I’ll be back

That's Seth and Bess, our gracious hosts and dear friends. Oh, the crawfish pasta was the best thing we've eaten on this trip to New Orleans so far, high praise indeed.

Talk about being at the right place at the right time! We landed in New Orleans late Saturday night, and we were scheduled to fly home after my presentation at the New Orleans Public Library (Milton H Latter Branch) tomorrow. But poor me, we may have to stay a few more days. From a National Weather Service Report:

The first phase of the upcoming winter storm will begin Monday afternoon and continue into Tuesday morning for portions of Northern Illinois and Northwest Indiana. The focus then turns towards the larger event beginning Tuesday afternoon and continuing through Wednesday.

Over 18 inches of snow is predicted for Chicago, and officials are warning those traveling through O’Hare to change their flight plans if possible. Yesterday morning we had no idea this storm was brewing, so like always, we packed everything we could into the short period of time we’d be here. In one day, I

• inhaled some shrimp and grits (with a biscuit on the side, of course!) for breakfast at Lüke
• felt chills listening to a God-fearing man belt out his own heartfelt rendition of “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” outside of Café du Monde
• smelled the beautiful aroma coming from flowers and trees while passing by not just one, not two but three lush city parks on our walk to Stein’s Market and Deli on Magazine Street
• raced through the rain (not snow–rain!) to get to our friends Bess and Seth’s long, narrow, and sweet shotgun of a house in the Carrollton neighborhood
• took in the smell of green peppers and onions cooking in butter as Bess cooked up a crawfish fettuccini (she got the crawfish at her local grocery store)
• danced to the blues at DBA after dinner.

As I wrote in a blog post long ago, New Orleans truly is a blind woman’s paradise.

Before leaving Chicago on this trip I happened to flip on the radio and caught the first part of a series by BBC reporter Peter White. He’s traveling around the world on his own and documenting his experiences. But here’s the rub: Peter White is blind. Peter’s first stop was San Francisco, and he said that he appreciated people taking special steps to make sightseeing more interesting for him. But sometimes, the saying about good intentions is true. From Peter White:

Specially recorded tapes for blind people, rails to follow so that you can go round unaided, a huge revolution in what you’re allowed to touch. In the desperate attempts of people to make me interested in ‘sightseeing’, I’ve clambered over Henry Moore sculptures, climbed the rigging in ships which felt as if they’d split asunder if I took another step, and listened to endless recordings of groaning doors and booming cannons in the attempt to make history come to life for me. 

The plain fact is, though, that however good the intentions, touch is not sight – and once you’ve run your hands over one piece of ancient stone, one stuccoed wall, one marble floor, well, you’ve touched them all.

The problem with touch really is that the hand is too small. You can only touch one little bit at a time. There’s too much missing; a sense of size, colour, perspective, visual contrast. With the best will in the world, you are playing at being able to see, and for me, that kind of self-deception has never cut any ice.
This, nevertheless, does not mean that travelling, visiting and poking about in other people’s cultures cannot be enormous fun for a blind person. It’s just that I think you have to be honest about what is fun, and what isn’t.

I agree! I love Peter White’s attitude, and I enjoyed his travelogue, I just wish he’d picked the right city to visit when coming through the United States. While Peter White may have Left his Heart in San Francisco, I Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans.

Don’t worry, Chicago. I’ll be back. Just not absolutely sure when.

Touching Virginia Woolf

Me, Harper and our gracious Steppenwolf hosts Hilary and Malcolm, on stage during the touch tour. Malcolm is holding one of the breakable prop bottles and a bouquet of the plastic snapdragons which figure prominently into the play.

I have a pass to swim laps at the Chicago Hilton pool on Michigan Avenue, and I wanted to swim Sunday morning. The lobby would be packed with fans partying before the afternoon game at Soldier Field, so Mike agreed to work out, too. That way he could walk Harper and me there. Along the way Mike described what he saw. Packer Bear fans tailgating outside in the 18 degree weather, a woman wearing a huge bright orange wig, a man dressed like a real live bear. “He’s even got a bear head!” Mike laughed.

It seemed so festive and fun. I wondered one last time whether I was doing the right thing, opting to go to the theatre that afternoon instead of watching the game. Steppenwolf Theatre Company was doing “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf,” and they happened to be offering a special touch tour before the matinee last Sunday, the very day the Bears were playing the Packers in the NFC championship.

I’d heard of these touch tours for people who are blind before but never thought I’d get much out of taking one. I tend to go to theater with friends who can see. Once we find our seats, they’re happy to let me know what’s up there on the stage. Who needs to touch the furniture? When I got the promotional stuff for this particular touch tour, however, two things caught my eye. Okay, my ear.

• We’d get to meet the actors and actresses before the play. I love meeting actors and actresses.
• Tickets for touch tour participants were half price.

Flo Finke didn’t raise no fool. I emailed Evan Hatfield, Front of House Manager at Steppenwolf, and signed up. Evan was there to greet me as we entered the lobby. “Here’s the playbill,” he said, pressing a CD in to my palm. Playbills are available in Braille, large print, or as an audio recording on CD to listen to at home. Staff member Hillary Odom-Kline led us to seats at the front of the theatre – she’d be my assistant throughout the entire play. There were about 20 or so of us there for the touch tour, and we were asked to introduce ourselves out loud.

Smart move. Gave us an idea of who to schmooze with during intermissions!

Once we were settled in our seats, Stage Manager Malcolm Ewen took the stage and described the set, with help from fellow staff members Robert Hines III and Rebecca Stevens. All of the action takes place in Martha and George’s living room, in a small college town somewhere in New England. The staff was familiar with the play, of course. They knew exactly which props were most vital to help us understand the action on stage. Doorbell chimes hanging by the entrance. A small photo of Martha’s father on the mantel. A toy gun with an umbrella that shoots out of the barrel. These explanations really helped. Example: Before the play, they pointed out an abstract 60s painting on the wall, towards the right, in George’s study. “It’s modern art,” they said. “Muddy blue swirls and brown tones. Not very interesting.” Later on in the play, when the actors are on the right side of the stage and someone asks about a painting, George says, “What it is, actually, is it’s a pictorial representation of the order of Martha’s mind.” Thanks to the presentation ahead of time, I understood how biting – and witty – George’s comment was. Which, in turn, helped me better understand the play.

The actors introduced themselves to us ahead of time, too.

Tracy Letts and Amy Morton as George and Martha in a scene from the play.

“My name is Tracy Letts, I’m 45 years old. That’s the same age as George, who I’ll be playing today.” Each actor described their physical characteristics — “I’m…well, a big guy. I’m six foot three inches tall, about 210 pounds. Stocky, I guess” – and what they’d be wearing on stage. When Amy Morton, who plays George’s wife Martha, told us she was five foot ten, I could picture her pairing up well with Tracy Letts’ George.

The actors were happy to answer any questions we had. We discovered this is the seventh time Tracy Letts and Amy Morton have played husband and wife on stage. They’ve known each other thirty years. Both won Tony awards for August: Osage County, and Tracy Letts won a Pulitzer Prize for writing that play. It was a thrill to have this private audience with them.

The Steppenwolf folks were happy to share fun facts from behind the scenes, too:

• They weren’t drinking liquor on stage. It was water. Or colored water. The ice was real, though!
• They had to learn to pace the way they sipped. That way their glass would be empty at the precise moment George asks if they want a refill.
• The glasses and bottles flung across the stage during arguments look real, but they’re special-ordered acrylic resin bottles designed to shatter realistically and safely – wouldn’t be cool to act on broken glass, or have shattered glass spray into the audience.
• Martha’s boobs weren’t entirely real, either. “Lots of cleavage,” Amy Morton said after being asked to describe her costuming. “Helped by padding.”
• The couch and comfy chair on stage were bought new, then sent to an upholsterer to cover them so they’d match, both in color and in the way they looked worn out.

These theatre–types had described the set so well that I really didn’t need to go up there and feel how books and journals had been strewn about on tables and bookshelves or fondle the glasses and bottles on the bar stand. But who could refuse a chance to stand on stage at the Steppenwolf? Harper and I stepped right up.

This was Harper’s first time attending a play, and Evan the front house manager thought my new dog would be most comfortable in the front row – plenty of room for him to stretch out. How. Cool. Steppenwolf offered headphones to wear — a narrator describes visual effects — but I don’t like those. I get a kick out of figuring it out for myself, and sitting so close made that easy to do. I felt like Harper and I were right there with George and Martha in their living room.

Hillary tapped me on the shoulder during the first intermission to ask if I needed anything. When I told her Harper needed to go outside, she didn’t flinch. She got her coat and guided us to a nearby tree. There we stood in the bitter cold, Harper circling to find just the right spot. “Not your typical day at the theatre, huh?” I laughed.

“No, not exactly,” Hillary admitted. “But I love it!”

Back inside, another staff member asked how my dog reacted to violence. I was happy to respond that I had no idea. The second act had a bit of physical violence, she said. “Maybe you’d like to sit further back?” We did, and while it was fun to experience the play from a different perspective, I missed being in George and Martha’s living room. We moved back to the front row for Act Three.

The play was fantastic, and it is getting glorious reviews. Even people who can see like it! Here’s one example, a snippet from the Chicago Sun Times :

Morton, with her sexy figure, proudly exhausted face and utterly fearless emotional abandon and vulnerability is a knockout. She has no match. And Letts, who nails every bristling, ironic line, every mournful bit of Latin, every stabbing pain of quiet desperation, is a stunning partner in despair. Both actors make you hear the play anew…

When I got home and heard how the Bears had fared against the Packers, I knew. No question. I’d seen the best performance in Chicago last Sunday.

Don’t ask, don’t tell

That's me at Kipling. But is it Hanni or Harper?

Last year when I called the Seeing Eye to tell them I’d be returning to train with a new dog, I told them I wanted one who looked just like Hanni. They laughed, and I laughed along with them. But I was only half-joking.

Ever since Hanni and Beth: Safe & Sound came out in 2007, I’ve been enjoying traveling to schools and libraries with Hanni to talk with kids who’d enjoyed reading the book. Wouldn’t these kids be disappointed if I arrived without the star? I figured maybe, just maybe, if my new Seeing Eye dog even looked a teeny-tiny bit like Hanni, the kids would never know the difference.

When we apply for a dog, the Seeing Eye listens politely to our preferences—“I love German Shepherds” or “I’d really like another male” – but they make no promises. When it comes to matching us with our dogs, other more important qualities take priority. Harper was the dog in the November/December 2010 class who best matched my strength, size, walking speed, energy level, lifestyle and personality.

And lucky for me, Harper looks a lot like Hanni.

Harper and I took a train to Deerfield last Thursday to visit Kipling Elementary School. When Linda, the nice mom who met us at the train, opened her car door, she said, “Hanni can sit back here.” I didn’t tell her it wasn’t Hanni. The minute we walked into Kipling’s media center a chorus of second-graders squealed in delight. “There’s Hanni!” How could I disappoint them? I kept my mouth shut.

During my speech to the Kipling second-graders, I constantly referred to the dog at my feet as “my Seeing Eye dog.” I explained the three rules to keep in mind if you happen to see a guide dog with a harness on: don’t pet the dog, don’t feed the dog, and don’t call out the dog’s name.

“Those things can distract a Seeing Eye dog,” I told them. “It’d be like if someone nudged you or kept calling your name wile you were working on your spelling words at school. You wouldn’t be able to concentrate on your work.”

I suggested we come up with a fake name for my Seeing Eye dog. “We’re going to be around here for a while, and you might want to say hello if you see us in the hallway,” I said, explaining that iff they use my Seeing Eye dog’s fake name to say hello, the dog wouldn’ notice. “My Seeing Eye dog will think you’re talking to someone else!”

I asked the kids what their principal’s name was. Being the polite children they are, they gave me their principal’s formal name. “Does anyone know Mrs. Mosley’s first name?” A sweet little voice rang out. “I do! It’s Adrienne.”

Adrienne. A huge smile crossed my face. That could be Adrian, right? A girl’s name, or a boy’s name. “How about we call my Seeing Eye dog ‘Adrian’ today?” The kids ate it up.

During the Q&A part of the session, a student asked if Adrienne sleeps with me. It was a good question – it gave me a chance to explain that Seeing Eye dogs are not allowed on furniture. “Seeing Eye dogs usually sleep as close as they can to their owner,” I said. “Adrian lies right next to my bed. If I get up for a glass of water in the night I have to be careful so I don’t step on my dog.” Students asked whether Adrienne likes other dogs, does Adrienne ever slip on the ice, can Adrienne go on escalators. They wanted to know a lot about Adrian, but really, most of their questions had more to do with blindness: how do you shop, how do you eat, how do you cook.

“Can you use a cell phone?” one girl asked. I told her that most cell phones have a dot on the number five. “That helps me dial,” I said. The phone I use now is just a regular cell phone. It doesn’t talk or anything, so I have to memorize the phone numbers I use. “Did you ever lose a number?” another girl asked. She sounded very concerned. And somehow, even though I’d been lying about the Seeing Eye dog at my feet for this entire session, I couldn’t lie to this girl about my cell phone. “Yes,” I said. “Lots of times.” This gave me a chance to talk about the iPhone I am hoping to get soon. I sensed them creeping closer and closer to Adrian and me as I answered questions. They were intrigued.

The hour flew by, and we left the room to a chorus of cheers and goodbyes to Adrienne. We pulled it off, I thought. But on the way back to the train station with Linda my pride turned to horror. Harper had enjoyed a big bowl of water while we were at Kipling. He would have to pee before we got on the train.

I tried to distract Linda while Harper did his duty, asking her questions about her family, a recent wedding they’d been to, that sort of thing. I’m not sure if she was looking at me or at Harper as we talked, but she did get quiet all of a sudden.

Man in the Woods and other great reads

This one gets a big thumbs-up.

Jean Spencer enrolled in the memoir-writing class I teach back in 2006, shortly after her husband Charlie died. “I was feeling low,” she said. “I hoped maybe your class would help.” Hanni and I walked Jean to her bus stop after class that day, and along the way I asked her about her kids. She has two children, Michael and Lisa, from her first marriage, and Charlie had a son, too. “Charlie’s son Scott is a writer,” she said. “His newest book just came out. “ When I asked her what sort of stuff Scott Spencer writes, I heard a quiet little laugh. “You might know one of his books,” she said. “Endless Love?”

Yes. that Endless Love. The Endless Love that sold over 2 million copies. The book that sparked the famous Brooke Shields movie and Diana Ross song (although neither one has much at all to do with Scott Spencer’s original bestseller).

Jean Spencer is still in my memoir-writing class, and before I left for the Seeing Eye in November she urged me to get an audio copy of Scott’s latest book, Man in the Woods. She described the book something like this: A guy named Paul is taking a quiet walk in the woods. He comes across a recluse beating his dog. Paul tries to intervene. The man won’t listen. Paul resorts to violence himself. He accidently kills the recluse. “It’s fantastic,” Scott’s biggest fan Jean told me.

Hmm. I was dubious. But it turns out Jean wasn’t the only smart reader who liked this book so much. The New York Times published a favorable review. So did Publisher’s Weekly. After hearing Terry Gross gush over Man in the Woods during a Fresh Air interview with Scott Spencer, I decided to give it a try.

The rest of the book is not what you’d expect. Paul isn’t exactly on the run from the law – no one seems to care that this man has died. But the reality of what Paul has done sinks in, and his secret about the murder affects Paul and everyone around him. The dog is the only witness to the crime, and even though Paul realizes the dog could be used as evidence, he also realizes the dog has been through enough. So he keeps the dog, names him Shep, and Shep becomes his confessor. Like my friends over at The Bark magazine like to say, “Dog is my Co-Pilot.” And a note from an insider: Scott Spencer’s wonderful stepmother tells me the author has three dogs at home, and one of them is named…Shep!

I stayed up until three o’clock in the @*#)* morning finishing Man in the Woods.. The ending did not disappoint. This is the third Scott Spencer book I’ve read, and for sure my favorite. So many of the characters were perfectly flawed in such a real-life way. And speaking of perfectly flawed: with Harper attached to me for most of the read, I found myself thinking, well, hey, maybe Paul didn’t do such a bad thing, sacrificing a swindler to save poor Shep from all that abuse.

An intense book. And while I loved the intensity, I knew I needed a break from it, too. Last week a good friend from my Easter Seals job suggested Crossing California, a witty novel by Adam Langer about all-American Jewish teenagers coming of age in the Rogers Park neighborhood of Chicago in 1978 and 1979. Crossing California was Langer’s debut novel, and just like Scott Spencer, Langer left Chicago for New York years ago. I’m only in the first chapters of Crossing California, but am already enjoying the half-forgotten history and pop culture references to Astroturf, bean bag chairs and…cassette tapes.

It’s only this past year that I gave up listening to books on cassette tape. I’ve joined the 21st century, downloading books from audible.com and the National Library Service’s Talking Book program. And while I still miss the romance of making music tapes for parties and friends back in the late 70s, fading one song into the next, carefully selecting tunes so that the ebb and flow of the music would be just exactly right, well, I gotta say: I love downloading these books! And thanks to all you sighted folks out there listening to books on iPods and mp3 players, the market has grown. Publishers are providing oh so many more audio books for all of us to enjoy, and I can usually download them right when they come out in print, no more waiting like in the old days.

And so, if any of you out there have any book suggestions, please leave them here in the comments section. I’m all ears.

iPhone, here I come

When I first heard that iPhones came with VoiceOver for the blind, I figured Apple must have done this just to get some good PR. I mean, come on. How could a blind person possibly use a touchpad?

Then I went to the Seeing Eye to train with Harper. All the young people (well, all the people under age 35, I guess) there used, you guessed it: iPhones. Their phones murmured text messages to them while we were waiting in the lounge. Carlos regularly updated his Facebook status while he and I commuted in the Seeing Eye van together. He and Marcus would point their phones at their dogs from time to time to take photos, then manipulate their phones to send the photos home to loved ones.

My classmate snapped this photo of Harper on his iPhone and sent it to Mike.

I worked on my knitting while we gathered for Seeing Eye lectures in the evenings. These iPhone kids spent that down time discussing their favorite apps. “Do you guys use Color Identifier?” They showed each other how to point the iPhone’s camera at things to hear it call out colors. The iPhone being the iPhone, of course, the color names were fun – and specific. “Crimson lipstick,” the robot’s voice would say. “Jukebox yellow.” “Moon Mist.“ I was intrigued. I wasn’t sold, however, until one of the students put the phone in my dirty little hands.

Marcus Engel and I were in the student lounge, killing time before it was our turn to do a route with our trainer. “Wanna try my iPhone,” he asked, placing the little gadget in my palm. “I’ll show you how to dial a number. Do you ever use ‘Tell Me’?” I do.

“Tell Me” is a service that yet another blind friend, the wonderful George Abbott, told me about in 2005. The White Sox were gearing up for the World Series back then, and I was having trouble keeping up with all the other teams in the running. You call 800-555-TELL for free and an automatic voice gives you the time, the weather, news and sports updates. Marcus was wise to choose “Tell Me” as a way to start me on the talking iPhone. I am so familiar with “Tell Me” that I felt comfortable giving it a try, and I knew what it should sound like if it worked. It was also reassuring to know that if I made a mistake it wouldn’t cost Marcus any money.

“Tap the screen to see where you are on the number pad,” Marcus said.” Double tap it if it’s the number you want.” I was expecting this to be a frustrating and time-consuming ordeal. To my amazement, I picked it up immediately. All I had to do was run my finger across the screen, and the voice called out “three!’” I moved my finger down. “Nine!” To the left. “Eight!” Tapped twice, and I was on my way. Spatial information. Imagine.

After I enterred all the numbers, Marcus told me to go to the bottom of the screen to push a button. I didn’t have to memorize special key commands to get there. I could just drag my finger to the bottom, and the iPhone called out the button when I found it. Tap twice, and the button was pressed.

Within 30 seconds, I’d connected to “Tell Me” and knew what the weather was supposed to be in Chicago that day. Warmer than in New jersey! Marcus brought up a web site next, explaining how I could swipe three fingers to scroll, hold down one location and tap another. There’s a learning curve to VoiceOver, he said. “But it’s so worth it.”

“There’s this cool rotor you activate by turning your fingers like a dial. You can double triple-finger tap to toggle speech, and a triple triple-finger tap…” Just then our trainer returned. Time to go out with our dogs. I welcomed the interruption. I’d learned enough. I was already sold.

Mike was thrilled to hear I’d finally come around to the iPhone – he’s been trying to get me to “go Mac” for years. The Apple store on Michigan Avenue here in Chicago has a full-time associate (they don’t like to call them salespeople) who is blind, and they offer regular classes to teach VoiceOver applications. Harper and I returned to Chicago on December 15. Best to wait until after the holiday rush before tackling the Apple Store.

The rush is over, and once we find some free time we’ll head to Michigan Avenue to make the big purchase. Only question now is…do I go with Verizon, or AT&T?

Home alone

In terms of separation anxiety, we've eased into it and so far so good with Harper.

A few days before we left the Seeing Eye School, my trainer came to our room and had me put a bell on Harper’s collar. “Tell Harper to go to his place,” he said. “Then leave the room for a minute.” I stood right outside the door so I could hear Harper if he whined. Or barked. If Harper got into any mischief at all, I was supposed to go back in and scold him. If he was good, I could go back and give him praise. “Good boy, Harper!”

The next day I put Harper’s bell on, told him to go to his place, then left the room for two minutes. “Good dog, Harper!” The next day, five minutes. The next? Ten. The Seeing Eye acknowledges there’ll be places I might want to go where a guide dog may not be very comfortable (Obama’s election night party in Grant Park, for example) or where I may not need a dog to guide me around., ”When you get home, ease into this gradually,” they told us. “Just like in class, begin by leaving your dog for a very brief time.”

I waited until Harper and I were comfortable together at home before starting all this. December 29 I put Harper’s bell on his collar and stood outside our apartment door for a minute. Not a peep. “Yay, Harper!” On December 31 Mike and I left Harper at home and headed downstairs to a friend’s apartment for a quick New Year’s toast. “Good boy, Harper!” Two days ago Harper stayed home while Mike and I walked to the grocery store. We returned to find Harper fast asleep on his favorite blankie. “Attaboy, Harper!”

A dozen or more schools in the United States train dogs to guide people who are blind, each school using slightly different methods. Earlier this week my friend Ira sent me a story from the Daily Herald about a man who is blind and uses a guide dog. Tim Spencer and his dog didn’t go to the Seeing Eye, they trained at Guiding Eyes for the Blind in new York.  The condo where Spencer lives in suburban Chicago doesn’t allow pets, but when he came home with his new guide dog in November, the condo board made concessions. Months later, the dog barks incessantly anytime Spencer leaves him alone in the condo, and residents are lodging complaints. From the story:

“I am getting harassed for a tool I use to function,” Spencer said. “For the first six months, guide dogs go through separation anxiety. And he’ll bark a bit because he’s scared and in a new environment.”

Spencer claims his dog is rarely left alone for more than two hours, usually during the day or early evening. A hearing has been set up to try to resolve the issue, but until then Spencer faces nearly $300 in fines for violating condo rules.

A follow-up story in Thursday’s Daily Herald reports that Spencer has been flooded with offers from outsiders with ideas to help quiet his dog. Suburban residents are sharing advice on how they’ve handled their own dogs’ barking, Neighbors have offered to dog-sit,and a board-certified veterinary behaviorist even offered his services at no cost.

Spencer said he welcomes the help and will use these new tools to discover if Iggie needs more training or if the complaints are, as he contends, unfounded.

The phrase “reasonable accommodation” got its start when the Rehabilitation Act was passed in 1973, and I like to think of it going both ways. Seems to me the condo association accommodated Spencer in a reasonable (and legal) way. They followed ADA guidelinesFair Housing Act guidelines and allowed a guide dog in a building where other pets are not allowed. Perhaps Tim Spencer can return the favor and accommodate his neighbors in a reasonable way as well: either take his guide dog out with him more often, or take up these offers to learn ways to help his dog stay calm when left alone at the condo.

Because the night belongs to Gus (and Flo)

A sample of Brian’s work: Portrait of a haenyeo (female diver) on Jeju Island, S. Korea.

I asked Flo once why she wanted such a large family. Her response made it into my memoir, Long Time, No See:

“Well really,” she answered, “I always wanted just two children.” Her first-born was my sister Bobbie; the second, my brother Doug. The perfect little family.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Hmmmm,” she said, taking a long time to think it through. She finally answered with a laugh. “Too many parties, I guess!”

I am the youngest of seven, and all my siblings (hey, isn’t that a daytime soap opera?) made it to Chicagoland this Christmas to party with Flo. Some highlights:

• Brian Miller’s new book. Remember the post about my sister Bev’s trip to see her son Brian in South Korea? The Village Across the Sea, a collection of Brian’s stories and photography of life on Jeju, was just published. Bev and her husband Lon attended the book launch virtually, thanks to Skype. A review in last weekend’s Korea Times describes Brian’s photography: “Miller, an English teacher and photographer, explores the diverse and fading themes of an area in transformation.” From what everyone tells me, the photos are striking. See for your self at Brian Miller’s web site.
• Lydia Hoover’s new hat.I came home on Christmas Day to find a phone message from Lydia, one of my sister Cheryl’s 11 grandchildren. “I love

  

  That's Lydia with the scarf I made for her.

  the hat you made me, Aunt Betha,” Lydia’s feathery voice came drifting out of my answering machine from her Little House in Minnesota. I’m wearing it all day today. I really love it. Thank you, Aunt Betha.” Sounds corny, I know, but I really did think of Lydia with every stitch. Her sweet message confirmed what I knew already: it was a labor of love.

• My new scarf. Hanni spent her final days as a Seeing Eye dog leading me over and over again to the knitting store down the street. the very, very patient owner of Loopy Yarns oversaw my work, assuring I’d have Lydia’s hat in the mail before Hanni retired and I left to train with a new dog. All that time my brother Doug’s thoughtful and hard-working daughter Marsha was busy at home in Indianapolis…learning to crochet! I think of Marsha every time I wear the warm, colorful scarf she made me for Christmas. Which means I think of her every day.
  

  That's my niece Marsha's handiwork I'm wearing.

  Thanks, Marsha!

• The new line on my resume.My sister Marilee Amodt and her daughter Jennifer met up with us at Hackney’s one cold afternoon while they were in town, and bartender Billy Balducci knew exactly how to warm us up. Jen is getting married in March, and before the night was over, she asked if I’d officiate the ceremony. Note to Jennifer: totally understandable if you were just caught up in the moment. You won’t hurt my feelings if you take back the invite. But
  

  That's bride-to-be Jennifer on the left. That green concoction is a Green River soda. Marilee's in the middle, and moi.

  if you and Brian Ulen are serious about having me do the honors…I’m there!

Somehow amidst all that Finke family frenzy, we squeezed in a visit to our son Gus in Wisconsin over the holidays, too, and were delighted to learn that the new CD player he got for Christmas has rekindled his affection for…punk music! So if you’re wondering what to do with all those old Patti Smith CDs you transferred to your iPod over the holiday break, leave a comment here. I’ll be happy to send you Gus’ address.