Beams and Blindness

It took me awhile to get used to get over my pre-conceived ideas about blindness, and to begin to associate it with myself. I freely used words like "tolerance" and "understanding" and "adaptability" with nonnative speakers, language, culture, and cuisine. But when it came to accepting my own vision limitations, I was having none of it. This is the start of my journey in changing my attitude about my very own Retinitis Pigmentosa.

~ ~ ~ ~

"Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?" Matt 7:3

“I had a lot to learn about judging others and accepting myself.

“Perhaps the best solution is to simply tell people that you are blind.”

“I’m not blind. I have a vision problem” I replied immediately.

Have you ever been around someone you don’t know well but who rubs you wrong, or downright irritates you? For me, that someone was Bob. I tried to be polite but from the start everything about him bothered me. First, he had the audacity to show up without telling me in advance that he was blind! So that was a shock. Fuming, I guided Bob through my parent’s house until we arrived at my apartment. There he sat on my sofa, determined to suggest that I was blind and that I should inform people of it! I glared at him—not that he would notice.

Bob was the Mobility Instructor assigned to my case by the Bureau of Blindness and Visual Services (BBVS) I had recently contacted.

“Blindness is a continuum,” he said. Not every blind person has lost all his vision. Some people still have some vision but are legally blind. That means they have to be at 20 feet to see what others can see at 200 feet. Or perhaps they have less than 10% of vision remaining. Sometimes blind people can only see light, but not shapes. What can you see?”

“I don't know. My problem (notice that I did not say ‘my blindness’?) is more of what I don’t see. I don’t see edges, or corners or even the dog all the time!” I joked. The truth was I ran into tables and open cupboards, missed steps. Poor Buddy learned to get out of the way or that I would fall over him.

“Are you legally blind?”

I recall being told something like that more than twenty years earlier but I stubbornly refused to admit it. “I’m not sure.”

“From what you tell me I think you can benefit from using a cane. Have you ever thought of that?”

“You mean a blind man’s cane? No, no! I don’t think I really need that! I’m just clumsy,” I muttered.

Bob was not to be deterred. “Would you be willing to try it out for a session? Perhaps around your neighborhood?”

I nervously covered my eyes, not even realizing the irony of that action.

“How long is a session?”

“Ohhh, an hour or so I believe would be enough.”

“Ack!” I muttered even more quietly under my breath. “Sure, why not?” is what I said aloud to him.

Bob then proceeded to take out a variety of canes for me to try out. We walked around the house and even went to the basement where we found my mother washing clothes. Bob jovially introduced himself. I held onto my cane. Embarrassing to have that stick in my hand! I don’t know why. My mom didn't even appear to notice.

As far as I was concerned Bob could leave and good riddance to him!

As soon as he left, I picked up my cell phone and punched in numbers. “Jim! He didn’t even tell me that he was blind before he came. Can you believe I cleaned up my entire apartment?!”

“Was this your annual spring cleaning?” As usual, my best friend who lived in California took a comical tack.

"Jim, can you please stay with me here!"

"Who is ‘he’ anyway and was he 100% blind?”

“Hmph! I’m talking about Bob, my new mobility instructor. Remember I told you he was coming over tonight to meet me? He never even let on beforehand that he was blind! And yes, he is 100% blind!"

"And do you always tell people you have a vision problem?" he asked pointedly.

"Why is it that blind people project their blindness onto others?” I huffed, ignoring him.

“As if you are an expert on blind people now. Isn’t he the first blind person that you ever met?” James laughed. “You are in denial, big time!”

“Oh, shut up!”

It was easy to fool myself before I called the BBVS. People who lose their vision gradually can get by for a long time without coming unglued. We just keep adapting. Suddenly a big chunk of vision disappears. This dislodges the fictitious comfort we’ve built up around ourselves. That’s what happened to me. Bob's visit bugged me so I refused to call him.

But Bob did not give up. He called me. “Amy, this is Bob, your mobility instructor. It’s been awhile since we talked...”

“Mmm. Sorry, uh—so busy with my job lately.”

“I know how that is. But your cane has come in now. Shall we take that trip in your neighborhood soon and you can try it out?”

“Ahhhh—-” I couldn’t think fast enough, “Well—” Why not?

We set up the time and date for one week later in October for us to traverse my neighborhood.

The big day arrived.

“Oh, you’re early!”

“Take your time. I’ll have a smoke.” Bob planted himself outside his driver’s window and extracted a pipe. He then filled it with an aromatic tobacco and puffed on it as he talked to his driver and waited for me to gather my wits about me.

“Okay, I’m ready.” I wasn’t but the sooner we got started, the sooner we could finish.

“Let me introduce you to your new cane,” Bob joked. He then reminded me how I should hold it and instructed me to lead the way, “just get a feel for it now.”

We took to the sidewalk with me in the lead. The sun caressed our shoulders as we explored the area. My cane seemed to me just like a pool cue and I regretted not having life-sized pockets low on the ground in which to shoot a series of colored or striped balls. The thought made me smile.

“Try walking with your eyes closed,” Bob called.

Just then I jabbed myself hard in the stomach with the cane, and yelped. “Ack!”

The life-sized billiards game turned into a dagger or fencing sport. “Ahhh! Where’s my shield?” I bemoaned the fact I was not a knight living back in Shakespearean times, and thus not properly armored.

“Speaking of yielding, let me show you how to cross the street.”

I smiled at the misunderstanding but took my cue to pay attention.

“When you hold your cane vertically, it indicates to drivers that you are stopped and do not intend to cross the street. That’s important. You then listen for sounds of traffic, and yield the right-of-way to them if you hear vehicles. If you hear nothing, then you proceed to cross.”

“Oookaay.” I could handle that, especially since I could still see with my eyes at the moment. “This cane stuff isn't so bad!”

I soon changed my tune. When I saw Rhet McCohn, my neighbor and one of the shakers in our town, I desperately longed to tap my cane out of sight. “Oh no! I look like I’m cross-country skiing, except there isn’t any snow!” As Mr. McCohn watched us file past his house, I then closed my eyes for real. No time like the present to try my skills! He must be wondering what we’re doing, why I’m using this cane.

I imagined myself stopping, holding my cane vertically as if I were going to cross the street. Except I would turn to face him. What would I do? Twirl my cane like a drum majorette’s baton? Use it as a teacher’s pointer and gesture dramatically? “As you can clearly see, I am now learning how to be blind!” Or would I use my cane as a musician’s baton and conduct a silent symphony and introduce Bob as the Master conductor? I did none of these things, of course. I kept on going and tried not to blush. Let Mr. McCohn think what he would!

I don’t know how Bob knew Mr. McCohn was there but he greeted him with, “Nice day to be out and about, wouldn’t you say?”

I noticed Mr. McCohn didn’t have anything at all to say.

We arrived back at the house, and I guided Bob up the stairs to my sofa again for our debriefing.

“You moved at a good clip,” he approved, “especially towards the end.” His voice took on a teasing tone. It’s as if he knew just how embarrassed I felt in front of the town mayor who lived kitty-corner to my home. “Did you close your eyes at all?”

“I did,” and wondered if Mr. McCohn did too.

Maybe Bob wasn’t quite as bad as I originally figured. After all, a blind teacher with a sense of humor might really have something of value to teach me. I held my cane vertically and thought, “Okay, I’m stopped. But ready to yield.”

Leaving a dust trail to my online dating experiences!

With so much focus now on online dating, I thought I would share my experiences with two dating sites I joined this past year: Christian Mingle and E-Harmony. I had reached a milestone—ten years after my divorce—and I felt that God had finally given me the high-five to date again! These are some of my experiences!

Online emails and chats: online identity-switcheroo

First, he was a 49-year-old gem smith from Austria wanting to know all about me. He went on shopping sprees all over the world for the best stones. The only problem is that I swear he left me chatting with him when he took off on those trips! By that, I mean he left me hanging on to his next word literally without signing off. How rude!

He next turned up with a completely new identity (new name, age and nationality) perhaps a 35-year old mountain climber for all I remember. I was shocked that he was a player! Betrayed...!

I had a few marriage proposals, sight unseen, one from a widowed father in NYC, and another from a lonely geologist whose wife had left him.

I dated a guy with his own carpet-cleaning business who lived about three hours away from me. We finally agreed to meet in my city. We had a romantic visit to an expensive Japanese restaurant that night. That was followed by a brisk walk back and forth several times at a nearby strip mall. Still can’t figure that out! The next morning called for a surprise trip to the vet, and he obliged. My dog bonded as he made space for him on the floor of his van. I was dreamy for a few more weeks, then things fell apart on the second day of my first visit to see him in his city. I asked him, “Where are all the jokes?” He asked me, “Where are all the words?” He felt like a rent-a-clown and I felt like a rent-a-chatterbox. To make matters worse, when he saw me in my new dress for church, he quipped, “Did you plan to sing in the choir?” I felt like a misplaced southern belle! He proceeded to usher me into a seat and never introduced me to a single soul. That afternoon, he took me on a planned hiking trip. I knew we were not destined to be together when I asked if he ever did anything spontaneous, and he said, “Yes, put you on a bus home!”

My family celebrated my birthday a few days later at the same Japanese hibachi, and I thought that would kill me, but I rather enjoyed myself instead! Thus, I let him sweep our date under the carpet with his super-duper carpet business. Three hours was just too far away to bother with any more dates with him!

There was another man but he lived four hours away. We had one dinner date. He had been working for a professional printing press for years. Kinda cool for a writer like me but ... simply not attracted to him. He selected a coupon from his stash for The Olive Garden. A nice enough fellow, though. He liked hiking and was an amateur painter... I was imagining myself checking out his paintings. I do so like art. But about four days later, he wrote me, apologizing, and said that he had started dating someone else. I was happy for him but sad for the loss of a painting aficionado and my potential hiking partner; he had a flexible schedule and it was the autumn season, the best time for hiking, after all!

I also went out with a root canal specialist (Who dates THEM anyway?!) I think he was a little bit of a snob, and he seemed just like I imagined one of his profession to be—impersonal and to have a cold veneer! He took me to a posh country club but talked all evening of his "toys" –his words, not mine- his boat, jet-ski, Caribbean cruises, and how he wanted a woman who could "keep up with him." As I imagined myself running after him, sweeping my cane in clumsy haste, or perhaps trying to walk or should I say...glide...or rather fend-my-way-with-my-cane on water (for he was a Spirit-filled man of religion as well!). As I envisioned myself sinking INTO the water the further on I went, I thought it best to be left in the wake of his jet-ski…

I corresponded next with a local guy. When discussing where to meet for our first date, he suggested the GROCERY store!! (no joke!). We bypassed the shopping expedition but met for a late lunch at Wegman’s delicatessen at the grocer. He currently acts as a supervisor of bridge repairmen and snow plow operators. In the past, he was a Farrier (a horse-shooer), at least thirty years in this job! What I know about horses isn't worth mentioning but my experience is limited to my teaching days in Colombia when I rode around burial sites in San Agustín for five hours one rainy day. I recall the dreadfully serious response of my riding companion: after it was all over, he rubbed himself painfully and groaned, "I don't think I'll be able to have children after this experience!" Needless to say, my future with the farrier was doomed from the start.

After that, I exchanged six weeks of emails with a match from NY but he was not right for me either. He wrote to say he was PASSIONATE about paying his bills! I am passionate too, but about traveling and writing, and other things, like having a sense of humor! It seems that poor guy was sadly lacking in that department. There was some kind of computer problem (I think he timed out on the site and lost his email). He wrote "I am DISTURBED about this loss as I would like to continue to communicate with you." That word disturbed me. Who gets disturbed about a lost email?! Maybe disappointed. Or confused. Or irritated. But DISTURBED? I think that's a deal breaker, or at least a warning sign of times ahead...

Last but not least, I can't forget to mention the retired oil rigger who had horrendous spelling and grammar. What can you say to someone who can’t write let alone pronounce his brother-in-law's last name (a good solid Italian-American name by the sounds of it!)? Not only was I disturbed (if I dare employ that word!) I made my living working with, as the oil rigger called them, "ferin'rs" (foreigners) for twenty-five years. Couldn't find a common topic between us. Till he called me one day and told me he had to learn Spanish and could I help him? I sent him a set of cassettes and urged him forward...he was supposed to take a test and get an oil rigging job in Brazil (BTW where they speak Portuguese, not Spanish!). I followed up recently to see if he got the job. He must have as the number was no longer in service!

I quite often felt in despair - like was that one perfect—no, I wasn’t even aiming that high—just suitable, guy out there?? I used to soothe myself with thoughts of exposing my mismatched dating experiences and write about the whole idea of putting yourself out there on computer dating. Looking back on my experiences, I don’t think I was successful but it taught me how to laugh at my situations. An actual article might not be appropriate but maybe an entry on my blog about these crazy matches might be okay. I wouldn’t want to hurt them (we are all just reaching out for someone, after all) but the point is … I don't know how they were matched up with ME!

Millions of Blessings

Millions of Blessings

Somewhere around 6 am, I began to wake up. In that murky state between dreams and reality, I couldn’t quite get my bearings . As I looked around, I saw a cockeyed bulb hung loosely from a wire in the b1athroom and a filthy ceiling fan dangled motionless above me. Slowly, it filtered through my sleep-muddled brain. Kenya! My second day in a small village in the landlocked Eastern province of Mwingi. I woke up for real then, anxious to get moving.
“Thank you God for this new day and everything it will bring me. Lord, let me always be ready to see the many blessings You provide each day, but I know this beautiful Kenyan day, above all, will be special. Let me remember every detail I experience.”
Brrrr! The Kenyan winter air felt chilly on my bare feet. I fished my socks from the sheets where they’d come off during the night and put them back on. Yawning, I slipped a foot out of bed and onto the floor. Just as quickly, I jerked it back up. Even in the poor lighting, I could see my white sock had instantly turned black.
What on earth had I stepped in? Ashes? Dirt? My scrutiny turned to shock when the color began to fan out. Tiny black moving dots. Something ALIVE. There could be no mistake…
ANTS! AaaaaAAAAGGGHHHH!
I began beating at my foot, of course sending the ants flying all over my sheets, and in my hair and on my hands and arms. Rolling around and flailing, I brushed everywhere at once, then slapped at the sheets to knock them off and out of my sight!
Did you ever notice how ants cling to human skin? I didn’t know what was making them stick to me — static electricity, something in the air, their species … did they have some super-duper appendages with magnetic properties... Whatever the reason, we tussled for the upper hand. My whacking beat their clinging.

When it seemed the ants had retreated and the immediate danger had passed, I observed my surroundings once more, my breath still coming in rasps. My poor eyes can’t usually see great detail, but that particular morning, they focused on quantity — hundreds, thousands, dare I guess even millions — of ants? Pull yourself together!
Trails of ants headed in every which direction — on the floor, on the walls forming a line to the ceiling, and those closer up, meandering drunkenly inside the creases of my sheets. Tiny black ants.
I let loose another scream as they began to attack me once more — an arm, my legs, a shoulder, a toe...my hands quivered as I beat them off and they scrambled for safety.
Get away, ants! Shoo!
I calculated every move I made, as if I were shipwrecked in the middle of an ocean, but instead of water, the ship was leaking ants. I didn’t want to fall out into the ants or have the ants drown me, so I clutched onto my sheet with one hand and kept the water – ahem, ants – at bay with the other.
Someone rapped on my door.
“Madame, I heard you making a small sound. Is everything okay?”
Who is that? What does she mean ‘a small sound’? People in the next village over should be able to hear that scream! I want them to! A ‘small sound!’ Is that her way of being polite?
Millions of ants have invaded my room and she asks me if I’m ‘all right?’ Of course I’m not! These better not be killer ants. Is there even such a thing?
“Can you open the door? Madame, are you awake? You are not having a nightmare?”
Yes, I most definitely AM. Like a feature film, my nightmare is showing “Attack of the Ants!”
As I tried to form the words, the footsteps receded and I found myself alone once more. Gradually my breathing slowed down and I cleared a manageable space around me, carefully got dressed, and then jammed my feet in close-toed shoes. By this time, the ants had receded to a circumference I could deal with.
As I sat on my bed thinking about the past few minutes (as that’s all it really lasted), some lyrics came to mind. “Count your blessings. Name them one by one...Count your many blessings, see what God hath done.” Many blessings? One by one? What? Whoa!
It occurred to me that we have so many blessings, we can’t even begin to realize how many — just like those ants! Each ant is an intricate and complete perfect specimen designed by God. Every single one is a reminder of what He has brought into our lives. I remembered my prayer earlier this morning. I certainly will recall every vivid detail of this experience. God had swiftly answered my prayer!
And with what humor! When I remember the flapping, flailing, spontaneous antics I went through, spurred on by the adventure of so many unsolicited ants invading my area, it makes me laugh instead. The ants never harmed me or put me in any real danger. I’m okay. I survived. They endured. Or many of them did. I can’t vouch for the whole lot of ‘em but they sure seemed like a hardy bunch.
At first I couldn’t believe what had happened but when I reflected on it afterward, I saw God’s immense humor come through. Can’t you just see an impish God chuckling as He spied down on me that morning? God wanted to give me unforgettable memories. He answers prayers, folks! Let’s always be ready for the surprise encounters God brings us; how rich and unexpected are His gifts!

Surprise Birthday Mayhem!

Let me tell you: I love birthdays! I think it’s because I don’t look at birthdays as turning a year older; I think of them as confirming our own unique personalities and worth. They are days when anything exciting can unfold, and I expect it to. My attitude towards birthdays carries over to my friends, and I always try to make them feel special..

So, when I got invited to my Facebook friend’s surprise 50^th birthday party, I couldn’t turn the invitation down, even though I hadn’t seen my friend in thirty years! I looked at it as an adventure—and that’s exactly what it turned out to be. I anticipated a challenge because this undertaking would first, take place at night, and second, in an unfamiliar venue. How would I handle it when my classmate saw I was now using a blind man's cane?

My best friend, Kathy, stamped her feet to get warm,“Got the card and crying towel?” The crying towel was a gag gift for Birthday Boy.

“Yep.”

"Got your cane?"

“Yep.”

“Ready to rip?”

“R.I.P? You mean I’m takin’ my life in my hands?” I quipped. Then a moment of suspicious--and somewhat nervous--laughter hit me, "Did you say 'trip?' "

“Come on, I'm doing you a favor by going with you, and I'm freezin' while you're making jokes."

Brrrr! It felt like the coldest day of winter. When we spoke, our breath came out in tiny puffs. The wind sliced through my fashionable blue jeans where my jacket stopped. I wasn't wearing my warm cap as "limp flat hair" was not simply not acceptable at such a gathering. My fingers became stiff in the short walk from the parking lot to the building.

We ducked into the restaurant. I stood still for a few moments to let my eyes adjust to the dimly-lit interior. Kathy waited patiently for me to give the go-ahead to move forward.

"How about that table over there?" I tried to follow her chin movement. Over there? To the right? To the left? Across the room? My eyes were still adjusting.

"Oh yeah...the table is right ahead of you. Can you see it?"

"Ummm. Now I can. Okay, let's go."

I swept my cane back and forth. That made me feel like a street cleaner, except instead of cleaning I was spreading snow in wobbly arcs across carpet those first few steps. We reached the table--to the right of the door and a little behind us--and shed our coats.Some other women joined us.

“Let’s get something to drink.” Kathy suggested.

We ordered our beverages and headed back to our table. Where was Birthday Boy? I set my Coke down. When I set it down, I knocked over Kathy's cup. Ah, I didn't see it there! I watched the contents cover the table in record speed. I could definitely see that! People dashed madly about to bring napkins and paper towels. I just stood there watching. "Sorry. Sorry." I apologized as the woman tried to staunch the mess before it dripped onto their clothes. I caught Kathy's eye. She looked amused. I grimaced. What a way to start!

At that moment, Birthday Boy arrived at our table. Oblivious, he gave each of us a big, warm pull-me-close hug, which stretched out into a second one...

“Guess what Amy did? She spilled my drink all over the table. I didn't even get my first sip!"

She was up to something, but what? I glared daggers at her, but this time the darkness was in her favor. Drats! What would Birthday Boy think? She was not cued into any of my "Watch-it-you're-on-dangerous-ground" signals.

Birthday Boy still wore dark glasses but they didn't look as heavy as I remembered. He had a little less hair on top... and a little bit more on his face (a salt and pepper mustache and beard). He seemed inclined to forgive any clumsy misdeed, “You did that?” He smiled benignly and I noticed a tooth missing on the top right-hand side of his mouth. "You're lookin' good, the both of yous," he gestured to Kathy as well.

“Ahhh…it's very dark in here,” I muttered to explain both the spill and his compliment, thinking how I would skewer my friend the moment he left.

"It's been a long time since I saw ya last." He looked relaxed as he tugged on the flap of his baseball cap.

"Yeah like thirty years," I reminded him. I hadn't seen him since high school.

"Want ya to meet my wife and doctor-I mean, daughter..." He called out to them, swaying a little, "C'mere..."

I smiled in Birthday Boy's direction where I expected them to show up. I held out my arm and thought they'd take it if they were there. No one did. So I quickly pulled it back.

"Oh daddy, whaddya want?" The blurry figure of an attractive blond, but slightly heavy-set young girl came into my view. He put his arm around her shoulder; his pride was unmistakable. "This is my daughter, Kelsie."

I nodded at her.

"Are ya havin' a good time?"

I wasn't sure if she meant Kathy and I or her dad, Birthday Boy.

He smiled at all of us,"What's more importan' than bein' with family and friends at my big 5-0?"

An older, heavier but less made-up version of the teen girl stepped into my view. Long blond hair and a friendly, wide smile caught my attention. She offered her hand, "So nice to meet you. I've seen your comments on Facebook. My daughter here actually sent out the invitations for the surprise party." She looked approvingly at Kelsie.

"So nice to meet you, Kathy." I didn't risk offering my hand. It was a casual outing, after all.

When they all left, I turned to my friend, "Okay, spill it!" I grinned at my pun, "Why did you tell him I spilled the drink?”

“I thought he might offer to buy me another one.” She made a face.

I rolled my eyes. What could I say? "It didn't work now, did it?"

"Nope," She laughed. "Be right back. I'm gonna get a Coke now. But don't go near it!" she joked.

"Don't worry. I don't think I could stand a repeat performance."

*****

The rest of the night passed by without incident-- if you don't include me knocking two pieces of cake out of Kathy's hand before leaving or drawing the attention of another former classmate with my cane. I'll just have to get used to these "happenstances." Is that the right word? It was noteworthy that I managed to go through the buffet line without dumping any chicken wings ... wasn't sure how I could carry a plateful of food and manage my cane at the same time! But slow and steady makes the grade...

Birthday Boy reveled in the attention of family, close friends and old acquaintances. He was kind, generous and very welcoming. I was so glad that I came to be part of this celebration! I think sometimes as in the case of old - let me change that to "former" classmates meeting up -- where there is no bond due to a lifetime of different experiences, the "lifetime ago" becomes that bond. It's kind of a neat feeling.

Bovaird wit - made to fit Model-T at Car Show

My dad loved his car shows! He found it the most relaxing way to pass a Saturday or Sunday afternoon. He and my brother, Mike often went together. It was a good time for them to bond. He and Mom went sometimes but she would get a bit bored after awhile. But she did enjoy talking with some of the wives while dad and the antique owner would "talk shop" about their vehicles. The car shows consisted of (usually) old-timers who inspected each other's cars and gabbed a lot. Dad seemed right at home in the cloth seat he'd set up near the the cars he brought to show off. He was in his element and he always had a story to tell. He also always had a way to make his vehicles stand out in the crowd.

Five or six summers back I found my dad making a sign to place in the window of his Model-T Ford during a local car show - just to generate conversation, I gather. I volunteered to type it up for him. He seemed pretty pleased about the result and taped it to the inside of his window.

This is an example of his humor on the day he showed his Model-T Ford off at the Shriner's Hospital Car Show...If you know my dad, you will appreciate its humor!

~ ~ ~ ~

This 1925 Model-T was custom built by Henry Forge for his good friend, the Shaw of Platea, who used it as a brothel.

At the beginning of the Prohibition, it was sold to wealthy Lake City industrialist, J. Pierpont Snodgrass, who added wheels and remodeled it as a gin mill and floating poker game.

With the repeal of Prohibition, it was sold to the Reverend Martin Luther Jones, who added a woodstove to the car and used it for a hotdog stand and winter revivalist meetings.

After December 7, 1941, General Dwight D. Loosenbauer conscripted the car into the army as his personal command post in Paris and South Africa. It was flown in by boat; sands were removed and a crystal ball and ouijii board were installed, whereby it is rumored he successfully predicted the end of the war and the death of Elvis Presley.

It was later purchased by a consortium of Fairview businessmen who are presently using it to transport Politicians and other Criminals to and from the Girard McDonalds.

(Please wipe feet before kicking tires!)

~ ~ ~ ~

Observing ... Disturbing ...Silencio!

A freshman in my Spanish I class surprised me this morning when she came up to my desk and began to whisper to me. Have you ever heard slurred whispered words through braces? Well, I didn't either! So, I inquired again what as to what she said. No better the second time around. But she looked more earnest, and I hadn't the heart to say I still had no idea what she had just said.

Typical of me.

Let me state this for the record for everyone to hear: On the best of days, I have a hearing problem! Did you catch that? Do I need to tell you again? Louder? No? Now everyone knows! I wear very small (and wonderfully compact!) hearing aids, which work really well. 91% well, to be exact! Except for the clear tiny wire, no one would even know. That's my problem. Most people don't know. So, I can get away with not really hearing if I don't insist on absolute clear communication. Which I do, the majority of the time. After all, that's pretty essential in a language classroom, wouldn't you say?

I'm working on ridding myself of this crazy, false pride the few times that I don't insist. But I'm not totally 'there' yet. So, I choose my battles. This was one battle I let pass.

As you might guess, the flu has affected my hearing. I feel as if I am an ocean away from people. So, not only am I only at 91% at best, I wasn't even at 91% today! So, when my student whispered to me before the start of class with such a hopeful expression on her face, I smiled and nodded. She returned to her seat with a happy gait, having accomplished her purpose.

A minute or so before eleven o'clock this morning, she began to cough and point frantically to the clock on the wall. I nodded and continued with my lesson. The class took a lively interest in the dramatic show of attention the time received. I directed their attention to the class activity at hand.

"Por favor, silencio!" I admonished.

"Si, si!" they shouted, "Silencio!"

A wave of "Silencio's" tore through the classroom, complete with nine sets (of double arms) waving up and down and pointing to the clock in fairly synchronized movements. But with my vision, the arms looked fuzzy to me. Was I seeing double? It seemed like a comedic pantomime, and increased the unreal far-away oceanic sense I was experiencing this morning.

I stared at these lunatic students of mine in mid-activity. Han ido todos locos? Had they all gone mad?

Then, the unthinkable happened.

I turned to find my place in the book, which I'd placed on a music stand that I use as a "podium." In retrospect, this is much too fragile of a piece of equipment to ever hold a book in place. The excitement in the class caught me off balance. I pushed the page of the teacher's text a bit too hard to emphasize my command (I guess I don't know my own strength!). The music stand slid two inches lower. When I tried to pull it up again, my wrist caught the leg and I threw it backwards. With a thud, it bounced off the whiteboard, and crashed sideways to the floor. The teacher's text slid three feet to the right, upside down, and creased the page terribly.

But it didn't stop there.

My poor vision caused more commotion!

I tripped over the base of the music stand and pitched sideways into a special desk that held a fan -- which happened to be turned on! The black whiteboard marker I was holding flew toward the fan. For one terrible moment, I was afraid that the marker would get sucked in to the blades. My worst case scenario: the blade chewing up the marker would then echo out my open window to the old "empty" sanctuary on the other side. That racket would then reverberate on down to the principal's office. She would then, in turn, be forced to come running to my classroom. The scenario was all a little too much for me! I started to feel faint...

My hearing aid suddenly picked up all kinds of sounds and magnified them, mostly the peals of laughter coming from my students open mouths.

"Bet you didn't know your 'profesora' was so wild, did you?" I joked in an attempt to retrieve my dignity and to surreptitiously check for bruising or broken bones. "Where is my cane when I need it?" I asked as I tried to normalize the classroom situation.

"It's back by your desk. Do you want me to get it?"

"No, gracias. Un chiste. Just a joke!"

"Mann, now it's too LATE!" The student sounded very put out.

"Como?" What?

I received no response. The students were too busy falling off their chairs, trying to hold their belly-defying laughter in check.

One kind student got up to pick up the teacher's text and smooth out the page. Another picked up the music stand and set it upright.

One anxious student asked if I were okay. Note: Only one.

The students finally calmed down.

"Why were you acting so crazy? What were you trying to tell me just a minute ago? What were you all flailing your arms about?" I asked the students.

The student who whispered to me answered for everyone, "I told you. We had to observe a moment of silence at exactly eleven o'clock because everyone in the United States is supposed to do that at the same time. Today is Veteran's Day!"

"Ohhh," Everyone cracked up, including me.

"Vamos a hacerlo ahora." Let's do it now.

"It's not the same at all." exclaimed the one who said we were too late, "It doesn't count."

Silence is golden, but not my classroom! Our SILENCIO is the noisiest sound we hear! Well, maybe not me.