. We had fun!

On Tuesday Hanni and I boarded a train from Chicago to East Lansing, Michigan. This morning I gave a motivational speech to diabetes and kidney advocates before they took off to talk to state legislators. Along with blindness and leg amputation, kidney failure is another major complication of long term – or poorly controlled – diabetes. After the speech and a very lively book signing, Hanni and I got on a bus headed to Battle Creek. We caught a train there, and now, here I am, typing away from my seat on the train. Hanni is sleeping at my feet — she’s wise to get a few winks in, because tomorrow we leave again. My sister Cheryl is picking us up for this leg of our weeklong trip, and Flo and another sister – Bobbie –will come along.

They’ll be with us when Hanni and I give a talk at my great-nephew Grant’s school in Indianapolis on Friday morning. From there, we all take off to meet our other two sisters Marilee and Bev in Louisville, and Sister’s Weekend begins!

Every year my four sisters and I (and Flo, our honored guest) get together somewhere or another to celebrate our sisterhood,and we choose a book to read that has something to do with our locale. You know, Sister’s Book Club. This year’s book is a bit of a stretch. After visiting Long Island last month I found myself wanting to read The Great Gatsby again. When I went to order it, the notes said Jay Gatsby courted Daisy Buchanan in…Louisville. So that’s the book.

My brother Doug will provide appropriate Gatsby-esque music for the weekend. Doug lives in Louisville, and he’s a sought-after jazz trombonist. we’ll hear his band the West Market Street Stompers play on Friday night, and then on Saturday night Doug performs in a big band. On a riverboat!

The riverboat we’ll be cruising on is 92 years old — the exact age Flo will be this Sunday, April 20. If you know my family you know we’ll start celebrating a day early. Dancing. To a big band. On a riverboat!
So yikes! I guess you can add “boat” to the list of transportation Hanni – and I – will ride this week

Tomorrow is National ASPCA Day — that stands for the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals – and Hanni and I are getting the ball rolling by making a huge announcement.

And no, smarty pants. The announcement is not that I’ve learned the html code to bold words in my blog. I mean, as exciting as html coding can be, it ain’t nothing (note italics) compared to this news from the ASPCA:

OUR BOOK JUST WON A BIG-TIME AWARD!

It’s called the Henry Bergh Children’s Book Award, and a press release from ASPCA says it best:

Named in honor of ASPCA founder Henry Bergh, the annual awards recognize books based on their exemplary handling of subject matter pertaining to animals and the environment.

The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals was founded in 1866 and is the first humane organization established in the Americas. It has more than one million supporters throughout North America.

iow, the Henry Bergh Award is a huge deal. And a tremendous honor. Hanni and I are traveling to the American Library Association’s Annual Conference in Anaheim to accept the award at a special ceremony on June 30. I already bought a new dress. Hanni, of course, will have her nails done for the occasion.

The Sweet Potato Queen was one of the top speakers at the Arkansas Literary Festival last weekend. The Sweet Potato Queen’s’ Book of Love came out in 1999, and two subsequent titles (The Sweet Potato Queens’ Field Guide to Men: Every Man I Love is Either Married, Gay, or Dead and The Sweet Potato Queens’ Big-Ass Cookbook) were New York Times® #1 bestsellers.

And so, you may have heard of the Sweet Potato Queen, aka, Jill Connor Brown. Chances are you have never heard of Kyle Jennings, though. Kyle is married to the Sweet Potato Queen and is known to her readers as simply the “Cutest Boy in the World.”

I may not be able to vouch for his good looks, but I can say this: that Kyle guy sure is nice.

My friend Nancy led Hanni and me to our panel Saturday morning. A festival volunteer guided us to our noontime presentation at the Arkansas Historical Museum. Nancy wasn’t all that interested in the Sweet Potato Queen, so she took off after helping me to a seat at Jill Connor Brown’s presentation later that afternoon.

When Kyle Jennings saw Hanni and me sitting alone, he stopped to ask if we needed anything. I knew he and the Sweet Potato Queen were staying in the same hotel we were, so I made a confession: I had no idea what the route back to our hotel was.
Kyle said he’d be glad to walk Hanni and me there after the presentation. “But we’ll have to wait until Jill is done signing books.”

The Sweet Potato Queen is popular. VERY popular. Women stood in line for, hmm, at least an hour to get Jill to sign copies of various Sweet Potato Queen titles.

So while Jill signed away, Hanni and I waited outside on a bench. Sunshine, birds singing…it couldn’t get better than this.

But then, it did.

Kyle Jennings saw us outside and approached our bench. “Mind if I sit with you?” he asked. I scooted over, and, of course, we got to talking. He spoke lovingly about their own dogs. One is a rescue dog who had been hit by a car and left to die. A leg had to be amputated as a result of the accident. They named the dog Sosti, Kyle said. “Sost means ‘three’ in Ethiopian.”
We traded all sorts of stories after that. Eventually I unbuckled Hanni’s harness. She needed a break.
“Can I pet her now?” Kyle asked. I thought he would jump out of his shoes when I said yes. He ended up taking Hanni for a walk, picking up after her when she emptied, finding a bottle of water and cutting off the top so she could get a drink. How they bonded.

The Sweet Potato Queen sounded exhausted when she finally came out to join us. We all took off for the hotel, but after one block Jill asked if Kyle and I wouldn’t mind going on without her. “I’m going to duck in this gallery and rest,” she said. “I can’t walk that far in these heels!” She asked Kyle to pick some things up for her from their hotel room – he’d come back with the car.

And so, Hanni and I proceeded on, our heads held high. After all, we were being escorted to our fancy-schmancey Little Rock hotel by the cutest boy in the world.

Hanni and I head to the Arkansas Literary Festival this weekend – we’re doing one session for children, then sitting on a panel called Dogs and Their People.

With us on the panel? None other than Sonny Brewer.

I first met Sonny Brewer at an Arkansas Literary Festival years ago. I was in Little Rock with Mike and Hanni for the 2004 festival to promote Long Time, No See.
. The Saturday night gala that year was at the William J. Clinton Presidential Library, and festival organizers were kind enough to arrange for a volunteer to drive Mike, Hanni and me to the event. An author named Sonny Brewer was supposed to come with us, too. But he was late getting to the car. It was hot in Little Rock, and Hanni, Mike and I were squished in the back seat. I was very eager to get to the Clinton Library – it was relatively new at the time. I wanted to spend as much time there as possible. But we had to wait. For some guy named Sonny Brewer. We waited. I was wearing pantyhose. It was hot. Nuff said? I was ready to blow my stack when Sonny finally showed up. The minute he opened his mouth, all was forgiven.

“Sorry, y’all,” he said with a whimsical southern drawl. “I lost track of the time.  My name is Sonny, glad to meet you.” He shook our hands. Hanni even gave him her paw.
We got stuck in traffic – of course – but I didn’t mind. It gave Sonny time to tell us his story.
Sonny had opened an independent bookstore in his hometown of Fairhope, Alabama, in 1997. “I was nearing 50 back then,” he said. “Owning a bookstore had been a lifelong dream of mine.”
After seven years in business, Over the Transom Books was still in the red.

Enter Jill Connor Brown with some queenly advice. The author of The Sweet Potato Queens Book of Love met her husband Kyle Jennings in Sonny Brewer’s bookstore, and she and Sonny have been friends ever since.

“Jill told me I oughta try selling my book,” Sonny told us, explaining he had already started writing a novel back then, pounding the keyboard late at night when his wife and two young boys were asleep. “She said I had nothing to lose by sending it out, and who knows, if I got a book deal, the money might help prop up the bookstore.”

After mailing 20 pages of his manuscript to a New York agent, Sonny set up an appointment with a bankruptcy lawyer for the next Thursday. “The agent called on Wednesday,” he said with that lovely southern drawl of his. Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, wanted his book. They were offering an advance. “I cancelled the appointment with the bankruptcy lawyer.”

Poet of Tolstoy Park came out in 2006. And Over the Transom Books? It’s still up and running. In order to have more time to devote to writing, though, Sunny turned over most of the day-to-day bookstore operations to an employee.

“It has just been a magical, kind of crazy, enchanted trajectory,” Sonny told me a year later, when he picked Hanni and me up at the airport for a trip to Alabama. His second novel, also based in Fairhope, had been published by Ballantine already. He’d just returned from LA. Talking with Billy Bob Thornton. About the screenplay for Poet of Tolstoy Park. “I’m black and blue all over from pinching myself so much!” he laughed.
The book he’ll be touting on our dogs and Their People panel is his latest: Cormac, the Tale of a Dog Gone Missing. Like his first two novels, this book is also set in Fairhope, Alabama. But this one is inspired by Sonny’s dog – the book is based on a true story of how Cormac went missing for almost a month, and was found more than a thousand miles away.

I’m looking forward to sitting on a panel with Sonny this Saturday–I just hope he shows up on time!

This month two of my essays aired on WBEZ-FM. If you missed hearing them on the radio, both are available online – one is about the new governor in New York, and the other is about cab drivers refusing to pick me up with my Seeing Eye dog.

Both of these essays were inspired by blog posts I wrote, and for that I must thank friends from my Chicago writers group. I was very skeptical about starting this blog last year – I thought blogs were self-indulgent wastes of time. Au contraire, said my fellow writers. A blog can encourage a writer to keep at her craft, they told me. “Kinda like a journal, but since it’s out there in public, there’s a chance people might read it,” they explained. “So you work at it a bit harder.” Who knows, my writer friends said, maybe some blog posts could become story ideas.

I may never have written a word about the NY governor or those cab drivers if I wasn’t keeping a blog. So my writer’s group pals were right: keeping a blog isn’t necessarily a waste of time. I’m convinced I’m right about my other claim, though: It’s pretty dang self-indulgent!

Hanni is hip. You all know that. But did you know she is so hip that she has a tattoo on her right ear? That’s how she rolls, dude.

Hanni the hip dog and I just spent three nights in New Orleans. Any of you who have spent three wild nights in New Orleans might assume that she got her tattoo while we were there.

Wrong.

And if you think her tattoo is a heart with the letters b-e-t-h inscribed inside, you’re wrong again. Hanni already had the tattoo — a series of letters and numbers – when I met her. The Seeing Eye uses tattoos to keep track of their dogs. The tattoos prove useful, too, in identifying Seeing Eye dogs who get separated from their blind companions.

Separated from Hanni? Yikes. That’s too awful to even consider. Let’s think about happier things. Like…New Orleans!

Our trip was colorful right from the start. After a two-hour delay at O’Hare – ugh! — we finally got seated. In the bulkhead. Between two guys flying home to Louisiana. From Africa! “Were you there with a church group or something?” I asked.

They both laughed. “We’re not missionaries,” the guy on my right –his name was Chris – said. “We’re mercenaries!”

They were mechanics. Caterpillar had sent them to Nairobi for a month to build boat engines. “We built ten engines in four weeks,” Timmy, the guy on my left, said. “That’s a lot — they’re BIG engines.”

After the usual array of questions about Hanni, they told me about their time in Africa, how hard it was to be away from their families, how cramped the living conditions had been. But it sure beat working on oil rigs at home, they said. That’s what they’d been doing before they got the job with Caterpillar. Chris had escaped the oil rig life relatively unscathed. Timmy hadn’t been as lucky. Two back surgeries, three knee surgeries and one operation on his elbow. Pain management classes had helped him survive, he said. Martial arts helped, too. Part of the reason he had accepted the Africa job? He was able to do more supervisory work there, it wasn’t as physical. “Plus it pays $500 a day,” he said. His voice sounded sheepish, admitting such a large sum. “I have two sons; I need to make as much money as I can. You know, while I am still able to work.”

Timmy took care of Hanni when I left to go to the bathroom – she can’t fit into that small space with me. Chris jumped up to take my backpack from the overhead bin any time I needed something from it. They both told me stories of duck hunting in Louisiana, their families back home, surviving the hurricanes.

Our flight to New Orleans, well, it flew by. When we landed, Chris jumped up to get my backpack. “You go ahead,” he said. “It’s been a long flight for Hanni.”

I urged them to go first. They’d left Nairobi 36 hours ago. They weren’t home yet – they still had a three hour drive – but they were done with airplanes now, they should get off.

They wouldn’t have it. So Hanni and I said our goodbyes, headed for the exit. As we passed through first class, a passenger took me aside and asked if I was okay.

Yeah,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. I asked him what he meant.

“Well, those men they sat you with,” he said. “They looked very rough.”

I’d look rough, too, if I’d just flown from Nairobi to London, London to Chicago, and Chicago to New Orleans. I hadn’t really thought much about what Timmy and Chris looked like, though. I was too busy listening. “Did they have tattoos?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” the first class man said. “All over. Are you sure you’re okay.”

The benefits of blindness are few, but they’re powerful. “I’m sure,” I assured him, a smile spreading across my face. I gave Hanni’s right ear a scratch before picking up her harness and heading to the jetway. “Hanni, forward!”