If I could be any age

That’s us–the memoir class, or at least most of us–at Jean’s Hyde Park apartment and had a wonderful time.

Years ago I assigned the topic TVland to the “Me, Myself and I” memoir-writing class I teach for senior citizens here in Chicago. Beverly read an essay confessing her childhood desire to be Jim Anderson’s daughter on the radio/TV show “Father Knows Best.” I’ve been calling her Princess ever since.

Earlier this month I asked the students to start an essay with the words, “If I could be any age, I’d be…”. Princess is 86 years old now, and at least three fellow writers in class are in their 80s, too.

Hanna turned 90 in January. After living all those years, was there one age they’d like to be for ever and ever?

Many of them wrote about being in their twenties, and one came in at age 35: “By age 35 you’ve lived long enough to have some serious experiences, but you still have a lot of life ahead.” A few (including Princess, of course!) chose 17, but none wanted to be any younger than that. From Beverly’s essay:

My mind was an internal tangle of books, movies and magazines. Make believe filled my thoughts when I was alone. Different scenes and dialogs rolled before my mind’s eye when I went to bed. It put me to sleep. I was a good sleeper back then.

Princess dreamt of being a lawyer. Her father insisted she study nursing. She didn’t argue. “Having dad there to tell us what to do made things easy.” Like many of her fellow writing students, Princess finished her essay saying how grateful she felt to be the age she is. She may never have become a lawyer, but now she volunteers regularly at the VA hospital. “At age 86 I am happy to be alive and well,” she wrote. “I’m surrounded by the love and concern of my two wonderful children.” After reading that essay aloud in class that day, princess returned home and suffered a stroke. Mom’s speech is improving, her daughter reports in email messages to me. The next questions are in the cognitive arena.

Our class is on a short summer hiatus now, and last Saturday Jean, one of the writers, had us all over to her place for some snacks and refreshments. Another student chauffeured me and my Flintstone-sized cast to Jean’s Hyde Park apartment. A third was waiting at the door to help me inside.

Our hostess Jean has been in the memoir class since 2006, shortly after her husband Charlie died. “I was feeling low,” she said. “I hoped maybe your class would help.” I think it has. She still misses Charlie, of course, but when her fellow writing students walked into her apartment and gawked at the thousands of books lining the walls, Jean was happy to explain how she and Charlie always liked to read. From time to time she’d pull a book from the shelf, show it to a fellow writer, explain the book’s significance, why she couldn’t part with it.

A conversation about books led to one about art, then one about writing, then one about parties. And there I was, surrounded by old friends, laughing my broken-foot-blues away.

Not everyone could make the party, of course. Maria was back in Italy to visit relatives, Eldoris had a bridge date that afternoon. But you can bet that those of us who were there made a point to lift our glasses of iced tea to Princess and her speedy recovery.

Now, back at home, I am toasting to all my friends in that memoir class. Here’s to you. You consistently show me how to appreciate life — at any age.

Link to Shutterfly here to see more photos from Jean’s great party last Saturday.

Working like dogs

A couple weeks ago I was interviewed for a show on Pet Life Radio: “the #1 Pet Podcast WiFi radio network.” I just love that tag line.

You can hear the “Working Like Dogs” show online now — I was interviewed by a lovely woman who has spina bifida, and her service Dog Whistle was at her side for the entire interview. We spend the first part of the show talking about the work our dogs do. The second half is devoted to the different jobs I myself have held since losing my sight. From the Working Like Dogs web site:

She even shares one of her most humorous stories about how a woman who is blind and her guide dog landed a job as a nude model!

Ah, that infamous stint as a nude model. I must say, it did launch my career as a writer. Staying still for 50 minutes at a time for that job gave me a chance to think about my writing, how to reformulate a lead, how to get across a certain idea. I used that quiet time to put together an essay about my modeling experience. Nude Modeling: Goin’ In Blind was published in The Octopus, the alternative weekly newspaper in Champaign, Ill., and was picked up by alternative newspapers all over the country. I started writing regularly for the paper after that, and only quit working for them after Mike finished his master’s degree in journalism in 2002 and took over as senior editor.

Like so many other weekly newspapers, The Octopus is out of business now. Smile Politely (an online magazine in Champaign) published an oral history of The Octopus this week, and music editor Marci Dodds is quoted about an assignment she gave me to interview bar owners and find out the positives and negatives of hosting live music.

She {that’s me} was thorough — and very good at getting people to talk. Club owners, who had never been asked, had quite a lot to say. Even though she was balanced, the upshot of the piece wasn’t “all live musicians are wonderful and all club owners are greedy, bloodsucking pigs.” I think we pissed off every musician in town with that piece — and oh, my. The scathing letters I got! I had wanted to establish the music section as independent and maybe even a little provocative. I think I succeeded. Perhaps a smidge too well. I swear sometimes I think there are musicians in town who are still mad at me from that story.

What a nice compliment! I mean, I hate to think of musicians in Champaign still walking around angry, but I gotta admit: it was fun to read that oral history and realize that some of the work I — and especially Mike — did for the weekly alternative newspaper in Champaign is still recognized down there.

I am forever grateful to The Octopus for taking a chance on me as a writer eleven years ago — it truly launched my career. And now, when new writers ask me advice on how to get a career started, I can just laugh and tell them it’s easy. “All you have to do is model nude for art students!”

The patron saint of bookstores

One of my table mates was kind enough to help me meet Ann Patchett, and another was good enough to take this photo.

Mike dropped Harper and me off at the Women’s Athletic Club on Michigan Avenue this morning to hear my fellow Bark magazine contributor Ann Patchett give a presentation. It was my first outing alone with Harper since they put that Flintstone cast on my foot, and we made sure to hobble in early. I alerted the strangers who joined us at our table that there was a dog underneath, and one of them lifted the tablecloth to have a look. “Oh, a black lab!” she exclaimed. “How sweet!” It didn’t dawn on me until later: She’d mistaken the behemoth cast on my foot for Harper.

Ann Patchett, the best-selling author of Bel Canto and Truth & Beauty was there to talk about her new book State of Wonder. As her talk came to a close, she let us in on her next project: opening an independent bookstore.

“I live in Nashville, and we don’t have any bookstores,” she said, lamenting that their independent bookstore, Davis-Kidd, went under last December. The Borders store in Nashville closed a few months later. “It’s weird to have a book and not have a place to sell it in your hometown.”

She paired up with former Random House sales rep Karen Hayes in January, and the two of them hope to open Parnassus Books in Nashville before Christmas. Karen will be doing most of the work putting the store together (“She knows which cash registers to buy, stuff like that”). Ann plans to use her author cred to bring attention to her new store, and, in turn, to independent bookstores everywhere. “I heard you all sigh when I said we didn’t have a bookstore in Nashville,” she told us. “And you cheered when I said we were going to open one of our own.” She challenged us all to do our part, too. “Now get out there to your own independent bookstore and buy a book!”

We all had a chance to meet her challenge right away: The Book Stall, an independent bookstore in Winnetka, had copies of State of Wonder on hand. The Wonder-ful strangers at our table teamed up to help me pick up copies for my friends Jenny and Jill, and Ann Patchett couldn’t help but admire Harper as he guided me to the table to have her sign them. The future bookstore owner and I chatted about our work for The Bark and I told her how much I enjoyed the audio version of Truth and Beauty –  she recorded it herself.

She poo-pooed the compliment. “Hope Davis, you know, the actress? She reads this one,” she said, drumming her fingers on the signed hardcover in my hand. “She’s really good.” I’ll have to buy the audio version once it comes out, I guess. You know who I’ll order it from, dontcha? Our local independent bookstore: Sandmeyer’s!

My left foot

I swim laps two or three times each week. Tapping the lane marker with every other stroke keeps me swimming straight, and limiting myself to the crawl stroke means I always have one arm in front of me — my head never bangs the end of the pool. Swimming has always been a safe form of exercise for me. Until last Thursday, that is.

I finished my laps that night and was heading back to the desk to fetch Harper when I slipped and fell back into the pool. My left foot must have gotten caught in the gutter as I took the plunge. It broke. In three places.

Can you tell which foot was broken?

“That cast is huge!” my friend Jenny’s 20-year-old daughter Claire exclaimed while we shared iced tea on their deck late Saturday afternoon. “It looks like the kind of Santa Claus boot we would draw when we were little!” The image made me laugh — one of many laughs I’ve shared with friends and family after my fall. All to explain how it is I am able to sit here and publish this blog post today. You know, rather than curling up in the fetal position in the corner to spend my days whining about my inability to swim or dance or walk or do much of anything until August.

Mike helped me hobble into the car Friday morning and accompanied me to Midwest Orthopedics for the diagnosis — and the cast — that I had dreaded. The first call we made once we got home was to the Seeing Eye so Mike could talk with trainers there about what he could do to help keep Harper on track during my recovery. Doug Bohl from the Seeing Eye encouraged Mike to take Harper on long walks for exercise. “But really, you all should focus on getting Beth’s foot back to normal rather than worry about how Harper will perform once she’s better,” he said, describing one Seeing Eye dog who had to quit working for four months when the person he guided got hurt. “That dog did fine after that. These dogs don’t forget their jobs.”

Mike uses a leash on walks, and the two of them stop at each curb, just like I do when Harper is on harness. Mike follows other Seeing Eye rules, too: dog lovers can’t pet Harper, and Mike doesn’t let Harper lunge or sniff at other dogs during walks, either.

Harper was supposed to lead me to the train to Glen Ellyn for their Bookfest Saturday. My friend Jenny’s husband was working in downtown Chicago Friday and offered to pick Harper and me up and drive us to Flo’s. My sister Cheryl was there waiting with a bottle of wine when we arrived. We shared some wine and laughs with Flo, I stayed overnight and slept like a baby.

Jenny’s sister Jill picked Harper and me up and took us to breakfast near The Bookstore the next morning: Harper’s first ride in a convertible. I hobbled with them to The Bookstore after breakfast and spent the afternoon seated at a table (foot up, per doctor’s orders) visiting with friends, signing books for customers and using my slate & stylus to poke out children’s names in Braille for them as they passed through the store. Bookfest 2011 was a hit.

After the Bookfest, we sat outdoors (my foot elevated, of course) at Jenny’s, sharing iced tea and stories with her and her family. Mike drove in from Chicago and joined us for a while, then helped Harper and me into the car for our ride back home.

Being with Mike and all of these other loving and supportive people the past three days really lifted my spirits. This is only a broken foot, after all. It will heal. And in the meantime, I’ll read books, work on a story assignment from National Geographic School Textbooks, brush Harper, watch White Sox games on TV with Mike, attend lectures, see a few plays (I have tickets for Porgy and Bess at Court Theatre), play fetch with Harper, check my blood sugar levels, get more comfortable using my iPhone, work up some jazz tunes on the piano, sit and share stories with friends, practice my newly-repaired accordion, publish blog posts, write a few books…as Flo would say, “I’d better get cuttin’.” There’s not enough time in a day to accomplish everything I need to do while this cast keeps me off my feet!

Meet Harper in Glen Ellyn this Saturday

Hanni offering Harper a little advice.

Thanks to our friend Jenny Fischer, Harper and I will be signing books from 11:30 am to 2 pm this Saturday, June 18 at Bookfest 2011 in Glen Ellyn, one of Chicago’s western suburbs. Glen Ellyn’s Bookfest 2011is an all-day event for the entire family — lots of authors and activities all over downtown Glen Ellyn, including special events at their Public Library, too.

You might remember my friend Jenny from a post I published here about the independent bookstore she works at – The Bookstore is one of the sponsors of this Saturday’s Bookfest 2011, and that’s where our book signing table will be: The Bookstore, 475 N. Main Street in Glen Ellyn. From the Just the Bookstore blog:

Beth is the author of Hanni and Beth: Safe and Sound, an award-winning book about the love and trust between guide dogs and people who are blind. Beth and her dog Hanni will be at The Bookstore to greet customers and sign copies of her book.

Okay, so it won’t be Hanni doing the signing and greeting in Glen Ellyn — she’s retired from all this book promotion stuff! Harper’s got big paws to fill, but I think he’s up to the challenge. I look forward to showing him off to you all — if you live anywhere near Glen Ellyn please come out and see us anytime between 11:30 am and 2 pm. After that we’re hightailing it to the Glen Ellyn Public Library with Jenny to hear keynote speaker Mary Doria Russell, author of The Sparrow. Glen Ellyn Bookfest 2011 is free and open to the public. For a complete schedule of Bookfest 2011 events throughout Downtown Glen Ellyn this Saturday, link to the Downtown Alliance Website.

Listening to Roger Ebert

The great Roger Ebert.

It took a year for me to go from seeing spots to being completely blind. During those twelve months Mike and I were determined to keep doing all the things we’d enjoyed doing together when I still had 20/20 vision.

Going to movies, for example.

Mike would hold my hand in the theatre, warn me where the steps were, lead me down an aisle and direct me to a seat. If I kept my head still I could find a clear opening in-between the blobs in my field of vision and narrow in on the action up on the screen.

I saw Prince’s body in “Purple Rain,” Darryl Hanna’s fin in “Splash.” I remember the round hat on the little Amish boy in “Witness.” I didn’t need Mike’s play-by-play back then. I could see well enough to figure out who was saying what to whom.

Except for that one time we went to see a foreign movie. What a mistake! I know some French and German, but I couldn’t concentrate on the words I was hearing while working so hard to see. Trying to track the subtitles was ridiculous—they just moved too quickly. We walked out on “La Cage aux Folles,” the first time I’d ever left a movie early.

My eyesight diminished quickly after that. Eventually the screen went totally black. Nothing the doctors could do. I gave up on movies.

But then film critic Roger Ebert started his Overlooked Film Festival in Champaign Urbana, where we were living at the time. The before-and-after lectures make the overlooked films more accessible to people like me. My guess is Roger didn’t have people with disabilities in mind when he decided to host talks and panels before and after films there, but hey, ain’t life grand when ideas like that turn out to be “universal design?!”

Roger Ebert’s Film Festival, affectionately known as “Ebertfest” by locals, helped me realize I can still appreciate movies. Among my favorite Ebertfest films over the years: Murderball, The Secret of Roan Inish, and American Movie.

Roger Ebert accepted an award from Access Living at the disability advocacy organization’s annual gala last night in Chicago. Access Living’s “Lead On!” award recognizes national leaders who have helped reframe the understanding of people with disabilities and who have helped to remove the barriers-physical and attitudinal-that exclude people with disabilities from career pursuits and everyday life.

Roger Ebert represents the very embodiment of what the award stands for. Thyroid cancer has left him unable to speak. He has no lower jaw, and friends tell me his face can be difficult to look at. Others might stay inside, slow down, retire. Not Roger. He just keeps on doing the work he loves-reviewing movies, Blogging, attending film festivals and continuing to manage his own festival, too.

Roger Ebert uses a text-to-speech program called “Alex” to make presentations at film festivals and conferences now. “For me, the Internet began as a useful tool and now has become something I rely on for my actual daily existence,” he told an audience at the Ted Conference earlier this year, explaining why he considers himself fortunate to be born in this era. “[If this had happened before], I’d be isolated as a hermit; I’d be trapped inside my head. Because of the digital revolution, I have a voice, and I do not have to scream.”

Thank you for your courage and your fortitude, Mr. Ebert, and congratulations on receiving this well-deserved “Lead On!” award. All of us benefit from hearing your voice.

Joplin Schools looking for book donations

One of these is heading to Joplin.

A lot of you come to this blog because you love to read, so I thought you might be interested in this opportunity to donate new and gently-used books to the Joplin, Mo., schools.

The original message came to me via a Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators listserv along with a phone number and email address to use if you needed more information. I left that personal info off this blog post for fear of evil spammers, but if you want the contact info please leave a comment here saying so. I’ll email it your way personally. Here goes with the message:

The Missouri Writers Guild is collecting books for the Joplin schools, which were nearly destroyed by the recent tornado.
MWG president Deb Marshall said, “They have to replace books for K-12. The high school was a total loss, as was one middle school and one elementary. Another elementary and one additional middle school were major, but not total losses. They have also asked us to assist with helping to restore the Teacher Resource Center, which was totaled also. They’re looking for fiction, nonfiction and resource books.”Books can be shipped by Media Mail to: Deb Marshall, 1203 Spartina Drive, Florissant, MO 63031,” she said. “They have no place to store anything yet, so we’re shipping to me until their Resource Librarian has her location established the third week of June, at which time we’ll make a delivery and she can begin to catalog. Anything they cannot use will be distributed to military families in the area. Joplin has a number of National Guard units that have been deployed on numerous occasions to both Iraq and Afghanistan.”

I know you have been generous in the past and often look for good homes for gently used books. Please forward this message to any lists where you think people might be able to help.

Thank you so much for encouraging others to step up for this. The Joplin community needs it and the Missouri Writers’ Guild appreciates it as well.

Best regards,
Deb Marshall
President, Missouri Writers’ Guild

Harper’s Tale

Here's the view out our window of set-up day for Printers Row Lit Fest

Poor Harper! He came home from the Seeing Eye to piles of snow here in Chicago and for weeks — even months — after the snow finally melted, it rained. Harper braved the thunder and learned to maneuver us around puddles, and when the sun finally made its debut last Monday I’m sure he thought he was on easy street. But that’s when the semi-trucks arrived.

This weekend is Printers Row Lit Fest, and the semis were loaded with huge tent poles, panels upon panels of tarps, reels of cables and wires and everything else it takes to convert our little neighborhood into a bookworm Bacchanalia. Streets and parking lots close, huge tents spring up in the middle of streets, sidewalks up and down our block are overtaken by hundreds of exhibitors: booksellers, publishers, and literary organizations. Threading me through a sea of book nerds rushing from one author panel to the next is not going to be easy for dear Harper, but today’s guest blog gives me confidence that he’s up to the challenge.

Longtime Chicago Blackhawk fans will understand how guest blogger Michael Vasko got pegged with the nickname “Elmer” in college. ElmerMichael and his wife Donna moved to Arizona after we all graduated from the University of Illinois, and they were nice enough to come to the Phoenix Public Library when Hanni and I did a presentation there.

That’s when I found out that he and I share something besides our nostalgia for Scott Hall parties: ElmerMichael likes to write, too. He’s completed a couple of novels, and he was motivated to write a short piece after reading my blog posts about some of the troubles I’d been having with Harper. “For some reason, right from the start, I was identifying with Harper,” he said. “Newly graduated, thrown out into the real world and it now being time to shine. It resonated.”

Trying Too Hard

by Michael Vasko

So I’m cruising the internet and come across this story about a girl who had hung around exclusively with only other girls up to now but suddenly found herself out with a boy. For the first time. And how the two of them would go out, but how often times the girl couldn’t help but notice the boy acting unlike those before him. She could tell he liked her, but often times he would wind up doing the wrong thing. Often the socially unacceptable thing. But my god, he was cute so the girl would overlook it. But there came a point where she could no longer continue to overlook his little proclivities. She didn’t really want to break up; but come on, get with it, the girl would think.

So the story goes on to say how the girl wondered why the boy acted the way he did; to the point of asking her friends and even delving into the boy’s past. All in an effort to try to learn why her relationship was so different this time. From all her other past relationships. And this effort goes on for some time. And all the while I’m sitting at my desk, reading this story, thinking to myself that I know the answer: HE’S A GUY!

To me, I’m reading a story of a guy out with a girl – and it’s his very first girl at that. And he likes her a lot, and can pretty well tell she likes him too. But then again, what does he really know? He’s new at this. So he’s thinking, I’m pretty sure she likes me, so let’s not screw this up. And so they go out one time, and at the end of their date she says she had a good time and all, but I don’t know, he’s thinking; I think I must have done something wrong. I’ve kinda got an ability to sense these things.

So now the guy gets nervous. And they make a date to go out again. But there’s nothing sadder than a young guy trying to take care of a girl out on a date who is nervous. Now I wasn’t there of course, but I’m reading this story imagining the details; imagining the guy slamming her dress in the car door and then getting all focused on that and forgetting to open the restaurant door for her. And probably making a mess of their actual meal together too. And the harder he would try, the worse things would get; to the point of him thinking that he wishes he had never even gone out with her in the first place.

So I’m reading this story and two thoughts keep going through my mind. The first is: I hope the girl doesn’t give up on this guy. Because of course at first the guy is gonna come off as something less than all those old friends the girl had previously. Because he’s a guy. We’re slow. And easily distracted. And you can tell us to do something and a minute later we’ve forgotten whatever it was you had just said. But it’s not from a lack of trying. If anything, it’s likely we look like goofs because we’re trying too hard. And we’re really not good at doing more than one thing at a time; and new things kind of throw us ’cause we don’t like looking like idiots, which of course guarantees us looking like idiots; and oh by the way, we have no freaking idea how your minds work. But given time, more than you and all those other women can ever guess, we always get there. And we’re always pretty sure we’re worth the wait.

And oh yeah, the second thought was something along the lines of it might help if, in the meantime, in order to help us ultimately get where you want us to be, you provide us with a seemingly unnaturally high level of treats, which has been known to help successfully influence and determine our behaviour.

Hoping for continued success with your new friend,

Michael