My Appearance on Oprah

What?! I’ve never told you about being on Oprah?! Well, it all started when my friend Mim was asked to be on the show. I met Mim when we were both dopey college students — we were on the same study abroad program in Austria.

Now Mim is Dr. Miriam E. Nelson, author of the Strong Women series of books about the benefits of strength training.

Mim had never seen an Oprah Show before. Honest. Remember, Mim’s a scientist. A researcher. An academic. She’s usually working when the Oprah Winfrey Show airs. So she asked if I’d come to Harpo Studios to lend some support.

My sister Cheryl came along, too, and when we checked into our room at the Omni (“guests of the Oprah Winfrey Show stay at the Omni Hotel….”) there was a message waiting for us. It was Mim, explaining that she’d just finished watching tapes of old Oprah Shows in her hotel room. “It’s amazing!” she exclaimed. “She’s like a goddess to these women!”

Mim ended up calling Cheryl and me four or five more times that night. Now that she understood how the show worked, she wanted to plant me with things to say from the audience. I didn’t mind at all being an Oprah patsy. Mim knows me well. I’m a ham. Her new book back then emphasized the emotional benefits of strength training. “If you could get called on and say something about that, it’d be GREAT!”

I never got a chance. Not during the regular show, at least. Oprah’s people screen audience members far in advance. The chosen ones know who they are long before they arrive at Harpo Studios, and they are escorted to special seats in the front rows. Cheryl and I sat in the back. Turned out Mim didn’t need me anyway. After she was introduced, Dr. Miriam E. Nelson gently patted Oprah’s shoulder and said, “You have beautiful arms!” She had Oprah eating out of her hand. The new book sold millions.

Mim made the news again this week, complimenting the arms of another famous Chicagoan: Michelle Obama. A story in Thursday’s New York Times introduces Mim as Miriam Nelson, the director of the John Hancock Center for Physical Activity and Nutrition at Tufts University. It touts Mim as the vice chairwoman for the country’s new physical activity guidelines, written by the United States Department of Health and Human Services, and says she…

…has been thrilled to have Mrs. Obama and President Barack Obama as fitness role models.

Ms. Nelson said she and her colleagues celebrated Mrs. Obama’s official White House portrait, identifying the sleeveless look as a fitness trend that surpasses fashion.

“I can tell you, over and over again, whether it’s women 45, 65, or 85, when they do strength training and see the results, one of the first things they like to do is wear sleeveless shirts,” Dr. Nelson said. “They are proud of their body.”

Hmmm. I like to wear sleeveless shirts and dresses. Could that be just one more reason people think I look like Michelle Obama?!??!!

Enough of that fantasy. Back to my appearance on Oprah. Mim’s Oprah debut included one of those After the Show segments. From Oprah’s Web site:

After select tapings of The Oprah Winfrey Show, Oprah continues the topic with guests and the studio audience in a casual after show.

I was able to give my emotional strength training comment then. You know, After the Show. A year later, when Oprah was on vacation or something, the producers put together an hour-long Best of After the Show segment to air during her regular time slot. My bit after Mim’s show was featured.

Oprah introduces my bit by saying that sometimes her audience members tell the naked truth. The camera goes to me, I say I lost my sight when I was 26, that I lost my job then, too, and also lost a lot of self-esteem. I tell them a friend read Dr. Nelson’s book out loud (careful not to call her Mim and get busted as her friend!). I say I started lifting weights (it’s true) and that strength training had given me courage to go out and look for a job again (a bit of an exaggeration, but hey, it’s TV). And then I ask the big question. “Know what I do?” The audience waits at the edge of their seats. “We live in a university town, and I model nude for art students.” The audience howls. Mim is pictured, leaning over, hands just above her knees, laughing. Oprah is incredulous. “Is that really true?” she asks. “Is that a true story?”

It is. I don’t model anymore, though — I quit once Long Time, No See came out. We moved to Chicago then, and my writing career took over. But now that I think of it, I sure hope those students down in Champaign enjoyed drawing my arms.

Cheers for Emjoy, Cheers for Wait Until Dark

Mike and I were invited to stay for the “opening night toast” after Sunday’s performance of Wait Until Dark. We accepted the invitation, of course! I felt like a star, celebrating with cast members. But just like after the rehearsals, I found the experience somewhat bittersweet. This was a more standard type of letdown, though. Nothing to do with my blindness, really. Just an “empty nest” sort of thing. Emjoy and the cast didn’t need me any more. They were doing fine on their own now! A review in the Chicago Sun-Times confirms my assessment:

Gavino, a most skilled and charming slip of a girl, deftly manages to shift from Susy’s initially blithe self-confidence into shrewd counter-insurgency mode as she refuses to become the classic female victim. She also makes you begin thinking as Susy does, with a heightened awareness of sounds and smells and space and the little strategies required for living blind.

Way to go, Emjoy! All your hard work and research paid off! And really, the best review came after the preview on Thursday, the night I was invited to sit on stage with the cast for a Q & A session after the play. The very first comment came from an audience member who said her husband is visually impaired. “That actress was fabulous,” the woman said. “I was so glad she didn’t play it like we see in TV, where the blind person spends the whole time looking up to the sky!” The woman said she was startled when Emjoy came out at the end for her curtain call. “She walked down the steps like someone who could see!” Emjoy was surrounded by well-wishers at the opening night toast, but she did manage to make her way towards Mike and me before we left. After uncoiling from our congratulatory hugs, Emjoy said she had a present for me.” I thought of writing you a thank-you note, but I knew you wouldn’t be able to read it by yourself,” she said, pressing a CD into my hand. “It’s music Susy would have listened to.” Recognizing the quizzical look on my face, Emjoy explained. “When I’m playing a role, I like to put songs on my iPod that the character would listen to, it helps me get into the part.” She reasoned Susy would be a jazz fan. You know, Greenwich Village in the 60s. “There’s some Miles Davis, other jazz. Oh, and Joan Baez. Some Bob Dylan tunes, too,” she said. “I copied them from my iPod onto this CD for you.” It was a beautiful, thoughtful gift. A perfect souvenir. Because, heck, the opportunity I was given to be a part of a live theatre production was just that: a beautiful, thoughtful gift. Okay, enough. Quit reading thi blog post. Pick up the phone, call 773.753.4472 and order your tickets for Wait Until Dark. That, or link to the court theatre website to order tickets online. Whatever you do, don’t…ahem…wait — this thriller closes in two weeks!

Wait until Zen

That's Emjoy Gavino (the actress who plays Susy, the blind woman), Ron OJ Parsons (the director), me, and Hanni, of course. We're on the set of Court Theatre's production of "Wait Until Dark."

If you’ve read my past couple of posts, you know that I am, ahem, a technical consultant for the upcoming production of Wait Until Dark at the Court Theatre in Chicago.

The stage is set up for previews now, and last Tuesday stage management invited me to come and check it out. Emjoy, the actress playing the blind woman, introduced me to the set. She and Ron Parsons, the director, asked lots of questions during my tour, mostly just to confirm they were doing the blind stuff right — not just waving a hand wildly over a tabletop, for example, but coming at it from the bottom first, then gently, gently brushing over the top to find what you’re looking for. That sort of thing.

They’d had a few preview nights already, and audience members were invited to stay after for a question and answer session. A question from one audience member was really bothering Ron. Seems there’s a scene in the play where the thugs are in the apartment, standing still, not breathing. The blind woman is on the phone, nearly two feet away from one of the actors, but she doesn’t notice he is there.

The audience member said the cast lost him right there. He said there was no way the blind woman wouldn’t know the thug was there — he was just two feet away. The guy in the audience didn’t believe anything in the play after that.

These theater people are going to have a hard time pulling this play off, I’m afraid. So many people have pre-conceived notions about the blind — that we have superpowers, we can hear things others don’t perceive, if someone is near us we can just feel their presence. “I told that guy in the audience that Beth Finke told us she wouldn’t know!” Ron said. That made me laugh. Beth Finke, expert in all things blind.

Ron wanted to do an experiment to prove his point. He’d have the actors stand still at different parts of the stage. “Would you mind coming up, walking around, let us know when you can tell where they are?” I didn’t mind, I mean, it was a weird idea — kind of like playing “Marco Polo” on dry ground. And without the “Polo.” But hey — I was the technical consultant. I was there to help.

I got on stage. After getting my bearings, I started walking around, just a few steps at a time. I was grateful that Emjoy had taken such care describing the set — I felt somewhat familiar with my surroundings. And I’d come to know the cast well enough by then that I could trust that someone wood stop me if I got too near the edge.

By the time our game was over, I hadn’t found a single actor. Oh, except for one — he was standing near the coat rack. I reached out to feel the coats, and felt an arm instead. Scary!

Truth is, if I hadn’t been told to try to hear the actors on stage, I would have never ever in a million years known they were there. Even knowing I was supposed to find them, I’d lost that hide-and-seek round.

After the experiment was over, and they started breathing and moving around normally, I had a better sense of where everyone was. An actor who’d been standing in a closet said the experiment unnerved him. “That was freaky! You were looking RIGHT at me! You looked me right in the eyes!” He said his heart raced when I was so close to him. “I can’t believe you didn’t hear my heart beating!”

A few more questions from different cast members, a few more experiments with sounds — can you hear the blinds? Do you notice different footsteps? — and it was break time. Time for me to go home.

As I stood waiting for someone to lead me out of the theatre, I started preparing myself mentally for the hangover I was sure to have once I got home. It happened every time — after the first rehearsal where we sat around the circle, and then again after the two visits with Emjoy. I’m just not used to thinking about my blindness so much. I mean, of course I know I’m blind, but I just don’t focus on that when I’m out and about.

And so, as exciting as it was to be the center of attention at the theatre for a while, to have very smart people ask me all sorts of questions about the things I do, and to realize I can show these very smart people something they couldn’t figure out for themselves, even if they put blindfolds on, well… those guys can get off the stage, quit acting once the play is over every night. I can’t.

I was lost in those thoughts when the actor I’d “looked” at right in the eye interrupted me. “It must be sort of Zen, being blind.” he said. I’d never thought of it that way, but that notion brought me back to thinking about the benefits of not being able to see. I can’t judge people by what they look like. I can only judge on what people say, and what they do. When I walk with others, I hold their arms. It’s more intimate. I never ever had a dog before I lost my sight. I love my Seeing Eye dog. I used to rely on sheet music, now I’m a better jazz musician –I play the piano by ear. The list of benefits goes on and on, and this actor had just brought up a new one.

People who can see are distracted. Too much in their way. Big screen TVs. Magazines at grocery check-out lanes. Billboards. YouTube. iPhones. I told the actor he was right. It is Zen-like. “I’m relieved of vision,” I said. “I have more time to think!”

Questions from the Actress

I’d been sound asleep in our Milwaukee hotel last month when I heard someone trying to get in our room. The key card went in the slot, then out. In, then out again.

If I hadn’t just visited the Wait Until Dark cast at Court Theatre in Chicago the day before — and told the actor playing the psychopath that if someone were in the room, not saying a word and not making any noise, I wouldn’t know they were there – well, I might have figured oh, someone had just made a mistake. They had the wrong room. I would have gone back to sleep.

But whoever it was at the door never apologized. He never said a word. Did he get in? Was he in our room? Did I hear someone breathing? Finally I got up, went to the door. There was Hanni, wagging her tail, hoping someone might come in and play with her. She wouldn’t be acting like that if a stranger really were in the room, would she? I crouched down, gave her a big hug, then felt my way up the doorframe to the security lock. I flipped it shut.

I laughed when I told Emjoy about this during her visit last Monday. Emjoy Gavino has the Audrey Hepburn (Susy) role in Wait Until Dark — she plays a blind woman alone in her apartment with a psychopath. “that damn play of yours!” I cursed. “It’s got me scared!” She laughed along with me, then settled in to watch me make my way around the kitchen. I emptied the dishwasher, cleaned off the counters, washed out the sink. Emjoy followed as I padded down the hallway to the garbage chute, one hand carrying the sack, the other trailing the wall. Back in the apartment, I found my way to the couch and sat down. She had lots of questions. “Do you have the furniture close together like this for a reason?” “When you rush to answer the phone, do you have to feel around for it? or can you tell where it is by the sound?” I couldn’t answer that last one for her. I don’t think about it, really. The phone rings, and I answer it.

Emjoy said she was glad I’d decided to do the dishes – Susy does the dishes in the play. There is one short scene where Susy uses a white cane, so I showed Emjoy how I’d learned to use mine. When we sat down again, Emjoy got quiet for a bit. She seemed hesitant to ask the next question. “That night in the hotel,” she finally said, breaking the silence. “Did you jump up out of bed right away to try to figure out what was happening?”

“Oh, no!” I told her. “No way! I had to listen first. I had to listen to figure out what was going on.” I told her I heard the key card go in the slot, then out. In the slot, then out. “If I’d jumped up and started moving around, I wouldn’t be able to focus on what I was hearing.”
When I thought I knew what was happening, I shouted towards the door. “You’ve got the wrong room!”! The key went in again. Or was it out? Then silence. I stayed there in bed, listening, for a long while. I called Hanni. She didn’t come. I finally got up then to figure out where she was. That’s when I found her, wagging her tail at the door.

“That’s good,” she said, thinking to herself as she talked. “That’s good. That’s what I thought.” In one scene of the play, when things are getting scary, Emjoy had been told that maybe she should move around, you know, to try to figure things out. “But I thought maybe I should stand still, just listen. And from what you just said, I think I might be right about that!”

Emjoy’s visit to our apartment confirmed a lot of things she’d already thought through, and she thanked me profusely for letting her come over. As she started putting her boots back on to leave, the phone rang. “Perfect!” I exclaimed, rushing over to answer it.

The verdict? I don’t have to feel for the phone. I can tell where it is by the sound.

Desperate Housewife

That's Emjoy Gavino on the left. To prepare for her role as Susy in "Wait Until Dark," she hung out with me at our place to get an idea of how I navigate and get things done around the house.

Emjoy Gavino is coming over today. You might remember Emjoy from that post I wrote about the upcoming production of Wait Until Dark at Court Theatre in Chicago. Emjoy has the Audrey Hepburn (Susy) role — she’ll play a newly-blind woman in the play.

I can get a little nervous when I know people are going to be stopping by. I’m a lousy housekeeper. This has little to do with me being blind — a lot of people who can’t see keep immaculate houses, I’m just not one of those people. I never liked cleaning house when I could see, and trust me — things didn’t get better after I lost my sight.

Right at this moment, for example, I should be straightening out the apartment for Emjoy’s visit. And what am I doing instead? Working on my blog!

An entire chapter of my memoir, Long time, No See is devoted to the tricks I use to do things without being able to see — let me see if I can find that chapter. I’m at my talking computer. I hit the letter “h” on my keyboard. The robotic voice calls out a file that starts with “h.” Hanni retires.” Nope. I hit the down arrow. Herb bread recipe, hospice essay, hospital. I keep hitting the down arrow. How We Do it. That’s it! Hit enter. The file opens. Hit “control f4” to do a search. I don’t have a special Braille keyboard — I took typing in high school and still have the letters memorized. The talking computer parrots the letters as I type, so I can hear if I’ve made a mistake.

H-o-u-s-e-c-l-e-a-n-i-n-g Brrring! That little doorbell-sounding chime rings out. My computer starts barking. “Microsoft Word Dialogue,” it shouts to me in that robotic voice. “Word has finished searching the document. The search item was not found. Okay?”

Of course it’s okay. “Okay” is the only option. I try again. Simplify it. C-l-e-a-n-I-n-g. Brring! The robotic shouting. Search item not found.

My God. I thought my poor housekeeping skills were at least kinda sorta a little bit of a joke. But it must be true! That “How We Do It” chapter has sections on how I use a talking computer to write, how I read books, how I measure insulin, how I do laundry, how Hanni and I get through security at airports. Nary a mention of how I clean house. All I can figure is that the editors and I must have decided a three-word “housecleaning” section would be too short to publish: Mike. Does. It.

Mike won’t be home today when Emjoy comes, but you know what? I’m not worried! Emjoy is coming here as part of her research — she wants to observe how I get around the apartment on my own without being able to see. So I figure it makes sense to leave it a mess — Emjoy can watch me attempt to straighten up!