My mother died in 2002, so I did not join the armies of shoppers all over North America this week, ringing up sales of cards, restaurant meals, chocolates or flowers. However, I did think about Mother’s Day (the modern one, not the British Mothering Day from which it originated, or the celebrations of the ancient Egyptians and Romans which honoured the goddesses and are the root of this celebration of women/mothers.)
The first North American Mother’s Day was conceptualized with Julia Ward Howe’s Mother’s Day Proclamation in 1870. Despite having penned The Battle Hymn of the Republic 12 years earlier, Howe had become so distraught by the death and carnage of the Civil War that she called on Mother’s to come together and protest what she saw as the futility of their Sons killing the Sons of other Mothers. She called for an international Mother’s Day celebrating peace and motherhood; she even proposed converting July 4th into Mother’s Day, in order to dedicate the nation’s anniversary to peace. Eventually June 2nd was designated for the celebration. In 1873 women’s groups in 18 North American cities observed this new Mother’s holiday. After Anna Reeves Jarvis died, her daughter Anna M. Jarvis campaigned for the creation of an official Mother’s Day in remembrance of her mother and in honor of peace. In 1908, Anna petitioned the superintendent of the church where her Mother had spent over 20 years teaching Sunday School. Her request was honored, and on May 10, 1908, the first official Mother’s Day celebration took place at Andrew’s Methodist Church in Grafton, West Virginia and a church in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. In 1908 a U.S. Senator from Nebraska, Elmer Burkett, proposed making Mother’s Day a national holiday at the request of the Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA). The proposal was defeated, but by 1909 forty-six states were holding Mother’s Day services as well as parts of Canada and Mexico.
Anna Jarvis quit working and devoted herself full time to the creation of Mother’s Day, endlessly petitioning state governments, business leaders, women groups, churches and other institutions and organizations. She finally convinced the World’s Sunday School Association to back her, a key influence over state legislators and congress. In 1912 West Virginia became the first state to officially recognize Mother’s Day, and in 1914 Woodrow Wilson signed it into national observance, declaring the second Sunday in May as Mother’s Day. The holiday flourished in the United States and flowers became very popular. One business journal wrote, “This was a holiday that could be exploited.” But the budding commercialization of Mother’s Day greatly disturbed Jarvis, so she vociferously opposed what she perceived as a misuse of the holiday. In 1923 she sued to stop a Mother’s Day event, and in the 1930’s she was arrested for disturbing the peace at the American War Mothers group. She was protesting their sale of flowers. Despite her efforts, flower sales on Mother’s Day continued to grow. (Anna Jarvis died in 1948, blind, poor and childless.)
The National Retail Foundation predicts Mother’s Day is a $14 Billion industry; Google spikes in search traffic for “Mother’s Day” in the US and UK. Florists see their highest sales in May. Restaurants claim that it is the busiest day of the year. Long distance telephone calls also peak on this day. According to Hallmark, 96% of American consumers take part in shopping on Mother’s Day, while retailers report it as the second highest gift giving day of the year behind Christmas
Many countries, regardless of the Western trend, continue attach much more symbolic and/or religious importance to their Mother’s Day celebrations.
I am releived that I no longer contribute to the North American industry known as Mother’s Day. Tomorrow, as some mothers are subjegated to bad breakfasts made by their children, to sitting in noisy restaurants, to opening expensive cards and over-packaged and equally expensive boxes of chocolates, to dutifully placing flowers into little-used vases dug out of the back of the kitchen cupboard, to receiving the only phonecalls of this year from their distant children or grandkids, I truly hope that those moms will smile knowingly, as my late mother would have smiled, and know in their heart of hearts that they are usually loved, sometimes respected, occasionally misunderstood, rarely appreciated enough, and almost ALWAYS doing the hardest and most important job in the world.
I echo the sentiments of Julia Ward Howe and suggest that we celebrate PEACE and MOTHERHOOD…furthermore, I think that we must work to resolve the conflicts in our world and stop the futility of Sons (and Daughters) killing the Sons (and Daughters) of other Mothers,
Bob Dylan crowed the lyrics of his rally call: ‘The Times They Are A-Changin’ (1963) to a generation of angst-filled youth, disillusioned dreamers, and nouveau radicals, all thirsty for wise words, guidance, and affirmation that their deep, unexpressed feelings WERE true and that their world (ie, parents, government…’the establishment’) must change…and that they were the ones to change it….”if your time to you is worth savin’, then you’d better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone, for the times they are a-changin’…”.
It’s remarkable how songs and their lyrics stick in your head. I don’t think a Bob Dylan ear-worm is necessarily a bad thing, (unless the harmonica solos refuse to end, then you may have a problem). This Dylan classic came back to me recently and has been stuck on repeat ever since. I tend to make associations with song lyrics at least 100 times a day. Here’s how THIS one got in my head:
Someone very near and dear to me, applied to enter a program called ‘Women Unlimited’ offered through the Nova Scotia Community College. It is geared for women who want to explore non-traditional occupations and trades. My friend, having been laid-off her job as a junior metrologist (equipment calibrator) last fall, was hopeful that the Women Unlimited program would provide exposure to ideas, contacts and resources and eventually lead to gainful employment. As my friend was leaving the interview at NSCC, the interviewer remarked cautiously, “I notice that you are person from a minority group”. My friend, puzzled, turned around and asked, “Because I’m short?” (she’s all of 4′ 10″). The woman struggled to find words…”No, the rainbow on your back pack indicates to me that you might be a…homosexual…(rushing to continue)…I have gay friends…normally, I would use the word Queer when talking to them…” My friend interrupted, “But you have to be Politically Correct”. Relieved, the interviewer replied, “Yes, EXTREMELY, but I thought you should know that by self-identifying as a member of a ‘minority group’ for this program, your chances are significantly increased”. My friend grinned and remarked, “The Times They Are A-Changin’…” or something to that effect…or maybe I just put Dylan’s words into her mouth ’cause they felt so good to me (REALLY GOOD) and I love any excuse to make a pop culture reference.
I am so irritated I could spit. I wish I was the kinda gal who could chill when people are behaving like total a-holes. It’s one thing if smokers want to kill themselves, go around smelling like ashtrays, become a burden on the health care system which our tax dollars are paying for, make their children sick, loose productivity at work because they are outside caging a smoke…wait, that’s more than one thing…the point is, I only believe minimally in smokers rights, because when their addiction impacts ME and invades my personal space, I have to draw the line! The butthead who recently moved in next door (anorexic-looking twit with a 8-4 job, a stupid boyfriend who makes her squeak when they’re having sex, and a cat that I feel VERY sorry for), might be very quiet tenant (except maybe for all the knocking on her door by people using a ’secret code’ on the door seven thousand times a night, golly gee, is she selling drugs too?!), but it turns out the common wall we share, transmits her cigarette smoke. Great. I pay an obscene amount of rent money for my haven, my oasis, my mecca of personal space…and I am forced to suck up the result of HER addiction. Hey Butthead! Capital District Health Authority is giving FREE smoking cessation aids if you join their program. Com’n babe. You can do it! Quit killing yourself and that stupid cat of yours, and most of all, stop irritating ME...and then maybe I won’t be so inclined to use all of the 200 watts of speaker power (‘Van Morrison Live’ tonight) to blast out my frustration. The fact that my window must be open during a wacky March blizzard, just so that I don’t croak, seems a little silly. Sigh. Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so touchy about the smoking thing tonight, but this morning, I walked by a Metro Transit bus shelter (ironically, it was outside the hospital), and a bunch of QEII hospital employees were using it as a smoking hut. Very nice. Where are you HRM by law enforcement officers?! You guys just blew a $350.00 fine TIMES at least three or four buttheads! If you added up all the potential butthead infractions and collected the fines, maybe we could afford to run this city efficiently. OK, Now I need to put on some music again…let’s see…I really like that John Mayer CD…
Yeah, yeah, yeah…it’s Saturday night and I’m going to take advantage of the fact that most people are out on the town, doing important stuff like smooching with their sweeties and I AM NOT! Sigh. Maybe it’s something in the spring air or the effects of drinking the HRM tap water, but I feel a burning desire to give one (I SAID ONE) Metro Transit bus driver a pat on the back, tip of my jaunty beret, nod of approval, and spring bouquet all rolled into one. Given the intense satisfaction I normally derive when I have the opportunity (and there are plenty of them) to blast Transit drivers (see earlier blogs), I feel oddly conflicted and confused about this new-found bus driver appreciation…but here goes; On Friday, I was riding the #14 bus, bound for the UU church on Inglis to rehearse a ‘green opera’ which I am writing and co-directing (don’t ask. I’ll tell you about it sometime). The driver was a little behind schedule, not unusual for a Metro Transit bus. It was past peak hours minutes (This IS Halifaxl) so the bus was not the packed sardine it can it can some times. I lulled into my typical bus stupour but remained minimally alert, which allowed my brain to count the turns that the bus was making (to figure out where to get off…driver had not asked me, and I thought he had sounded a tad frazzled and would probably forget to tell me anyway). It turns out that I need not have bothered. I also did not need a compass or GPS to realize that the collective, “Hey!” from passengers (Oh those eloquent St. Mary’s students!) meant that we had blown by Robie street without making the #14 route’s right hand turn off of South Street. The driver realized what had happened quickly enough (maybe it was the three panicky students who swarmed the guy within 2.749 seconds of realizing that the bus was off route). I listened to the following exchange between the driver and students ( they had quickly lurched forward to stand next to the driver, I-pods temporarily disconnected from their heads to allow their ears access to their cell phones;
Driver: “Sorry, I’m used to working the #41 route…it’s Friday….I’m so sorry.” (#41 goes right up South)
Student A: “Is this the #14 or not?”
Driver: “Sorry, I apologize…it’s Friday”.
Student B: “Are we going anywhere near St. Mary’s? I’m supposed to meet someone in…3 minutes” .
Driver: (sounding very tired) “I don’t know where to turn around”
Student C: “Are we going to go back to Robie Street or not?”
Old geek sitting across from me: “What the hell is going on?!!”
Driver: (to the driver of a passing bus he had waved over) “I have no idea what to do. Where can I turn around? What would you do? I’m ten minutes behind schedule as it is.”
Other Driver: “Just get back anywhere on the route. Happens to me all the time”.
Driver: “I don’t want to leave anyone behind on Robie or Inglis which is what’s going to happen if I blow off the route”.
Other Driver: “Do whatever you feel like” (he then left, helpful soul that he was)
Student A: “Is this the #14?”
Student B: “I’m getting off right now!” (at which point he leaped off the bus as though his pants were on fire)
Student C: “Is we still in Halifax? I’m not from here…”
Student A: “Is this the #14?”
Driver: “Everybody sit down please. I apologize…it’s Friday” (he then drove off as though his HIS pants were on fire).
We embarked on the most unusual of bus trips. We headed east, then maybe south and west…north even? I had no clue where I was, but I did not seem to mind (how unusual for me…hence my feeling of confusion). People cursed and grumbled and sighed and tisked all up and down the bus.
Me: “Can someone please tell me where we are?” (The driver was still busy driving like a man possessed).
Student C: “I don’t know where I am either”.
Old geek across from me: ” The son of a. b..ch is going back to Robie Street to pick up his route where he left off!”
Upon hearing this news, I felt an unexpected appreciation for this driver (who was still apologizing profusely as anyone got off his bus). When we finally reached my stop, (some 20 minutes off schedule by now and way too late for rehearsal),
I said to him: “Don’t worry, stuff like this happens all the time to me too….it’s Friday!”
At one time, people accused me of picking on Halifax’s Metro Transit and their bus drivers too much….they don’t announce bus stops despite the undeniable swath of pan-Canadian litigation and Human Rights rulings which has forced other cities to do so…they have inaccessible route and schedule information, AND they have yanked the “free pass” which allows the blind to travel free, a minor concession for inadequate Accommodation.
It seems that I don’t have to complain about Metro Transit drivers anymore. Why? They are behaving like a big bunch of goofs with EVERYONE these days; Recently, one driver rammed a courier’s vehicle on Barrington street and held up a busload of passengers for 20 minutes while he ranted. Then, last week, a driver refused to allow a veiled Muslim woman on his bus…a definite no-no (a bystander complained, not the woman), this on top of recent accusations of racial profiling and finally, this weekend, one particularly goofy driver got out of his bus in front of the spring Garden Road Library to whack a mock bloody seal with a stick; the toy seal was being used by anti-seal hunt demonstrators. I guess he was just trying to express his opinion? The driver was picked up by the cops and eventually returned to his bus. It seems he’s been invited to join Metro Transit big cheeses in a discussion today (Oh, to be a fly on the wall!). I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; give these drivers a refresher course…no, not ’sensitivity training’…they need a course on how to locate their brains…the one’s stashed away in their back pockets…the pockets attached to the lard asses they sit on as they drive their buses (a job for which they are over paid, if you ask me), confident with the knowledge that the money they shell out in monthly union dues will cover the cost of lawsuits and other damage control expenditures for these ’special’ (and increasingly often) times when they behave like the big bunch of goofs they really are.
You know that the world’s going to Hades in a hand basket when a sad story, such as the one broadcast all over mainstream media today, leaves people feeling so mixed up. Or is it just me? A woman in Nova Scotia drowned a couple of kittens last summer and got fined $5.00 for it in court today. Yeah, yeah…this initial ‘teaser’ lead bit on the radio leaves you thinking…”You crazy, sadistic b..tch! They should drown YOU”. Then, you hear the sad flip-side of the story; she fed a stray cat, fed it some more (The Cat Came Back is the song that comes to mind- Harry S. Miller 1893), and bing, bang…she’s got one cat+2 kittens… She’s poor, can’t get help from her town’s officials, and decides to euthanize the kitties in a bucket. Groan. Of course, Suspicious Minds (written by Memphis songwriter, Mark James and the last #1 hit for Elvis Presley in 1969- his last) like mine ask, ‘What cat has only two kittens’!? Maybe she lied about THAT too…and actually drowned a litter of 14. Not that it matters much, they’re all dead, regardless. But NOW, the SPCA is crying foul. They want “BIG FINES AND JAIL TIME”! said their head mouthpiece with emotion. My question? Where were you guys when this nutty, albeit well intentioned stray-cat-feeding woman was busy phoning around, trying to find someone to off the felines? Sure, “dangerous precedents are being set”, yada, yada, but NOW you’re worried that everyone is going to think it’s OK to euthanize Fluffo ’cause it’ll only cost five bucks instead of the usual $179.00 at the vet? Sigh. Then, the legal beagle for this woman (gotta be legal aid lawyer) said a bunch of really stupid things (he compared his client’s action against that of the person “who hanged that dog in Point Pleasant Park” …I can do without hearing that sort of thing). It did not endear me to the situation or to this woman…still…she’s poor…she loves the animals…a regular Doctor Doolittle ….who simply done too much. “We’re caught in a trap….”
That’s right. I just had to step out of my incognito state. I’ve been away, not dead! Give me a break RCMP! Mr. Robert Dziekanski is dead, however, thanks to a bunch (one in particular) of Tazer-trigger happy goofs (oops, I mean officers) who zapped the life out of this poor Polish guy who simply had the bad luck to choose the Vancouver airport to land in on his first visit to Canadian soil. I guess he never got to the ’soil’ part of Canada. He was too busy wandering aimlessly for a zillion hours, lost, tired, jet-lagged, jonsing for a smoke, in a bloody nightmare welcome to the land-’O-moose- on-a- postcard, imitation- maple- syrup- products-come-Duty Free shops and baggage carousels, trying to get ANYBODY to speak to him in his own language in an INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT! His big mistake was picking up that most dangerous of weapons, the dreaded ’stapler’. Yeah right, coppers, take down this exhausted guy who’s been on a plane for 15 hours and in an airport twilight zone for 18 hours with FIVE TAZER BLASTS! Then, goof around some more (make sure he’s REALLY dead, eh?) while you all try to decide what to say to the boss (that would be the RCMP big cheeses?… then a public Inquiry)…oh, I guess the whole damn country wants to know now, huh? Who would have thought that it would get all blown out of proportion like this?! I bet that’s gonna put a crimp in your Easter holidays. Ah, shucks fellows. You forgot to watch out for the babe walking by with her dreaded cell phone/video camera! May you (especially you, Millington) all get nailed to some big internal cross of conscience come this Easter time as you celebrate the christian tradition. Frankly, I’m not into that ‘jesus rises’ stuff, being a broad-minded, liberal thinking UU and all…but I still like the chocolate. Sigh. I guess I’m back from Hiatus
I have written this blog (and 236 others, two of which were deleted…why did I do that?!) for just under one year. Some 20,500 people have dropped in to date. I am currently involved in a writing project (very interesting stuff which I’m sure you will all want to pay big bucks for…or not). That’s the good news. The bad news, for some, is that I am taking a temporary break from blogging. Others may see this as cause for celebration (the crass, reactionary types). Regardless, I am outta here for a time, but like MacArthur (or was it some other dude?) said, “I shall return”. Thanks to all the regular readers, the web drifters, and especially to those who have taken the time to send comments (except perhaps, the demento types who really seem to have a loose grasp of reality and lack social decorum).
Opal, my long-suffering (that’s just an expression!) guide dog bids you adieu for now too. She says to tell you that she will update you personally on the progress I make with my writing project (literary pimp, that she is). It just wouldn’t seem right to go on blog holiday without one more pop-culture reference all wrapped up into a piece of wise advice: “Stay calm, be brave, and wait for the signs”- (from the Dead Dog Cafe gang on CBC Radio),
Dear Louis, happy birthday buddy. At your age (200), you probably take birthdays in stride. I am writing to pass along greetings and best wishes from a few kids here in Halifax. I gotta tell you, I was a little disappointed in the overall lack of interest at the Braille 200 Day booth at the mall today. I was feeling a tad depressed about the whole thing for a while there, having schlepped so much stuff over to the community booth, including my Perkins Brailler, a Braille alphabet chart the size of Manitoba, some items for the raffle, a ton of pamphlets and information sheets telling people all about you and the system you developed for blind people. I had made (lovingly and painstakingly), commemorative bookmarks. Preparation for your celebration have taken their toll on my wallet (Braille card stock, printer ink etc) and my time. I had day-glow yellow posters made up to advertise my offer to Braille anyone’s name for FREE!!! I had a neat display of Braille children’s books, metal tags (you know the kind I sew into my clothes to identify their colour- PK=pink, GN=Green, RD= red etc), phone and bank statements, playing cards etc. I got so bored sitting alone at my booth, that I started to write nonsense on my Braille machine, just to pass the time…”If one more person comes to ask me for directions to Athlete’s World or the washroom, I will ask Opal to attack…” I couldn’t believe that thousands of people could be so hell-bent on shopping and totally uninterested in you and your special day. Finally, some kids came to ask me for their name in Braille. I cheered up instantly. I sent them off with sticky labels and cue cards with the appropriate names on each. I told them about your birthday and they asked me to wish you all the best. Only ten people picked up my bookmarks and I have plenty left…looks like I may need to do another mall shift in the next week or so (groan). Maybe they’ll have shut down the Christmas music by then…Hey! Maybe I’ll bring some to church tomorrow and see if any UU’s want to feel you up! Take care, my friend. I hope you make it to 300 and beyond.
What if, when we awake tomorrow, to a new day and a New Year (and a boatload of snow in Nova Scotia), we also awake to…the complete absence of news items relaying the tragic traffic accidents and deaths which occurred after too many people got ‘happy’ with liquor in celebration tonight. What if we never hear another announcement of soldiers dying in Afghanistan and elsewhere? What if the federal and provincial governments suddenly decided to support their poor, elderly, ill and disabled citizens with programs, services and benefits that would allow these people to lead dignified lives? What if a collective consciousness suddenly finds world leaders talking about “the Interconnected Web of All Existence” (knowingly and lovingly) and galvanizes them into immediate action to resolve issues that threaten our planet, like global warming? What if individuals across the globe are hit by uncontrollable urges to be honest, kind, generous, patient, and loving to one another? Imagine that! …but, John Lennon already did, “and I’m not the only one”, he claimed. So, what if we just give peace a chance?…oh wait, John Lennon already sang to us about that too. (By the way, the ‘B’ side song on the single, “Imagine” was “It’s so Hard” in the USA and “Working Class Hero” in the UK). Happy New Year everyone.
I awoke yesterday with a massive chest cold. (my mom would have said, “Tu as coucher les fesses a l’aire” -translation: “you slept bare-bummed”. Maybe so, but Christmas Eve with my sweetie was worth it. All through the wee hours last night, I coughed, railed and hacked gobs of… well, never mind. At six AM this morning when Opal woke up, she jumped on my bed and proceeded to give me an intense 45 to 60 – second breathalyzer test. She stuck her shnozz next to my lips and carefully sniffed the odours (not too pleasant, I imagine) emerging from my mouth. Then, she promptly lay down beside me, head hung over my legs, until I could get up an hour later. Clearly Doctor Opal diagnosed something not very healthy and decided to cut me some slack. She continued to request samples of my halitosis throughout the day. She must have thought I was insane when I saddled her up and said, “Come on, puppet, we’re going to Sobey’s to buy some honey”. We got there and back with barely any commands being uttered and moving quite slow. I spent most of the remainder of the day wrapped in my authentic Hudson’s Bay wool ‘point blanket’ with Opal and Lucy both settling over me like poultices. Thanks girls. You really know how to take care of your mum. What better nursemaids can a gal have?
Thanks a lot buddy. Yeah you, the nameless smoker who flicked your LITcigarette butt into the air by the Walmart entrance today. Yeah, I realize it was cold out and you were caging that smoke as long as possible before entering the insanity that is Wally World two days before Christmas. Plus you couldn’t be bothered disposing of the disgusting dregs of your addiction properly, like in a receptacle, oh no, you had to toss that flaming fag,without glancing where it might land, like ONTO MY GUIDE DOG, Opal! That explains why she became startled… I had no clue. I thought it was the foot traffic making her nervous, until someone told me what happened, expressing their outrage about it to me, long after you had blown into the store while exhaling the smoke from your last drag (into somebody’s face, no doubt). I bet you’ve started a forest fire or two in your day, huh? You’re the kinda dope that tosses butts (and beer cans) out the car window as you speed down the road. Sheesh! Here’s my Wise Advice for you. Give them up for New Year’s, you creep. Get the patch! Arm yourself with mints and toothpicks. Sign up for support groups, acupuncture, psychoanalysis…but give me a break and leave my dog out of your pathetic path of destruction. And hey! quit smoking and you’ll start to feel better, smell better and sound better. The extra bonus for the rest of us is that you will decrease your share of the smokers
I was about to blog a rant, entitled, “Canadian Tire is Uninspired”… (a rhyming title and a rant to boot). Actually, it was going to be a rant ABOUT boots, or the lack of the allegedly “on sale” boots that appeared in the Canadian Tire flyer this week. With aching feet, bad boots in my closet, and a Canadian Tire gift certificate to put towards anything my heart desires, I thought my problem was near resolution. Yes, I would head into the Christmas shopping fray at CT and buy those puppies for my sore dogs. My sweetie, ever the pragmatist (and maybe not so willing to go into the fray with me), suggested that I check their web site or call ahead to check on availability of my size. ‘Good idea’, I concurred. I entered the item code number into the Canadian Tire web site and yielded nothing except messages to ‘contact store for more information’. Then I dialed and dialed my phone some more, waiting on hold forever and finally talking to frantic staff people immersed in bedlam over in the Canadian Tire stores throughout Halifax. I thought one guy at the Spryfield Canadian Tire was having a breakdown. Lucky for me I have ‘Crisis phone line’ training and could talk him down from his counter top. Two hours later, I was back on the phone with the sweetie to announce “Canadian Tire is lying to me. There is not one store location in town with ANY of those boots in any size. They never had them to begin with. Those shysters just want us to get us into the store to impulse shop…’cause they know we would. What happened to the Canadian institution of my childhood? The one with the catalogues (just the right size) I would strap to my knees in lieu of real hockey pads ’cause we couldn’t afford the ones they sold in their store? (catalogue about to axed from publication) The ones who gave you Canadian Tire ‘money’ with every cash purchase? (about to be relegated to memorabilia collections too).” Sigh. The boot search continues.
I never got to that sole rant of a blog. Why? This morning I got the Warm ‘n Fuzzy Christmas feeling, not from any success in my search for affordable boots, but from two news items I heard on CBC radio. Very simple. First, a rescue dog called Ace, found a Hamilton woman, lost for THREE days, buried in in a pile of snow, ALIVE. She should have been dead. CBC found the story and put the ‘miracle’ tag on, just in the Saint Nick of time. Good job, Ace!
This was followed by a moving tribute (given by Jane Kansas) about a local homeless man, ‘Terry’ who died over the weekend at age 65. He was a colourful Halifax fixture, know as an eccentric, often irritatingly in-your-face kinda guy who could cry crocodile tears on cue if you were ‘nice’ to him, or dismiss you if you had no money or smokes to offer. The man was an alcoholic and suffered from schizophrenia. He wore dapper suits and sports jackets to panhandle, albeit dirty ones. His death is not the happy note here. The fact that his tribute made it to mainstream media IS. This guy’s passing could easily have gone unnoticed. If we can’t take care of our unfortunate citizens, we can at least mark their passing.
Yesterday, a memorial service was held at St. Georges Round Church to honour the lives of people who have lived and died homeless and in poverty. Perhaps more people could make it a point to attend this yearly service in future.
“Occurs at the instant when the Sun’s position in the sky is at its greatest angular distance on the other side of the equatorial plane from the observer’s hemisphere”…this is part of Wiki’s definition of Winter Solstice. In the Northern Hemisphere, it occurs between December 20th and 23rd. The seasonal significance of winter solstice is in the reversal of the gradual lengthening nights and shortening days. Worldwide, cultures interpret the Solstice event in varied ways, but most cultures have a recognition of rebirth, involving holidays, festivals, rituals and celebrations (‘Amaraterasu’- Requiem of the Dead in Japan, ‘Mankara Sankranti’ -India and Nepal, ‘Lucia’-Feast of St. Lucy in ancient Sweden, ‘Deygan’- Zorastrian, ‘Christmas’- Natalis Domini in 4th century Rome and 11th century Christian etc.)
The start of Winter Solstice in 1955, had a whole other meaning for my mother. It was a bitter cold night (I am told), when she laboured to bring me forward onto this good Earth. At age 37, this small Quebecois woman found herself giving birth to me, her fourth of five children, in a private maternity clinic near Montreal. My father was present to witness this…the only time he would be around for the birth of any of his five children. My father, a Master mariner, happened to be home on leave. My mother appealed to him to come to be by her side. She further convinced him to put on his naval dress uniform for the occasion. (He would don that full uniform only twice more in his 35 year career). My dad was a ballcap-wearing kinda guy, even while at the helm of the dozens of ships he would command in his lifetime. Dad obliged. The result of this compliance in putting on his hot, itchy blue serge uniform, was being granted permission to enter the labour room with my mom. This was unheard of in a Catholic birthing clinic of the 1950’s. I guess even Catholic nursing nuns are patsies for a guy in uniform. My dad held me in his arms, (or so the story goes) and mom asked him what my name should be. He grinned and announced, “Helen”. Mom thought this was pretty a pretty good handle for the bald 8 pound, 4 ounce healthy girl she had just unleashed on an unsuspecting world. It would translate nicely she thought (Helene) for the predominately French relatives in her life. She asked my dad about the significance of ‘Helen’. My dad, painfully honest man that he was most of the time, told mom that in his youth he once had a ‘nice girlfriend’ with the same name.
As we move into the Winter Solstice and the longest night, I pause and think about my departed parents whom I miss. This morning, I went into my sea chest of personal memorabilia and I found the very same Master’s cap which my dad wore in the birthing room on that night, 53 years ago. I reflect on the good life my folks gave me, the values they instilled in me, the love of life I acquired from them. Mostly, I think about the lesson they taught by example; how to care for all of Earth’s creatures I encounter on my journey through this life. We were not the perfect family. We had our ‘issues’. They cut me a lot of slack in my troubled times, and I reciprocated in their less inspired moments. While most people entertain the idea of creating New Year’s Resolutions at this time of year, I do not. I do, however, make a point on my birthday, (today) of evaluating my life and its course and come up with ‘Birthday Resolutions’. They mean more to me, and I ’stick to them’ better.
Sometimes, it pays to persevere. For years, I and other individuals have requested, pleaded with, and even demanded that the Halifax Shopping Center branch of RBC (formerly known as Royal Bank of Canada) install an audible banking machine. This branch has gone through several managers over the years, and all were less than responsive to the suggestion that accessibility in banking would be “a good thing” (to borrow a line from Martha Stewart). The branch went through a major retrofit last year, (INCLUDING INSTALLATION OF A NEW BANKING MACHINE), and despite reminders to the deadheads in charge of the dough (AKA the last manager) to order and include an audible machine, the branch ended up putting in a new, regular INACCESSIBLE machine. People who can’t see the keypad and display, cannot use it for quick, everyday banking, like other bank patrons. Instead, our options included going to the stand-up tellers while trying to juggle papers, guide dogs and privacy, or the grim death march-like wait with the ’seniors’ at the sit-down service. The latter is the default choice of most blind people who bank alone. Many a time, I have sat…and sat, and waited for my turn to come. It irritated me beyond belief to wait endlessly for the privilege of depositing money into the coffers of an already obscenely profitable bank. Tic-toc! My time is valuable too! And to boot, any blind person in need of cash or depositing funds to cover bills etc after banking hours? was screwed! So one day, as I sat vacantly at the ’sit down’ service, eavesdropping on some old geek’s long winded financial and personal history (in excruciating minutia) , the new branch manager came over to introduce herself. A big sigh went off in my head, but a cordial greeting coming out my mouth…and within two minutes, I redirected the conversation. I asked her if we might open the dialogue about accessibility problems with this RBC branch one more time. Result? Darlene, the new manager, just telephoned to announce (a mere three weeks or so after I sent her a detailed e-mail about accessibility, Accommodation, rights and obligations blah, blah, blah), that the RBC Halifax Shopping Center branch will, by April, install AT LEAST THREE AUDIBLE BANKING MACHINES AT THE BRANCH ITSELF AND WITHIN THE MALL!
Now, I can look forward to cruising over to the mall at any time, and being able to go the bank machine (the audible ones) , slip on my headphones, plug in, and listen to ‘bank guy’s’ voice croon his instructions to me, thereby allowing me to conduct transactions quickly….such as depositing my money…. into the coffers of an obscenely profitable bank. Nice going, though, RBC.
Enough with the touchy-feely Christmas stuff! I just found out that my blogroll links disappeared when I activated the winter scene theme recently. So you sighted people can suck it up! Back to my preferred basic blogging theme. I’ll leave the falling snow flakes, but that’s as far as I’m going with this winter wonderland crap. They’ll mercifully disappear automatically in January (assuming I’m not rendered comatose from mock turkey tryptophan by then, or launched into a candy cane sugar high, making me incapable of hitting the keyboard in a sensible fashion).
It seems that Christmas came early for a select group of people in Winnipeg. The group? The three staff members and 85 volunteers of the CNIB Winnipeg’s recording studio. The gift? The sudden closure (effective December 31st) of the CNIB audio book recording studio, and the loss of their employment and volunteer work positions, without so much as a thank you…or much of a valid or logical explanation as to why they got this lump of CNIB coal.
Just as I was preparing to retire this blog permanently in order to pursue greener writing pastures (writing for green backs, actually), an e-mail arrived in my inbox which enticed me into writing one more CNIB exposé. Who could resist? Certainly not I. My secret Santa/ mole (and one of the former dedicated volunteers of the CNIB Winnipeg’s recording studio) illuminated my gloomy day with his take on what REALLY went down there in the Peg. ‘Bubba’ waxed poetically and provided a supportive link to a recent article in the Winnipeg Free Press. (www.winnipegfreepress.com/local/35590734.html
‘Bubba’ had read some of my earlier blogs describing the many antics of the CNIB and why I have come to disrespect this organization which purports to be the ‘be all and end all’, do-good group for the blind…something akin to the second coming of the blind Christ. He dangled this carrot for me to chase. I must admit that initially, I had a flash of minor paranoia that this carrot might be bait from a CNIB henchman. ( for I have never seen a more closed, backroom, boys club, unaccountable, un-transparent group like CNIB, since my days with the SIU (Seafarer’s International Union). At least the SIU was more obvious about controlling their membership, protecting their own interests, imposing their will, and generally, being a scum-sucking type of outfit. The major difference really, is that CNIB is a REGISTERED CHARITABLE ORGANIZATION!)
‘Bubba’ tells me that he has “come to firmly believe the CNIB has leadership issues”. Hmm. He goes on to acknowledge that times are tough in the charity sector and that cost cutting is to be expected…yada, yada. Then, he explained that “when the CNIB announced the closure of the recording studio to volunteers, (operating for over 20 years in talking book and magazine production) , one would think it was the result of proper reasoning and due diligence. If not for the outcry of one volunteer, it appears the CNIB would have in fact hoped that this would pass quietly and without notice“ The reason given to the volunteers and the media, for the closure, was “purely financial”
In a December 4th CBC radio interview, the head of the CNIB library was asked about the ‘economic’ reasons for closure, and specifically, “what is the savings of closing the Winnipeg facility?”. The reply given, was ” I don’t know” and a mumbled, “We don’t do accounting that way”. So, now we all wonder how the CNIB can terminate three paid staff and throw away the value of 85 qualified volunteers who donate 12,000 hours of their time each year, on the basis of “I don’t know”? CBC reported the annual budget of CNIB as 82 million dollars (that’s $82,000,000.00). So, we wonder how the director of a division ( CNIB library) with a 9 million dollar spending tab in 2007, makes a major financial decision on the basis of ‘I don’t know’ and some “new fangled accounting practice that is apparently….unaccountable.” to quote ‘Bubba’. Then, to further the insanity and irrationality, the CNIB stated to the media (this despite their public reason for the closure of the Winnipeg studio — ‘tough economic times’), that “no capacity would be lost”. Ah. Clear as mud. They hammered their own coffin nail by claiming that the CNIB library in Toronto will pick up the audio book recording slack. Hmm. Actually. That’s another CNIB lie (oops, I mean, ‘untruth’). The staff at the Toronto library has already told Winnipeg studio staff (internally) that there is no contingency for extra recording shifts in Toronto or to put in extra recording booths there, or anywhere else in the country. The soundproof recording booths in Winnipeg are being GIVEN AWAY, not moved or sold to recoup money “in these tough economic times”. Here’s the kicker. A group of the dedicated , qualified, albeit axed Winnipeg volunteers, asked the CNIB leadership if the studio could be saved if they raised the estimated $110,000 to run it. The response from CNIB was NO. When pushed to explain their reasoning, the group was told by the CNIB did they not want to do accounting that way or to responsible for an endowment to the Winnipeg studio.
This is how you run a registered charity?
Is it any wonder that we, the people who come to discover how truly unprofessional and boorish the CNIB executive and leadership is, choose to distance ourselves from it? (some of us voluntarily, and others by default as turfed out volunteers with this nutty outfit)? Big collective sigh. Thanks ‘Bubba’, you made my day.
It doesn’t take much to excite me. My compadre , Troy (a blind guy) made the mother of all discoveries this week, after much finagling and phoning to the Yellow Pages folks in search of a free, searchable, information phone service for the Yellow Pages. He found a wonderful, little known tool and shared it with me. Now, we are sharing it with EVERYONE. This is free!!! What makes it particularly exciting, is that, now I can ‘browse’ the Yellow Pages, just like the sighted folk. It’s accessed through a toll free number here in Nova Scotia. You call the number, (you can opt for a short tutorial), and say, for example, “Halifax, Nova Scotia”. Then say, “pizza”, if you are hankering for a pie. The ‘automated attendant’ or voice menu will ask you if you want, “Pizza Restaurant, delivery, or any pizzeria”. I chose “delivery”. Then, the clever interactive voice offered me 10 choices. I didn’t really want a pizza, but hey, if I had… Then, I tried “photographers”, “shoes”, “plumbers”, “banks” and more. When searching for shoe store options, I was asked if I wanted to “search by neighbourhood, near a landmark, near an intersection or city wide “….and so on. I listened to a list, and could choose to “connect, get the address, or get the number”.
This is a minor miracle for me and other blind people who spend many an hour fritzzing around with the regular 411 service in search of numbers for stores or businesses. The only business or store umbers we can get from 411, are ones WHICH WE KNOW THE NAME AND LOCATION OF!!! So, for Nova Scotians, the toll free number is: 1-877-310-9356. Blind people! Program it onto your speed dial!! Let your fingers do the walking. For most of the rest of Canada, the number is even simpler: 310-0411. This works for land lines or mobile phones. The web site, is there too, of course for the computer geeks (www.yellowpages.ca). My only caution is, to speak clearly, ’cause sometimes the ‘automated attendant’ says, “I don’t understand you”…story of my life.
Short answer to this question? Yes, of course! They’re dogs, just dogs with special training. All dogs will misbehave, given the opportunity (and all you people with allegedly ‘perfect pooches’ need to rethink that plan to nominate your canine for sainthood!)
I must say that I get a lot of comments from people (bus and taxi drivers, store keepers, hospital staff etc.) who remark that Opal is a very well behaved dog. I would agree, given what I’ve heard about other guide dogs, much to my surprise and horror. Sure, Opal has been known to lick women’s bare feet in public when I’m not paying attention. Her passion for soft and fuzzy things has overwhelmed her more than once too; she stole a ladies gloves off a seat at the ferry terminal once, and she has tried to boost a stuffed animal or two from Walmart’s and other stores. Ok, so maybe she has also shredded a basket (‘off the job’) and torn several pairs of my panties into confetti. At least I caught up with her when she tried to destroy my bra, in time to rescue it. See a pattern here? Oral fixation…jaws and tongue in action? Like many labs, she loves to carry stuff. The first thing she does when her ’saddle’ (harness) comes off at home, is to pick up the nearest object that will fit in her mouth and run like a dog possessed.
I have said this more than once: Dogs are a lot like kids. They are opportunistic. They need good structure, routine and enforced rules in order to behave like good dogs. I think that most of the stories I hear from cab and bus drivers about guide dogs jumping around, barking, annoying the driver or passengers (!!!!) in their vehicles, is not about a ‘guide dog being bad’. Nope. It’s about a handler that does not ’sort their dog out’. These are the handlers that give the rest of us a bad name by allowing the public to develop a negative impression of guide dogs. I have been at functions with other people who had guide dogs, in one instance, 35 blind people and handlers. All were relatively very well behaved (even the people). I have also been at meetings, and parties where only one other guide dog and handler were present, where I became irritated beyond belief (the handler irritated ME, the dog irritated Opal), ’cause the handler was asleep at the switch and not paying attention to, or doing anything about his wandering and misbehaving dog.
The off-duty guide dog will eat that chocolate birthday cake, those half dozen blueberry muffins (low fat), the marinating steaks etc. IF THEY HAVE OPPORTUNITY. They will bother your guests, demand attention, ‘act out’, just like small children, unless you enforce the rules which YOU create, consistently. It makes them feel more secure to know who is leader of the pack (or parent). It is really about ensuring that they do not have opportunity, and preempting the food theft, destruction of property, annoyance of guests etc, BEFORE IT CAN OCCUR. Put your stuff away! (like my panties which should not be lying on the floor next to the hamper). Put your foot down firmly (but do not carry a big stick!–be kind and fair to your dog).
Yesterday, I received a blog comment from a fellow named, George. It came for moderation and was directed off the ‘about Helen McFadyen’ page. George asked why I had not mentioned the significance of the day, particularly in light of the many victims who were killed, disabled, blinded…and my oft-spun blogs on the subject of blindness , “but being a PFA (Person From Away) it might not be familiar” to me….To tell you the truth, I did not ‘twig’ right away. I thought he was referring to the tragic news item from Afghanistan, (100th Canadian soldier killed in Afghanistan) and that he was in some sort of reminiscing mode about Veterans. I’ve been woefully overworked, and writing ‘real’ articles and documents like a woman possessed (actually I’m a woman possessed by deadlines). so much so, that I had a restless night (that and my killer joint pain from this lovely, damp weather). But then, it struck me. I was mentally calculating dates (Christmas and all the billions of pot lucks and other events that require attendance) when I decided to get up and check my Braille calendar. Thank you for the wake-up call, George. Of course, I am very familiar with this significant piece of Canadian/Nova Scotian/Haligonian history. I obviously missed the radio news reporting on local ceremonies.
Yesterday’s date was December 6th. 91 years ago (1917) on this date, at approximately 9 am, the city of Halifax experienced the biggest man made explosion the world had ever seen. It came to be known as the Halifax Explosion. Before the sun went down that day, more than 1000 people would die, 1000 more would die later, and 9000 would be severely injured or maimed. Any person (including PFA’s) who lives in Halifax for a little while, will learn about this event. It is marked by solemn ceremony every year, and the local media always attempts to cover it in a big way. What happened? Canada was preparing for war (the Big One). The Halifax Harbour was busy. A Belgian relief ship (Imo) was preparing to clear the Bedford Basin, bound for Europe and the war. As it was going through the Narrows, the French munitions ship, Mont Blanc and the tug boat, Stella Maris which was towing two barges, all converged. A flurry of whistles followed, as the ships tried to figure which was passing to which side. The result, was a collision between the Mont Blanc and the Imo. The Mont Blanc was loaded with TNT, benzol fuel and picric acid. The immediate result of the collision was smoke and fire. The Mont Blanc drifted towards the shoreline as it burned and smoked. This scene drew curious people to their home and workplace windows to watch. The CBC sums up best what followed; …”The steel hull burst sky high, falling in a blizzard of red-hot twisted projectiles on Dartmouth and Halifax.” The aftermath also included a tsunami-like wash of water (as high as 18 meters) over the survivors.
Result of Halifax Explosion:
In the Richmond area, the destruction was so total that people could not recognize where their homes had been.
In the North end, entire streets were in flames as wood stoves, lamps and furnaces tipped over.
Firefighters came within hours from Moncton, Springhill, Amherst and Kentville, but their equipment (hoses) would not fit with differently-sized Halifax hydrants.
By noon hour the officials had gathered at city Hall, and The Halifax Relief Committee was put together in 45 minutes to begin to deal with issues of shelter, transportation, finance, food. Later that day, more committees formed; medical relief, mortuary, fuel and Dartmouth Relief committees.
Medical aid began to arrive to support local hospitals. Aid stations sprang up. Massachusetts was a significant contributor of assistance (Halifax continues to send a huge Christmas tree to Boston every year as a symbolic thank you). Emergency triage treatment included amputations, lacerations, eye removal, and life-saving surgeries.
Eye injuries and blindness were experienced by many Halifax Explosion survivors. One reason for this, is the tons of glass shards that exploded out of windows where people watched as the Mont Blanc drifted. Doctor G. H. Cox, an ophthalmologist arrived from New Glasgow to perform 12 hours of non stop eye surgeries. The explosion caused 600 people to suffer eye injuries and 38 were totally and permanently blinded.
Many of the 1500 who died that day, died as buildings collapsed and burned around them.
12,000 buildings were severely damaged. 1630 were completely destroyed. 6000 people were homeless.
Mum is going on and on about a guy named, Steven (she usually calls him ‘the idiot’) who just got himself a perogie and is planning to play with it for a whole month. I love perogies! Mum cooks them sometimes. Once, one got away while she was draining them and hit the floor. I scarfed it up in a nanosecond! So, if I was this guy, Steven, and I had one little perogie, I’d be eating it, not playing with it. She says that this Steven guy doesn’t have a lot of friends ’cause…..well, HE’S A MANUPILUATIVE, SHWARMY POLITICIAN OF UNSAVORY MORAL CHARACTER, WHO IS SCREWING AROUND WITH THE GOOD PEOPLE OF CANADA, NONE OF WHOM TRUST OR WANT HIM AROUND ANY MORE! HE IS PLAYING COSTLY PARLIAMENTARY GAMES WITH THE TAX PAYERS MONEY AT A TIME WHEN THIS COUNTRY NEEDS A WORKING GOVERNMENT! You know, if I were you Steven? I’d rethink this being such a bully thing. It’s not OK to push people around (like when I knock Lucy, the cat over), just because you’re bigger. AND STOP PLAYING WITH YOUR PEROGIE!
I’ve had it with going through and deleting an endless bunch of smutty, bizarre, horrific and obscene ‘comments’ from my spam queue on this blog and the pile of crap spam e-mails in my various e-mail in boxes. Holy moly! What kind of nut jobs are out there anyway?! Sheesh! Why can’t we patrol the Internet better? I am seriously saddened by some of this. Sure, I KNOW there is child porn, beastiality videos, sales of dangerous miracle cures, whacko ‘employment opportunities’ and other pathetic stuff going on, but REALLY, can you leave me out of it please!? If I get one more unsolicited e-mail from ‘Mr. Gupta’ asking me for money for his charity, or somebody telling me to send my password and ID to a hotmail account (how lame is THAT!?) I think I will throw a virtual hissy fit. It’s only moderately soothing to forward the fake banking spam to the web security at the real banks, Paypal or whatever, or to hit reply with a big “F You!” to the password seekers, but this soaks up my time. Yeah, I love the Internet and the wonderful pile of information at my fingertips…yada, yada… but the phising, spyware and adware, is getting me down. Frankly, I can also live without the ‘funny stories’, ‘cute videos’, ‘must try recipes’, ‘chain hugs’, ‘heartwarming poems’, and all the other stuff in the pile of junk that I get from my so-called ‘friends’ e-mail me, day in and day out. Some people must have time on their hands like warts.
53 years ago today, just 19 days before my mother gave birth to me, she would have sat quietly with bulging belly, and listened to a New York City station on the radio. (Mom loved to tune in New York City because of the great dance tunes). She would have heard the following item on the evening news report that night;
“A colored woman in Montgomery, Alabama was arrested by police today, after refusing to give up her seat to a white person. Mrs. Rosa Parks faces a fine for breaking the segregation law. It is not the first time that Mrs. Parks , a seamstress who works at the Montgomery Fair department store, has defied the law on segregation. In 1943 she was thrown off the bus for refusing to leave by the back door reserved for black passengers. She became known to drivers who then would refuse to let her on. Ironically, Mrs. Parks recognized James Burke today, as the same driver who threw her off the bus some 12 years ago. Mrs. Parks is a youth leader in a local branch of the NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Colored People). Her husband, Raymond takes part in voter registration drives. The NAACP and Mrs. Parks have been involved in raising money to help defend 15 year old, Claudette Colvin, removed from a bus earlier this year for a similar segregation law-related refusal.”
Five days later, (just two weeks before I entered the world) mom would have heard another related news story on her radio, about the thousands of black citizens of Alabama participating in an organized boycott. A young man, named Martin Luther King spoke to the crowds that night and urged them to continue with the boycott. Almost all of Montgomery’s 40 thousand black residents did so for 381 days, crippling the city’s transportation system and signaling the start of the modern civil rights movement in the United States. On December 20th of 1956 (my 1st birthday), the Supreme court upheld a lower court decision to end segregation on Alabama busses. Mrs. Parks was fired from her job and then moved to Detroit in 1957 because of harassment. She worked for Democratic congressman, John Conyers until her retirement in 1985. Rosa Parks died in October of 2005.
Two of my favourite things to talk about (and I do so incessantly), are Opal and my church, the Universalist Unitarian Church of Halifax. When I have a reason and opportunity to combine both in one conversation or text, my life seems very sweet indeed.
I’ve been under the blogospheric weather for a few days, but only because I have been busy….mostly singing. Last night, the UU church of Halifax held its rescheduled ‘gospel sing-along’ evening. What does this mean? Yes, of course, a bunch of white folk singing gospel songs could potentially translate into a pretty lame event, however, when UU’s sing gospel, we REALLY try hard. Last night, we also provided cultural and racial acknowledgements, and historical information about the music that we were about to perform. As a member of both performing choirs, I had been rehearsing full tilt and memorizing a plethora of song and hymn lyrics for weeks (SONGS GUARANTEED TO NEVER LEAVE MY BRAIN AGAIN!). An early snowstorm had forced us to reschedule the event. Finally, last night, we sang…and shone, perhaps not like blinding light, but certainly with spirited illumination. Opal was well behaved (as usual )and slept, wrapped around the microphone stand at my rhythm- tapping feet. We finally got home after 10 PM and eventually got to bed, but not before her ritual settling period had passed. (Opal needs to relax when she finally gets out of harness, and usually does so by picking up a soft object and running around like a nut. Lately, my panties have been the object of choice. She turns them into lingerie confetti. That’ll teach me to leave my dirty clothing lying about!). Early this morning, Opal accepted my unreasonable demand to ’saddle-up’, (good sport that she is), and off we went to church again. This time we were helping out in the UU orientation for the newcomers. We participated in the day-long UU boot camp until early afternoon and then left the group to tend to our last UU mission of the day; A hospital visit to a church member who has been beset by surgeries and the aftermath of infection.
One of the perks of the harness which Opal wears, is its status and how it can act as a pass to enter into places where pet dogs can not go. A hospital is such a place. My friend, M. who is the unfortunate soul in ill health, has two dogs of her own…at home. What a smile I heard in her voice when Opal gave her a huge greeting! She had no roommates in her hospital room and the place was oddly quiet, so I took Opal’s harness off for a minute to allow for some big time kissing and goofiness. THIS is true medicine, UU canine style.
January 4th 2009 will mark the 200th anniversary of Louis Braille’s birth. Louis is the guy who poked himself in the eye with an awl at age three, then lost sight in the other eye, just to make things symmetrical (actually it was caused by sympathetic ophalmia). He went to the Royal Institution for the Blind Youth in Paris which turned out to be a major hell-hole kinda place with the usual bad food, tyranny and general beatings and abuse that gives residential schools a bad name. The kid had smarts, no doubt about it. He fiddled with the cello and played organ all over gay Paris. In school, he got bummed out about the raised letters they taught him to use for reading, so he improvised a bit with Barbier’s (French soldier dude) 12 dot and dash code used for passing tippy-top military secrets in the field. Louis came up with a 6- raised dot cell system to represent letters of the alphabet. Voila! Braille was born and would later become the revolutionary method of communication for the blind. Louis later dreamed up Braille music notation (being a music buff and all) and years later, a guy named, Nemeth would create a code for mathematics . The really sad thing about this great achievement, is that Louis died of Tuberculosis at age 43 BEFORE BRAILLE CAUGHT ON!
Look for Braille 200 events in your community. Regardless of whether you have vision or you are blind, if you use Braille or not, support Braille 200 Day activities! Buy that lame demo bookmark! Pretend you understand the explanations given by the volunteer at the mall display of Uncontracted (grade 1) and Contracted (grade 2) Braille and how they differ. Ooo and ahh when you are asked to ‘read’ sample Braille sentences and say, “This is so hard to do” in genuine amazement. Make like it matters! ‘Cause it does. It is critical to promote and maintain the teaching of Braille to blind children and adults all over the world. Why? It’s a neat method of communication. Example; You can write obscene Braille messages all over your boss’s memo’s and he’ll never know what you said…PLUS you can read in bed without waking your sweetie (no audio, and no lights)…AND maybe someday, it’ll come in handy when there’s a global power shortage and all the talking book machines and computers will grind to a halt…like now!
Wise Advice chief, HRM (AKA Lablady) and her staff canine, Opal, were rescued on Mumford Road by Bionic Lady late yesterday afternoon. Ms. ‘S’, better know as Bionic Lady because of her nifty titanium prosthetic leg, noticed Wise Advice and her trusty pooch trying to navigate home from the Mumford bus terminal. Realizing that there was no way that the self-proclaimed queen of advice-giving would be able to navigate the narrow, windy, and perilously slippery snow tract which pedestrians had created to replace the sidewalk, Bionic Lady cleverly guided the guide dog and Wise Advice (who tucked in behind the dog) through the rough terrain to safety. Their victorious survival story was recorded by CBC TV crews who happened by on their way to film other snowstorm cleanup and disaster stories all over Halifax. It seems that Saturday’s storm hit HRM by surprise. The official line from the city is that they had not contracted the snow-clearance teams to work before November 30th and “were caught by surprise” (this despite the statistics which show that Halifax has recorded snow in November almost every year in its history). Bionic Lady said to CBC reporter, Mindy Ming, “It’s a bitch out there, ya know? They haven’t even cleared out the bus stops at major intersections yet. The curbs downtown are like, gone”. Wise Advice said she had serendipitously been traveling on the same bus as her neighbour, Bionic Lady. “Yeah, I was standing next to the driver all the way to Mumford terminal with Opal ’cause there was no way those young kids were going to give up their seats for me or anyone else. It gave me a chance to have a nice chat with the driver, though. The driver told me (when he wasn’t stopping to dig snow from his bus’s doors at bus stops, so they could close properly), that 48 hours after the snow storm, not one street in HRM is plowed properly and even bus stops at busy, main intersections are inaccessible, and that there is no way the ALF buses could deploy their ramps for the wheelchair users anywhere”.
“Guess they’re (wheelchair users) screwed for getting to work this winter” the driver announced grimly as he drove his bus around a string of cars stuck in a mid-road snowbank. “I feel like Superman and MacGyver all rolled into one” he announced with pride. “Yeah, I had to pull two people out from UNDER my bus who had slipped off the snowbanks as they tried to get on board at a couple of un-cleared stops. AND I made a nifty shovel out of my lunch pail so that I can dig the doors out when they get stuck!” he added excitedly. Wise Advice told Mindy Ming that she should take the film crew over to city hall and film the undoubtedly well-cleared parking lot there, and interview the mayor and council as they emerge from ‘work’. “Maybe shove a camera in their face and ask them if any of them have time to do double duty as chauffeurs to the thousands of elderly and persons with disabilities in Halifax who are at risk of not accessing medical appointments, employment and necessary travel because of the dumb asses’ decision that it’s OK to gamble and allow un-contracted snow crews to get caught with their ski-doo pants down. Environment Canada is forecasting rain in the HRM area for the next couple of days. Prediction? Ice slicks where sidewalk snow paths exist, and ice mounds at curbs. This equals lawsuits and liability. It would have been cheaper just to clean up the snow in the first place, rather than pay for all those broken bones and physiotherapy.” She left for home with Bionic Lady to have a cup of tea.
You’re not REALLY suppose to call dogs by names other than their real, given name, but sometimes stuff just seems to roll off the tongue…’in the moment’. For example, I often call Opal, ‘Puppet’. This is my special term of endearment for her. Admittedly, I have occasionally also saddled her with; ‘Little Girl’, “Ope’, ‘Little One’, ‘Opal Winfrey’, ‘Magoo’, ‘Bubba’, ‘Goofy Girl, ‘Pooping Machine’, ‘Destructo’, and ‘You Big Galloot’. I’m sure you can figure out how some of these handles developed. She is a petite, compact dog, albeit a bruiser. She can just about knock you off your pins with her powerful tail or swaggering butt. She plays hard, no doubt about it. A ‘waif-like’ woman (which I am NOT) would keel over handling this dog. Good thing CGDB gave her to ME. ‘Opal Winfrey’ was her nickname at Canadian Guide Dogs for the Blind where we trained (Maybe it had something to do with her being a black, powerful bitch…oops. Did I say that?!). As for ‘Bubba’, that came in a dream… weeks before Opal entered my life.
Several weeks before I left for Manotick , Ontario to train with the dog that would eventually be my guide dog, Opal, I had this dream. Realize that one does not learn any details about the dog which the guide dog training school is planning to match you up with, until after you arrive on scene. I had no idea what breed or sex of canine I was getting, nor did I know the name of this dog…until the day we met (that’s for another blog or book chapter). I had been reading the CGDB pre-training material . I listened to a CD and learned about the expense of training a dog/handler team ($35,000.00+). I worried about the difficulties the school might have in finding a dog for me. When I lapsed into dreamland that night, I saw myself at the CGDB training Centre. There I was… sitting in a room, about to learn the details of my dog’s pedigree. The chief instructor came in and sat on my cot ( apparently they could no longer afford beds for their clients). She said, “Your dog is an 8 and 1/2 year old miniature collie mix”. I asked her, in horror, why my dog was so old and so small. She replied, “Money, there’s little of it. We can’t afford pure bred dogs any more. We collect strays and train them”. She added, “Don’t worry, he’ll take up so little space in your home”. Then, I asked about the dog’s name. “Bubba”, she replied. Mercifully, I awoke at that point in my dream. I later mentioned this nutty dream to the real chief instructor when I spoke to her on the telephone, a day or so before leaving for Ontario.
I recall sitting in the lounge at CGDB several weeks later, having just arrived there the day before. This was the big moment when we (me and people I was training with) were being told the details about our dogs. My turn finally came. I held my breath. The instructor had an impish smile in her voice when she said, “Helen, you’re NOT getting a dog named Bubba…you’re dog is a black lab bitch, named Opal IV.” The rest…is history.
The Supreme Court of Canada has rejected an application by Air Canada, Air Canada Jazz, and Westjet for permission to appeal the new policy imposed by the Canadian Transportation Agency in January of this year. The CTA had issued an order to the airlines to adopt a policy of ‘one person, one fare’. In the past, passengers with disabilities and those that are deemed disabled because of obesity, could sometimes be charged two fares if they required extra space to accommodate their wheelchair, stretcher, or if they required two seats because of their size or if someone required an attendant. The airlines argued that the CTA order would cause “undue hardship” (implementing this directive would be too costly…the CTA did not buy it and suggested that costs would be recouped by charging an additional 79 cents per ticket). The airlines will no longer be allowed to charge a second fare to accommodate anyone who requires two seats because of a disability or obesity. This only applies to flights within Canada.
Alliance for Equality of Blind Canadians president, Robin East, won a victory complimentary to the “one seat, one fare” decision in a CTA ruling against Air Canada and Air Canada Jazz in June of 2008. I know this man. He stands over 6 feet 2 inches tall. He travels a great deal…with his guide dog. He explained to me that sometimes, the airlines (Specifically Air Canada and Air Canada Jazz) would not provide him with adequate space for his guide dog when he traveled. (Airlines would provide an extra seat (or bulkhead seating on Westjet) as a courtesy, only when the flight was not sold out. (I have flown at least once on all three airlines with Opal. Twice I got the extra seat, once I did not. The time I did not? Not too comfy for us…and I’m 5′2″) Often, Robin would end up scrunched into a center section seat with his dog wedged between his legs, sometimes for hours. This is a horrendous hardship on the dog, the handler and the adjacent passengers don’t care for it much either). As a result of the ruling, these airlines must now provide sufficient floor space for registered service dogs who fly with their handlers (within Canada) on all aircraft that have over 30 seats.
I don’t know where my mum has been, but I don’t like it! She was gone for only a minute… said something about helping A. with his computer, and then she came back a while later smelling like….the German boy! Yes, I know she was playing around with my boyfriend, you know.. the guide dog who lives upstairs but who is also a shephard (two jobs! wow!), mum says. Oh, he’s not REALLY my boyfriend, but a girl can dream, can’t she? Mum came in and a wave of that boy’s smell hit me like a sack of bricks. Hmmm. He’s so dreamy. I long to play with him…I long to play with ANY dog at this point. Maybe someday I’ll be running around that service dog park that mum’s trying to jig up with HRM. In the meantime, she has started allowing me to play off-leash in our special place. She told me not to tell, and that she’s not sure how appropriate it is to run around this place…you know, being the Worship room at church, and all. I can’t see why anyone would mind. Dogs worship and celebrate life in their own way, I tried to tell her. She got this idea while we were waiting and waiting for choir practice time to come around. We spend a lot of time alone in the church house just waiting, ’cause we have no where else to go. We are usually waiting for a meeting or choir practice. I get bored. Yesterday, one of those ‘ah ha’ light bulbs went off in her head. She said, “There’s nothing but a big, empty room here with no obstacles… If we close the doors, there’s no chance you’ll escape… You won’t damage anything, Opal and I know that you NEVER relieve anywhere indoors…so, let’s play!!!” We didn’t have a toy, but mum threw her glove across the room and we played ‘chase-the-dog-until-mum-collapses-giggling-and-I lick-her-face’ game. Then we had a nap together. Mum eventually confessed to the choir director about our playing in the Worship room. The choir director seemed to think it was a great idea. “Thank goodness we’re Universalist Unitarians!”, mum said. I’m glad we are too.
You gotta love the first snowfall. Deep in your childlike heart of hearts, the excitement of the virgin flakes falling on your face, creates a buzz in you that defies rational thought. You consider hurling yourself into the smallest accumulation to make snow angels…but you don’t. You think, “gee, maybe I’ll take up a winter sport this year”, but you won’t. Your mind takes you spinning through potential Christmas shopping trips; You envision pleasant seasonal music playing everywhere, happy, friendly, patient people exchanging polite conversation, beautifully decorated stores filled with helpful staff that have ‘just the right gift’ for everyone on your list, and then motoring home effortlessly through the picturesque streets to your warm casa. Reality? The music is largely hokey and annoying, the people are ruthlessly shopping for bargains that don’t exist which makes them even crankier. The heat in the stores is oppressive, as people wander hopelessly around in winter gear causing them to sweat. No one can find a staff person for love or money. The aisles are choked with the usual displays of useless Christmas crap (like Chia Pets), intended for the desperate impulse buyer. These displays impede the progress of anyone in a wheelchair. The long wait at the cash is resonant with the sound of cranky kids, the swish of credit cards being processed, and couples discussing how they are going to get that monstrously large entertainment unit into the car. The car needs to be de-fogged and cleared of snow (once you can open the doors after de-icing the locks with frozen fingers). You wonder why you didn’t take that defensive driver’s course. It would have come in handy here at the mall parking lot filled with weary shoppers in cars skidding on summer tires. They seem a little too eager to beat you to the exit and half of them didn’t bother to clean the 2-inch layer of snow off their windshields. You may or may not get whacked by an SUV full driven by a harried shopper. Traffic in town is crazy and you get stuck behind an accident scene involving a Metro Transit bus and a snow plow. The casa’s driveway requires 45 minutes of shoveling before you can get into it.
Me? I Christmas shop in September or on the Internet, IF I have any money at the time and an inclination to purchase gifts. I will not subject Opal or myself to the insanity and unpleasantness of a mall in December. I would not have a hope in hell of getting through aisles with her anyway (displays create spaces too narrow for us), and there is rarely staff available in the stores at his time of year to help me “shop” (ie. find something, read labels…). Instead, when the first snow hits (as it did yesterday), I take Opal outside on her retractable leash and share her profound joy in discovering the first snow of the season…she seems to forget from year to year about this stuff called, ’snow’. But here it is….and the thought bubble over her head reads, “Mum…I think I’m going to go foolish…yes, I believe I must go insane and jump into this white stuff, run around like a dervish and maybe throw myself upside-down for good measure…NOW!”
I had an interesting chat with someone recently about the conversations she has with her cat. “Fluffy understands every word I say”, claimed my buddy. I politely commended her smart feline, but explained that while we all like to THINK that our animals understand human language as easily as fellow humans (and I’m not convinced humans understand it all that well either), this is really not the case. I don’t know much about cats and their ability to understand words. My cat, Lucy, seems to understand the emphasis I put into my words..”LUCY!! STOP EATING THAT ELECTRICAL CORD!!”, more than the actual words themselves, especially when the words are accompanied by the flinging of an object in her direction (like a sock, NOT a brick). Dogs seem have a larger capacity for words, sometimes hundreds. You can compare it to a very young child’s vocabulary. Much of a dog’s understanding is based on tone and inflection, as well as the facial and body language you display at the time you speak, and not so much syntax. While talking to our animals endlessly about our angst and other stuff makes US feel connected, most of it is probably sounding like, “Blah, blah, blah” to them. Guide dogs learn words (verbal commands) to do their jobs. Every handler adds to their repertoire, based on need. I have added to Opal’s vocabulary. She can, for example, “find the garbage” (I draw out the word, ‘garbage’ and it comes out sounding more like, “gahhbaage”. This is a necessary command for us, given our busy schedule, varied routes and the number of times she has a poop on the go. I simply cannot be hauling poop bags into offices or other buildings all over HRM. The downside is, that garbage cans come in all types of shapes and sizes. Some have wrought iron cages around them, others are on poles (really hard to find). Even more challenging, is the similarity of appearance to recycle containers, composters, and even some newspaper boxes and public donation bins. You can appreciate the potential for a ‘mistaken deposit’. Dogs will respond more to association with the word, than the word itself. For example, if I say to Opal , ” We’re going to Sobeys”, EVERY time that we enter the same local Sobey’s store. then she will make the association. If I say the same thing at another of the Sobey’s store location, it will make no sense to her. Associations are quickly made in a dog’s mind. I feed Opal in the washroom at city hall every time I go to my regularly scheduled meeting there because of the time of day when the meeting takes place. If I am unfortunate enough to be in City Hall for a different reason in the early morning, Opal has the expectation that we will go to the washroom and she will be fed, regardless of the time of day.
Czech writer, Milan Kundera, wrote the 1982 novel, “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”…hence the origin of this blog title. I honestly don’t remember much about this book, except that I bought it because I liked the title. I give Wiki credit for this synopsis: {His novel is set in 1968’s Prague and centers on the idea that existence is full of unbearable lightness, because each of us has only one life to live. “whatever happened once may not have happened at all”; Therefore each life is, ultimately, insignificant, every decision, ultimately, does not matter. Since decisions do not matter, they are light, they don’t make us suffer. They do not bind, yet simultaneously, the insignificance of our decisions-our lives, our being, is unbelievably light }
I try to focus on such heady Kundera-like thoughts when I start to fall into that occasional, uncomfortably dark and stressful worrying pattern, typical of a Canadian living in poverty. I qualify my ‘poor person’ status as Canadian because I have no illusions whatsoever that my ‘poverty’ is anywhere close to ‘real’, like the poverty experienced by so many citizens in this world. I have safe, clean housing with running water. I do not live in a war zone. I am not afflicted with any major diseases. I have access to communication systems. I have a great dog and a nutty cat whom I both love. Like many Canadians, particularly PWD’s, I am not employed. That is not to say that I do not WORK. I probably commit more hours of work in the service of the ‘community’ in one year, than most people with ‘real jobs’ would, in a lifetime. I spend long hours working on all types of unremunerated jobs, some that carry a significant amount of responsibility. My work is valid and many thank me for it. I know this in my heart and in my rational mind… I just can’t help but feel, that the burger- flipper at Mickey D’s who gets an authentic payslip at the end of the week, is perceived as the ‘real worker’ by Joe Canuck, regardless of how many hours I put in gratis. Such is our societal standard. I understand this. The complication sets in, during times, (like this week), when I must seek donations of food to ‘get through the month’. How unbearably heavy it is to be poor, or so it feels to me these days. The word ‘humbling’ is one I don’t have great affinity for. Being poor is perceived as an adventure when you are you are a struggling student, or a newly wed, or a young traveler. It is not in any way so exciting or interesting to live in poverty as a middle-aged woman who is already eligible for some types of ’senior’ discounts. It gets to be a major drag.. until I hear the echoes of my late mother’s voice saying, “There are others worse off, we are so lucky”. Still , it’s a bitter pill to swallow… And I missed the anti-poverty event in Halifax on Saturday. Shame on me.
California voters were swept up by the strong, religious conservative lobby to ban same sex marriages in the recent American election campaign. The result? In California, Proposition 8 repealed the right which gay couples won last June, and passed by a 52% margin on Election Tuesday. ‘Project Marriage’ was managed by Frank Schubert and was the force which led the Proposition 8 attack. It was backed by huge amounts of money (Schubert raised 5 million in 5 days) from a united religious alliance of Catholics, Mormons and other predominately white, Evangelical groups. Same-sex marriage supporters were hurt by the heavy turnout of Black and Hispanic Obama drawn to Obama’s candidacy. President-elect Obama opposes gay marriage. I guess you can’t have your cake and eat it too, though it seems to me, that the whole point of having cake, IS to eat it. California will now join the thirty other states banning same-sex marriage. Gay marriages are only legal in Massachusetts and Connecticut. New York and Rhode Island will continue to recognize ceremonies performed elsewhere (“Not in my backyard” philosophy?)
I’m not sure why so many people have put so much effort and money into denying gay couples the right to marry. Many of them (like Hilary Clinton, Obama, and others) are quick to claim support for same-sex UNIONS, but cave to the Religious American Conservative Right when it comes to supporting the right for gay couples to marry. There is something deeper going on here which I’m not sure I really want to think about too much. Frankly, all I can say to those sisters and brothers in the United States who are in this sad state of Unwedded Unbliss, is: Keep the faith (not the one dressed up as the Religious Right) and carry on with the fight…or come to Canada.
I am fascinated with how things get done here in Halifax through Council. I am equally interested in what does NOT get done. Our transit system for example, just scored 1.2 million dollars from HRM City council. How so and what for, you ask? The money is for a ’security camera system’ on transit buses and ferries. It arose after a number of drivers were ‘attacked’ while on the job and the subsequent outcry from their union, as well as the press around it. I think the media attention on this whole thing is what really propelled HRM Council to move the money through to Metro Transit like greased lightning. After all, the city does not want to appear negligent or uncaring about the safety of bus drivers. The teary radio interviews (I bet TV stuff was even more melodramatic) with the female compadres of the driver who was attacked, really cinched it. I don’t have any objection to driver- safety initiatives or union representation. The problem is, the idea of cameras on buses for protection, is silly. My informal survey of female drivers has found that they don’t think security cameras on buses will be effective in keeping them safe from the truly crazy, drunk and doped-up nuts who are the most likely to go spontaneously berserk and attack them. These types of live-wire attackers will not pause and reflect on the presence of a camera over their heads before they punch out a driver for not accepting their transfer or refusing to ‘make out’ with them. It could be that grainy images of an attack, after the fact, will be moderately helpful in getting a conviction in court or compensation from the maimed driver’s employer (HRM).
My complaint is that our transit system gets funded, under funded, or not funded at all, in a way that is a knee-jerk reaction to situations, trends or public pressure. Spending seems to be totally unprioritized. We STILL, after one year of testing, do not have a functioning ‘real time go-time’ service. I can’t recall the price tag on that, project, but whatever it was, it was huge. It should be given priority to get it WORKING at all costs, over some of other recent add-on expenditures, like security cameras. For example the city also purchased some hybrid diesel Transit buses last year because of the push from the HRM’s official environmental geeks (I am a non-official geek supporter). They moved so quickly to tender the purchase of the buses, that they scored vehicles which apparently have proven to be defective. I hear they are going back to the seller. We have no critically-needed voice enunciator system in Halifax, and apparently no plan to find money for it any time soon. The list goes on.
The earliest dogs who had ‘ jobs’ were pretty much limited to doing things which involved herding, sled-pulling, hunting or guarding. Eventually, more types of dog-jobs emerged; guiding, avalanche and disaster rescuing, arson detection, hearing assistance, explosive detection, seizure alerting, wheelchair-user assistance, and many other types of special skills or therapy dogs. Dogs now help autistic kids, people with panic disorder, kids who have trouble reading (‘Reading with Rover’ and similar programs) and now, some dogs even provide assistance (practical and emotional) to recovering veterans.
How fitting that in yesterday’s New York Times (Veteran’s Day), there appeared an article describing successful connections made pairing dogs with veterans. The physical medicine and rehabilitation departments at Walter Reed Medical Center are referring qualified veterans to organizations like Canine Companions for Independence Veterans Program (www.cci.org) , America’s Vet Dogs (www.guidedog.org/vetdogs ) and Neads Canines for Combat Veterans (www.neads.org). The link for the New York times is: www.newyorktimes.com. You’ll have to take it from there. My computer is coughing up another cyber-hairball and complaining about a monster lurking nearby…why is that anti-virus stuff so expensive?
Actually, I’m a little busy, hence the inactivity on this blog. Some things take priority over blogging…like REAL writing (a book-like thing in development) and elderobics classes (don’t ask) and baking apple custard tarts. However, some readers obviously continue to cruise through current and past entries. They have differing ideas on what types of blogs they enjoy most. ‘Joefun’is a devoted fan of the rant. He would have me bitchin’ every day of the week. Others? Not so much. One guy who has been attentive recently is the editor of Irked Magazine, an Internet publication that merits a look-see. He wrote to ask if I would allow Irked to republish a couple of my past blogs. You’d think, given the name, ‘Irked’, that it would have been a request for a ‘big blow’, the likes I am occasionally known to produce. Not so. The ones Irked is interested in, have to do with guide dogs and the handler’s experience. Irked, can be found at www.irkedmagazine.com . Check it out if you are interested in the “culture of disability”, as wikipedia puts it. Link from blogroll (which is getting a bit long, eh?)
I know you probably won’t be reading this yourself, not having a computer or even a place to call home or anything, but I need to ’share’. That’s right, homeless guy, I’m counting on someone to enlighten you on this. Here’s the thing, buddy. You may have time on your hands like warts and find that sitting outside a busy Quinpool road supermarket on a Saturday is a good way to kill a few hours and panhandle some bucks, but you really need to do something about your dogs. I’m talking specifically about the pit bull that ‘got away’ from you as we (me, Opal and my sweetie, LA) were walking down the sidewalk… the one that was gunning down the pavement, hackles raised and focused on attacking my guide dog, Opal. Yeah, the one my sweetie blocked (impulsively and foolishly) with two kneecaps and a big sac of groceries. I’m talking about the one you lost track of ’cause you were busy scoring change and fussing with your OTHER mangy canine at the time. I’m sure life’s a b..tch for you, being homeless and all, eh? Too f..ng bad! Your dog ‘pack’ may be all you have in life, but frankly I don’t give a rat’s ass about them. or the tale of woe that is your life…not when it comes to those out- of- control-canines which you insist on having with you on busy sidewalks filled with children, old people and other dogs, including MINE! If you really insist on owning dogs (that’s DOGS- plural), for which you can’t afford food or vet care, then pack up and do your panhandling elsewhere, like maybe, Miami. The weather is better in the south, there are more shelters, and hey, you will probably find some dog fighting rings in Florida that would employ the pit bull!
The fact that you were still squatting on the same damn spot on Quinpool road, 3 hours after I first went by, (dogs still barking viciously at other dogs going by) leads me to believe that you really don’t give a flying f..k about anyone but your miserable self. Watch it, buddy, ’cause if I’m not the one that calls Animal Control, then rest assured, someone else is bound to call. Don’t be waiting ’till someone gets their dog’s or kid’s face ripped off before you decide to move it along. But then…. it’s not like you’re too worried about liability is it?
At a minor gala yesterday evening, Opal was presented with the 2008 annual UU Choirpractor award. This award is unique (ie. a spur-of-the-moment invention of her mum’s) in that it recognizes Guide dogs who attend endless hours of choir practice at the Universalist Unitarian Church of Halifax. Guide dogs (especially Opal) are forced into all manner of situations because of their mums and dads varied activities and interests. Judo classes, chess club, work, swimming lessons, excruciatingly boring meetings, shopping, air travel, picnics, physiotherapy appointments and on and on. But choir? Listening to Peter, Paul and Mary wannabes and others who insist on experimenting with annoying-sounding instruments like Kazoos and slide whistles as they prepare for an upcoming Gospel sing-along evening? and then, to follow up with yet another choir practice, one of a more traditional type, but still equally loud and boring? “This is Service Dog hell week”, read the thought bubble above her head yesterday. Opal’s saving grace (NOT Amazing), was the power nap between the two gigs on the floor in the worship room and the pot luck snack-a-thon to end off the evening. So, in the true spirit of UU recognition (UU’s are VERY big on patting each other on the back…we are after all, very kind, fair folk), I presented Opal with the 2008 Choirpractor award when we got home (and a cookie). It is for service above and beyond the call of duty, but I truly believe, that deep in her heart and doggie soul, she LOVES CHOIR PRACTICE!
Like millions around the globe, Opal and I listened to live radio and Internet TV coverage of last night’s election. It was pretty late by the time Obama gave his speech, but I wasn’t about to miss it. My family believed in exposing us to important events, even if it meant staying up late. As a child, I had listened to JFK’s acceptance speech on TV with my family, then watched raptly when his brother Robert spoke years later. The sight and sounds of Martin Luther King Jr. still echo in my head. There’s nothing more electric (except, perhaps, being there) than listening to live speeches from significant figures at pivotal times in history, AND to the response of the crowds displaying their emotions. I want to hear all of this at the moment it happened, not the day after, when the speaker’s words (in this case, historic) have been re-hashed, analyzed and commented on by the everyone and his uncle. The surreal, global fascination with this man and his promise of change caught my attention too. What truly inspired me yesterday was the record number of Americans who went out to vote and the the energy applied to ‘getting the vote out’. This gives me a little hope that the American people have not given up trying. Is it wishful thinking for me to make comparisons to the energy and optimism of 60’s?
Lucy came up on the bed to listen with us. She seemed fascinated…not with the speeches, but with her ’sister’, Opal’s smell. Actually, she probably was noticing the LACK of smell. Opal had her bath yesterday. She is a fuzzy, clean dog. Lucy was so mesmerized by Opal’s new scent that she curled up around Opal, and actually straddled her for a while. I told both of them that they should be listening. Instead, they licked one another and then went to sleep. Eventually, after Obama’s speech, I would go to bed too, aware of how tired I would be in the morning, but grateful that I had been up and around to witness another important moment in time.
When it comes to hygiene and grooming, the relationship between a dog and its human caregiver is not unlike that of child and mother. Mums (and dads) take great interest in the body odour of their kids. Kids are popped into tubs as funkiness sets in. Parents absently spit onto tissues and clean off gooey messes on the fly. They pick at, clean off, wipe down, wash and rinse the various creepy, smelly substances that append themselves to their loving tots. They change diapers or examine their kid’s poop in the toilet bowl, not with revulsion, but with the inquiring mind of a scientist. Ditto the dog owner with their pooch.
Recently, someone at church casually mentioned that Opal “has a little bit of a smell”. I dismissed it with. “She smells like a dog”. I went home and ruminated on this comment. I love Opal’s smell, but I’m her mum. That pretty much makes me incapable of objectivity. It wasn’t always like that. The very first time I ‘picked up’ after Opal at CGDB, I nearly hurled. The first time I experienced her distinct ‘wet dog’ odor after we had been out in the rain at the training centre, I really began to wonder how I would survive life with a dog when we got home to Nova Scotia where it rains A LOT. I once worried about my clothes having dog hair or goober (saliva) on them. Now, I seem oblivious to any of it. On the contrary, like any mum, I inhale her smell and it makes me smile. However, I am not impervious to rational public opinion. I called up my sweetie immediately after the church lady’s comment and demanded the truth. “Does Opal smell funky?”, I asked. LA. spoke to me as cautiously as a hostage negotiator would. “Umm, well darling, she does have a little stronger smell than usual these days”. I was shocked…and worried. It’s November. I hadn’t anticipated a bath ’till spring.
The happy news is that the forecast high for tomorrow is 14 C. With a lot of planning, I have arranged for a ride home from Metro Dog Wash, so that Opal (who is terrified of dryers), can get home without getting a chill after her bath. Metro Dog Wash is the best little business in town. You take your pooch to their storefront location on Cunard street, and for a modest fee, use one of their numerous waist-level sinks (dog walks up a couple of steps) to wash your own dog. If you have an old, arthritic dog, you can use the walk-in tub at floor level. There is a device to tether the dog so that there is no Great Escape from the sink. You use their shampoos and conditioners. There is an endless supply of temperature-controlled water coming from the hand-held hoses and sprayers. They provide rubber aprons for the washers, and Zoom Grooms to use on the washees. Then, when your fido is all clean and rinsed, you can use as many towels as you want to dry him off. There are dryers for dogs who are braver than Opal. You leave with a clean dog, minus the mess you would have at home. Metro Dog Wash offers grooming services and sells lots of dog gear too. Best of all, they offer a 50% discount off of their bathing fee for service dogs. I highly recommend it. (Visit via link on blogroll) If all goes according to plan, Opal will smell lovely to me AND my church friends next Sunday.
Some days, it is NOT all about the dog, but the dog AND handler instead. Such was the case yesterday in Montreal, as Guide Dog Users of Canada held their Annual General Meeting and conference. As a member of this organization, I would have loved to have attended the conference, but financial circumstance dictated otherwise. Instead, I joined the group from the comfort of my home, via my computer and the ‘live stream’ on the Internet. Remarkably, I listened to the familiar voices of some of my friends as business was conducted and presentations were made (dog first aid and dealing with dog attacks). I guess I can let the dog out of the bag and announce that I was elected to the Guide dog Users of Canada board as a member at large…all from the comfort of my home! I missed out on the supper at ‘Guido’s and Angelina’s’, an Italian restaurant on Atwater, but it sure was nice to get a feel for the event from this great distance. Great job you guys!
Yesterday, I was trying to get into my cab at the local Sobey’s grocery store when a man called out, “Excuse me..” I thought I was blocking his path (it’s a narrow squeeze on the sidewalk by the store entrance). I hustled my heavy bag of groceries into the back seat Opal and myself into the front. Again, I hear, “Uhm, excuse me”. Now I am wondering if I dropped something. Or, maybe I’m supposed to recognize this guy’s voice and the body attached to it? No, none of these. He continued speaking to me through the open taxi window. “Is your dog from Ontario or the USA?” It suddenly became clear to me. This was a ‘Dog Stop’.
At the training centre of Canadian Guide Dogs for the Blind in Manotick, Ontario, one of the topics we covered in the ‘theory’ part of the training, was our responsibility as Guide dog handlers to maintain a positive attitude with the public who observe and question us as a guide dog team. I understood the rationale of educating people on guide dog etiquette and of being an exemplary representative of CGDB’s program. I did not have any idea how significant a part of my life this would become. People with pet dogs often comment that their dogs are a vehicle for social interaction, even a means of getting a date. But guide dog handlers? We are a curiosity that gives rise to an open invitation for interrogation, conversation and commentary. Mostly, it’s all about the dog. The top questions? “How old is your dog?”, “What’s your dog’s name?”,”How long have you had your dog?”, ” Is it a female or male”, “Is that a Seeing Eye (NO!)/ Guide dog?”, “Is that a black lab?” Top comments? “What a beautiful dog!”, “What a smart dog”, “I bet she’s your best friend”, “that’s a well-behaved dog” and so on. I am often approached by people who want to tell me about their dog, sometimes one that is ill or that just died. It seems people think I would ‘understand’ about the loss of their special friend, even though we have never met and are in a public place when they bare their souls. I have had strangers (on buses, in malls etc) ask me if they can take our photo, though I suspect that I am often cropped out of these images. People who meet us, and do not see us for a year or more will often not remember my name. that’s understandable. They might not remember MY name, but Opal’s? you bet!
The man standing outside my taxi went on, ” My wife raised puppies for Canine Vision….” I listen politely as the driver waits (meter running) for me to give him a destination.
My favourite wake up ritual (other than Opal’s hello kiss), is reading my BBC daily e-mail. This morning it did not disappoint. File this under; ‘Interesting stories about the blind’.
The South Korean Constitutional Court has ruled to uphold a law which states; All licensed masseurs in the country must be registered blind persons. The 7,100 members of the Korean Association of Masseurs led noisy protests leading to this victory, even jumping off bridges into the Han River which runs through Seoul. There are 200,000 unregistered masseurs who claimed that the law discriminates against them. The law to restrict masseurs to people who are blind, goes back to 1912 when Korea was under Japanese colonial rule. The US military government abolished the practice in 1946, but it was reinstated in 1963. Non-registered (blind) masseurs can face heavy fines or imprisonment.
The most interesting part of the article was the statement released by the Korean Constitutional Court: “Massage is in effect the only occupation available for the visually handicapped and there is little alternative to guarantee earnings for those persons”. Welfare experts in the country say the law helps blind people make a living in Korea, but it makes employers in other fields less likely to hire the visually impaired, thus adding to workplace discrimination.
In the wake of the 100 jobs lost in Atlantic Canada which resulted from the CNIB axing its Caterplan (allegedly only 14 blind people are no longer being ‘Catered’ to), I thought this might inspire someone to organize a new industry or make work program for the blind. It sounds like reasonable employment for people who are blind to me…beats washing dishes at a cafeteria, assembling cardboard meals, or checking coats for drunks at the local Casino, eh?
Last night I attended a performance of Eastern Front Theatre’s production of ‘Vimy’. Vimy was penned by critically-acclaimed playwright, Vern Thiessen. (FYI The Battle of Vimy Ridge -first wave: April 9, 1917- is considered the turning point of the Great war leading to the victory of the allied forces. Four Divisions of Canadians fought at Vimy. 97,000 Canadians were assembled to prepare for the Battle of Vimy Ridge. 3598 Canadians died, and a total of 10,602 casualties. Four Victoria Crosses were awarded to Canadian soldiers who fought at Vimy. One in three Canadian men fought in World war I. 3,100 Canadian women served as nurses in the Canadian Army Nurses Corp during WW I. 46 of them died.)
The special treat of the evening was the audience ‘chat’ after the performance with Mr. Thiessen and the cast. Also present was the niece of the woman who is dramatically portrayed as a character in the play ( Nova Scotian nurse at a WWW 1 field station in France). She brought along a hand-written diary belonging to her Great Aunt, and presented a page of it to Mr. Thiessen, but not before actor, Kate Lavender (played the role of Clare) emotionally read a poem which had been entered into the diary some 90 years before. Her great aunt had allegedly included this poem in her diary, shortly after it had been written and discarded by John McRea.
Canadians of my generation have a long history of reciting in school and elsewhere, “In Flanders Fields”, the poem written in the field by Lt. Col. John McRea during WW I. The day before he wrote his famous poem, McRea’s friend had been killed in fighting and had been buried in a makeshift grave marked with a simple wooden cross. Wild poppies were already blooming. He gave all the dead a voice in his poem. The poem eventually appeared in Punch Magazine in England in 1915. It quickly came to symbolize the sacrifice of all those fighting in the First World War. (the poppy became the flower of remembrance for Britain, Canada, The United States, France, and the Commonwealth countries) This poem found its way into the Canadian identity as the singular most important reflection of Canadian military sacrifice. Here it is, because Remembrance Day is coming up, and no matter what we think about the morality of war, we can never remember enough…
‘In Flanders Fields, the poppies blow
between the crosses, row on row.
That mark our place; and in the sky,
the larks still bravely singing fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead.
Short days ago, we lived, felt dawn,
saw sunset glow,
loved, and were loved,
and now we lie in Flanders Field.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw the torch,
be yours to hold it high,
If ye break faith with us who die,
we shall not sleep ,
though poppies grow in Flanders Fields.”
John McRea (1872-1918 )You can visit McRea House in Guelph, Ontario.
John McRea is buried in Wimereaux France, just north of Boulogne near Flanders Fields. At his funeral, McRea’s horse, Bonfire, led the burial procession with McRea’s riding boots reversed in the stirrups.
I don’t normally delve into the fray of world news on my blog. Today, in my BBC Daily e-mail, there was a link to a detailed feature which just made me wonder.
It seems that in South Africa, they are now using text messaging to send out info-alerts to urge people to get tested for HIV/AIDS. The statistics associated with it are most interesting and raise questions of a philosophical nature.
There are over 43 million cell and other mobile devices in a country of 49 million people. Almost 95% are prepaid, offering almost total communication coverage. The UN estimates that over 6 million people live with HIV in South Africa. 350,000 people in SA die from AIDS related disease each year. Zinny Thabethe, a HIV activist and organizer with Project Masiluleke, says, “South Africa is the epicentre for the global HIV epidemic. HIV testing is widely available, but only 5% manage to get tested...most people only get a test when they are about to die.” Project originator, Gustav Praekelt, says, “this is the largest ever use of mobile phones for health information.”
(30 million messages were sent out daily in the pilot project. The pilot project revealed that National Aids Hot line calls rose from 1000 to 4000 when the system was used. The system will go live in December, sending out 1,000,000 calls a day.)
It’s not the initiative which I find disturbing. What I find hard to understand, is how and when the development and distribution of technology superseded any moral priority we may have held to insure the survival and health of our world’s citizens. At what point in time did society make it an easier, more obvious and appealing choice for an impoverished population in the grips of an HIV epidemic, to buy a cell phone rather than a condom? I find it paradoxical that technology has now become the default vehicle to initiate what would have been at one time, a grass roots blood testing and education campaign. Is it arrogant of me to wonder why an entire population acquired cell phones before they had access to a successful public health strategy for a preventable disease? It’s great that this project is working, but I am left wondering how the faceless giant known generically as “Technology” morphed into our social and moral consciousness as the priority in our lives. I find it unsettling and thought-provoking.
The project, by the way was developed by a group of technology firms, including Nokia Siemens Networks and HIV charities, design firms and educational organizations such as National Geographic.
People sometimes say that dogs smell bad. They even say I smell funky once in a while, but no one has ever experienced a smell (BIG STINK) like I have. Lucy the cat gasses me and mum whenever she poops in the litter box. It’s absolutely toxic! That feline is polluted. Mum sings “Smelly Cat” (from Phoebe Buffet’s rendition on Friends….the most current pop TV reference she can muster ’cause mum gave the TV away) and sounds like she MEANS it…like she shares my pain. Do you think Lucy ate a really old, dead gopher? Are her insides rotting out? Is she just doing it for attention? Or because she doesn’t get to go outside like me? Is she working on a secret weapon for a third world country that can’t afford a real bomb? If anyone knows why Lucy’s trips to the litter box smell so bad, please write to mum. She doesn’t want to get up in the middle of the night to scoop the box anymore.
I’ve been cross-blogged. Cross blogging is not unlike cross checking in hockey. A local blogger caught the doo dad I did on TV re. the service dog park story. She somehow ended up checking me out and has concluded that I am not adjusting well to blindness and feel beset upon by everyone, and that I use my blog to rant about how the world is unfair to me yada, yada, yada. Hmm. Actually, dear (this IS Nova Scotia where we all get called ‘dear’ a lot) I think I’m OK with my ‘adjustment’ to blindness. I just can’t adjust to being a PFA. For those of you who are in the dark, a PFA is the short version of ‘Person From Away’…a term coined to refer to anyone who is not born and pedigreed Nova Scotian. It is a term that even appears as a reference in internal government material. Hmm. As a PFA, the first thing I noticed 16 years ago when I got here, (once I got past the charming painted houses, regional accents and general ‘quaint, quietness’ of the East coast) was the perplexing, passive acceptance by the local population of inferior service; at the hands of bad waiters, shoddy contractors, shop keepers and so on. People here tend to also accept cheap or defective products, bad decisions by government bureaucrats etc. Once in a while, you see a spark of complaint or revolt (“Ooo we’re so upset that you want to take away Johny’s school lunch program”) Being a PFA from Montreal, we tend not to suck it up, but to complain and ACT. Then we go home and sleep well, instead of whining to our spouses or neighbours behind close doors about it. I choose to blog. My ‘rant’ is a literary device, not an indication of my state of competence and ‘adjustment’. “GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM!”, I hear. Hmm. I like the sea air and sleepiness of this town, even though no one here (except transplanted PFA’s) speaks Yiddish or understands the true meaning of “vibrant” when referring to a city. You can’t buy a decent bagel, French books or interesting art or furniture here either. It is laughable when news of a local swarming generates comparisons to ‘urban life’. PFA s make the world interesting and keep people accountable with their complaints.
Regards the service dog park? Just to clarify, I have no problem with pet dogs. It’s the HRM legal department that does. I proposed an enclosed dog park for all dogs. They are the ones who won’t go for it because of “liability issues”. It’s not that service dogs can’t ‘mingle’ with pet dogs. And yes, I do know that some are running around off leash with their ‘well adjusted’ handlers in Point Pleasant park. It should be a matter of choice as to whether or not someone wants to let their dog off leash. But then, this IS Nova Scotia and choices are few and I AM a PFA….
That’s right. I would like to join AA today. Nah, not the club for humans who drink too much and get silly, sick and sad….No, I would like to join AA, the GIRL, for a birthday celebration. She is the not-so-little girl who raised me as a puppy for Guiding Eyes For the Blind’s puppy raisers program in North Carolina. They traded me to Canadian Guide Dogs for the Blind in Ontario (like a pro baseball player) and I ended up with my mum in Halifax.
We had such a great time together when I was a puppy. You slept on the floor next to my crate, played the violin for me with your brother, took me to church (I was a Mormon then, but mum says we are UU’s now…I don’t care ’cause church is fun). There is confusion about whether I am the puppy who barked while you sang in church, or if it was Lacy, the dog you also raised, the one who grew up to become a famous arson detective dog in Ohio. I don’t remember, but somehow, I think it was probably Lacy…I was the one who ate the cushions on the couch and pooped at the mall once (I don’t EVER do that anymore), remember AA? They say that I was the one that made you come out of your shell. I don’t remember you having a shell…some sweatshirts and other normal clothes yeah, but no shell. I just remember that we were very happy together, and that after I showed up at your house, you weren’t shy at all anymore about talking to people, especially about dogs. Dogs, dogs, dogs! That’s all you still talk about. I approve! Happy Birthday, my friend.
Ya gotta love a UU (Universalist Unitarian) choir practice. I love to sing. I do so incessantly and not particularly well. I go to choir practice at church. Heck, I go to practices for TWO UU choirs (Only a UU church with a congregation of 102 people in total–many old or living out of town–would dream of accommodating more than one choir). The Chalice Singers (not to be confused with the UU Family Singers) meet Thursday nights. Under Deborah’s patient and devoted tutelage, a handful of aspiring voices gathering to practice hymns and songs for upcoming events at our church. Some of these voices are, umm, shall we say, less than ‘on pitch’ (and I’m not talking about ME). It doesn’t matter here. We start out with stretching and follow up with a few voice warm ups. The first time Opal attended choir practice, she was a little puzzled as she watched us do calisthenics and listened to the funny sounds coming out of us..the rising sigh, (“aahhhhhhhh” and the lowering sigh (uhhhhaaaah) , the “shee, shees” , “la, la, las” etc. Now she just goes to sleep on her beach towel and ignores us until break time when sometimes, food comes out. Everyone is welcome at choir practice, no matter how badly they sing. And we’re not THAT bad, probably because we try so hard. It’s the earnest commitment to the song that makes us sound good. There is something totally rejuvenating about singing, especially the hymns and gospel tunes we perform, not to mention the show tunes with adapted lyrics. No matter what kind of funk I arrive to choir practice in, I always leave feeling satisfied, happy, and energized. I also (with a little trepidation) started attending Tuesday’s ‘After Choir’ practice. The ‘After Choir’ is the ‘hip’ choir that sings contemporary songs with instruments (plento-o-guitars here). I love the ‘band’ feeling to it. Who doesn’t want to pretend they are on stage performing with Peter, Paul and Mary? ( and if you don’t know who THEY are, then you need a course in folk music 101). The camaraderie and intimate setting, combined with the sheer joy of singing, makes joining a church choir (at least, a UU choir) a choice worth making.
Com’ on! Give me a break! When I get on your bus next time, and say ” I want Spring Garden and Summer street please” in a loud and clear voice, do not think for a minute that you can blow my stop again (like you did today) and YELL AT ME, “You didn’t ask!”, as I get off the bus. Sheesh! Even the guy in the back row heard me tell you where I wanted to get off. Next time, you will ANNOUNCE MY STOP, ’cause if you don’t… I (that is, WE, an entire organization of blind, and partially sighted advocates) will REALLY be inclined to use the incident as the basis for a Human Rights Complaint. I have had it. Metro Transit is spending another million + bucks on security cameras on their buses, because the dirivers’ union told them to? My bus is held up twice this week for 25 and 45 minutes because the RCMP were asked to board the buses by a nervous driver, to remove some cursing kids from Halifax West Junior High? Are you serious? The new microphones pick up sound on buses (how much did THAT cost?). Give the drivers Tazers and get on with it! You will save a bundle, and I bet the kids will behave a lot better. Not only that, but the buses may be remotely close to being on time!
I doubt that Bono and U2 really have any kind of understanding about what they sing about…except maybe that they make an opportunistic buck from it. “Springhill Mining Disaster” is a song U2 have performed, but was written by a woman, named Peggy Seeger.
A miner’s life is a dark, dangerous one, carried out in the depths of the earth, far underground- and in the case of Nova Scotia miners, frequently in dank tunnels stretching miles beneath the Atlantic Ocean. Sweat from the miner’s brow has often been mingled with blood.
Here in Nova Scotia, we remember (emotionally) today, the miners who perished 50 Years ago on this day. The coal miners of Springhill, Nova Scotia were “in the pit” on October 23rd, 1958 when the “bump” or underground seismic event occurred. the “Springhill Bump” as it is known, was actually the most serious mining disaster in North America mining history. Three shock waves, each resembling small earth quakes occurred. Draegermen (rescue miners) and barefaced (no breathing apparatus) miners descended to attempt to rescue the trapped miners and encountered deadly gas. Of the 174 miners working in the #4 Colliery on that day, 100 were trapped and later rescued, and 74 were killed. This mining disaster was the first major international news story to be covered by live television broadcasts, capturing the horror, despair and pain as families and miners waited on the surface for days and weeks in hopes of seeing the trapped miners rescued. The controversy about the indifference and irresponsibility of the mining company persists to this day.
It was not the first mining disaster in springhill. In 1891, an horrific explosion in the #1 and 2 Collieries killed 125 miners and injured many others. A second Springhill mining explosion occured in 1956, killing 39 men. We should remember them all as we flick a light switch or use any electrical appliance…it is, afterall, the coal that such miners sweat and toil to obtain (at great risk to their health and lives) which fuels the hydorelectric plants and generates our power.
Hey ‘M’! Yeah, you, the clerk at the grocery store (that would be the Barrington Street Superstore, a subsidiary of Loblaw Canada). Thanks a whole heck of a lot, buddy. Maybe I’m being too harsh on you and should really be bitchin about the flaky and shoddy management of the store. Who knows?! Who cares?! YOU’RE in my line of fire. Do ya think I’ve got nothing better to do than wander aimlessly through your store for 40 minutes after I asked the manager (in expectation of a reasonable and truthful response), “can someone WHO KNOWS THE STORE help me find five or six items; produce and bread?” The manager’s mistake was 1- to hook me up with a cashier (you) who does not have a clue where 2- the produce is located (why is that?), 3- can’t find a produce clerk who would know where their own department’s stuff is located, 4- doesn’t ‘get’ that leaving a blind person standing endlessly ( 5-10 minutes THREE times) in the middle of a store while you disappear who knows where, is not a a good thing, 5- does not ‘get’ (despite repetition) that guide dogs should not be petted, 6- does not ‘get’ (despite repetition) that there is no need for ALL THREE of us to walk endlessly, back and forth through the produce department, after I asked you to find bananas, peppers, apples, and tomatoes, you could (or should) have managed that all by yourself quickly and easily while Opal and I stayed put and out of foot traffic, 7- you really need to learn what a loaf of multigrain bread is and where to find it (or the bakery department clerk)…’com on! bread?! How hard is that?! 8- should not have been shocked when I abandoned this little shopping nightmare (which should have taken 5-10 minutes tops) after 40 minutes ’cause I had a meeting to get to! What an incredible waste of your time. More importantly, it was a gigantic waste of MY TIME! and totally preventable. Someone (that would be the manager) should have simply told me from the ‘get-go’ that no one was available capable of actually locate anything in an efficient and timely manner. I’d rather be refused help, than go through a frustrating and pointless adventure that tired me, my dog and wasted my time AND left me without the food I wanted to BUY. Did I mention that I don’t like to waste my time? Did I mention (you bet I did!) to the manager that they really should have followed up on the suggestion and offer I made last month to provide free training sessions (touchy-feely, warm and cozy, non-threatening, unlike my tone today) ) with the bean head Superstore staff who tend to be totally clueless when assisting blind patrons who want to SPEND MONEY IN YOUR STORE!This is not about being ‘nice’ or ‘charitable’, it’s about business practice and common sense!
Ladies and Gentlemen, service dog handlers, dog lovers, friends and readers; I am pleased and proud to announce that HRM (Halifax Regional Municipality) has approved funding (via a recommendation from the HRM Advisory Committee for Persons with Disabilities) in the amount of $20,000. towards the creation of an off leash dog park which service dogs and their handlers will have priority use of. What does this mean? Guide dogs, hearing dogs, special skills dogs, other service dogs and their mums and dads will have a safe, fenced place to go and exercise OFF LEASH. An existing site, already partially fenced has been secured. The funding will allow for total fencing, clearing of the area, addition of some seating and refuse bins and posting signs. The location is more than suitable, with bus and ferry service routes nearby. Service dog handlers who require parking will be accommodated as well. Use is not exclusive to service dogs, however signs will indicated that pet dog owners must vacate when a service dog handler wants to use it. A public awareness and education campaign will hopefully ensure that this is a workable stipulation. The parks department will take care of maintenance.
I have worked on this proposal through its various incarnations over the last two years that I have been on the ACPD, and more so in recent months as the committee’s chairperson. When this dog park is finally established, it will be a first in Canada. We are the city to watch. We will be the model for all other initiatives seeking to establish similar facilities in Canadian cities.
When I finally pronounced the outcome of the motion today, Opal rose and stretched. Sure, I know that she was bored, but I like to think that she was showing a little interest. I KNOW she will when I take her to the dog park next year (hopefully fully functional by then) and let her free run. She will go foolish!
Guide dogs receive extensive training that includes many aspects and exposure to many situations. Ideally, these dogs are raised with people who consistently expose them to ’stuff’ as pups: all types of walking surfaces such as gravel, pavement, grates, escalators, wood, grass…, all kinds of noises; example: traffic, bangs, shouting, music, clapping, machines…, all kinds of people (kids playing, people in wheel chairs, runners, people performing….), many different types of venues like restaurants, malls, churches, office buildings…., numerous modes of transportation such as cars, trains, subways, buses, airplanes, boats…, and other animals, including cats, dogs, cattle, birds…. and so on. Then they leave the puppy walker and go off to a guide dog training center to practice the skills they will need to help the blind person with whom they will eventually be matched. Trainers and apprentices harness them up and spend months teaching them to walk around obstacles, to stop at the top and bottom of staircases, to ignore other people and animals, to respond to verbal commands, arm signals, and foot positions. They learn to disobey or over ride a command in any situation that would put the handler in danger (Intelligent Disobedience). They practice and practice and are exposed increasingly to more types of routes (busy downtown streets, country roads, suburban areas…) and situations to which they must respond appropriately (stopping when cars back out of driveways, walking through construction zones, ignoring food on the ground, ducking around shopping carts, remaining calm when fire alarms are sounded, ignoring off leash dogs that come up to them….). Trainers try everything they can think of to season these dogs. Umbrellas are popped open, stacks of books are dropped, fans blown and more, all to prepare them for the numerous situations they will face as guide dogs. They train in hot and cold weather, in the pouring rain and driving snow. All training centers have a resident cat or two because it is likely that some of the dogs will go home with handlers who own a pussycat, or at the very least, will occasionally visit someone who has one. Once the guide dog school has selected or “matched” their blind client with a dog, they train the dogs some more with the client’s specific size, gait, walking speed, home environment, activity level and lifestyle in mind. The residential (and usually final) part of formal training involves multiple daily training ‘walks’ with the handler, the school trainer and the dog. This month-long period of mind and body-numbing activity concludes (hopefully, but not always) with ‘qualification’ and the blind handler returning home with their guide dog.
But there is ALWAYS stuff that Guide dog schools don’t teach you or your dog. It’s impossible to cover everything. For example, Opal and I once encountered a woman walking a pet rabbit on a long leash. A sighted observer explained to me why Opal was so eager to pause; she was watching a bunny going for a stroll. Then there were the beaded curtains in the hallway of a local restaurant (I thought those went out in the 70’s). It WAS an obstacle, albeit one that she could see through…we figured it out. There was a Halloween costume contest last year at the local supermarket that really grabbed her attention. In fact, she went nutty the first time I put on my balaclava (the woolly thing worn for heists, not the Greek pastry). Then, there was the time a kid vomited on the bus, and the OTHER kid who dumped a chocolate milkshake over her when we were on the ferry to Dartmouth, a horse on the sidewalk (don’t ask), and the time we wandered into the annual pride parade by mistake and were pelted with silly string. We nearly got pepper sprayed as we innocently tried to get to the library…where a political demonstration was in progress nearby. Opal knew something was wrong when a fist fight broke out between two kids as we walked by them (I yelled at them to stop, or I would command my dog to attack—grin). I discovered that Opal also has a tap dancing fascination (we saw ‘White Christmas’ on stage and I put on my own tap shoes now and then). One day, a couple of cars crashed as we walked by and left us showered in broken glass. I tore my quad muscle last year and had to walk at a snail’s pace WITH A SUPPORT CANE FOR THREE DAYS (and Opal), because I had no one to care for her. Fortunately, I managed to keep moving at least enough to get her outside to relieve. I’ve heard about one handler who was IN HOSPITAL WITH his guide dog for several days. Totally unfair to staff, the patients, and the dog. Other things? You discover how to cope with them as they come up. Guide dog schools don’t tell you how to work out the strategy required for intimate times at home with that new ’significant other’ without one or the other (dog or partner) getting their nose put out of joint (physically, but more often, emotionally). Opal put herself to bed at 6 PM the first time my sweetie and I… There might be any number of unusual or unique situations that a handler will face and need to figure out during their guide dog’s working life. Life with a guide dog is ever-changing and a relationship with a working dog is an endless ‘work in progress’.hen t
Eighty years ago today, women in Canada became “persons under the law”. Canadians Nellie McClung, Emily Murphy, Laura Crummy McKinney, Henrietta Muir Edwards, and Irene Parlby (know first as the Alberta Five, then the Famous Five), fought for the recognition of women as persons under the British North America Act. The ground breaking ‘Persons Case’ was brought before the supreme Court of Canada in 1927, and decided by the Judicial Council of Britain’s Privy Council in 1929, Canada’s highest court at the time. The Persons Case remains their most significant achievement, though the Famous Five dedicated their lives to improving their communities in immeasurable ways. They have come to represent an entire generation’s political activism, including an earlier national campaign for women’s suffrage. More recently, the Person’s Case has generated controversy. Some see the Famous Five as a symbol of women’s political rebellion and progress, and human rights in general. Others have criticized some members of the group as racist and elitist, somewhat tarnished by their connection to the eugenics movement. Reaction to the Famous Five have varied widely, but undoubtedly, they are recognized as significant figures in the Canadian Women’s movement. A bronze statue of the Five, entitled “Women are Persons!” was created by Edmonton artist, Barbara Paterson in 1999 and unveiled and dedicated on Parliament Hill in Ottawa in 2000.
Thanks a whole heck of a lot there buddy…(I mean the dude at a local publication for “seniors” aka anyone over THE AGE OF 50 like me, called The Senior’s Advocate). I write an article on guide dogs AT YOUR REQUEST, obtain photographs AT YOUR REQUEST, send 2 signed release forms AT YOUR REQUEST, and YOU CAN’T EVEN ADVISE ME THAT THIS RAG IS OUT?YOU CAN’T MAIL A FEW COPIES (LIKE ANY REPUTABLE PUBLICATION WOULD) TO All THE CONTRIBUTORS who provide you with stories (without any monetary compensation) that keep you in business? You did not return any of my phone calls or e-mails…VERY NICE! You also did some fancy editing there pal…like changing ‘ opportunities to relieve’ to ‘bathroom breaks’ (referring to Opal’s daily cracks at going outside for a pee or a dump)…do ya think the old geeks who read this thing are so anal retentive and ’sensitive’ that they need to read some childish euphemism like, “bathroom break”? Sheesh! give ME a break! Good gravy, old people talk about their bowels, bunions and bad backs in great detail all the time! It comes with the territory. And frankly, if I was the photographer (Cyndi Burns of Pet Country Magazine), I’d be calling you up to complain BIG TIME that you printed my photographs without CREDITING THEM!
Hey you!….Joe F..k (swear to god, that’s his handle), I DON’T appreciate potty mouth comments on this blog…that’s why they are moderated, pea brain! If you have something interesting, clever, or even stupid to say, I will post it, but potty mouth and shameless self promotion from commercial sites are off limits here!
and now Joe F..k is bugging me about why there there should be a coin with guide dogs and handlers, because only 3 % of blind people have them… well joe, I still won’t put your potty mouth handle up on this blog but I will acknowledge your comment here pea brain…answer: pretty much the same reason there is a quarter with Helen Keller in america, or a Canadian coin with a beaver or moose, creatures which are about as common place and seen in day to day life by our citizens as a guide dog team…Coins and stamps are issued in countries all over the the world to pay tribute to interesting and notable people, creatures, events etc.
I hear that Americans have the words, “In God We Trust” etched onto their coins. We Canadians have no such thing on ours though I see great potential for something similar on a coin here. Perhaps when the Canadian Mint decides we need more change and creates a five dollar coin to add to the ‘Toonies’ and ‘Loonies’ that we already schlep around, we could have a contest to come up with a clever design. I’ll be the first to enter. Of course, as a Unitarian I would not choose a motto for the coin that made reference to any one god. I don’t think those words would fly with Canadians in general. However, we ARE big dog lovers here in the Great White North. Here’s what I picture:First, an octagonal coin, smaller and lighter than a ‘toonie’ or ‘loonie’ ( If we don’t go with something lighter, people are going to start tipping over from excessive weight in their handbags or pants pockets with all that change. At the very least, the need for pocket protectors will create an entire cottage industry). Monarchists will demand that the Queen ’s image be on one side. I’m not entirely OK with that, so here’s my compromise; The Queen yes, but in a casual pose with a dog , maybe seen frolicking across the grounds at Windsor castle or somewhere, (but not with one of those damn Corgies of hers! No! Let’s give her ….a Siberian Husky! …or a Great Dane!…or a Labrador Retriever….or a mutt–a ‘Heinz 57′, as my dad once called my treasured childhood dog, ‘Sandy’ . And then, etched around the happy queen and canine, the words; “In Dog We Trust”. Or we could scrap the idea of using the queen altogether and go with an engraved Guide dog and handler in action….with those same words. I couldn’t think of anything more appropriate. Hey, they made a Guide dog stamp this year, so maybe there’s hope for my idea yet. Has anyone noticed that god spelled backwards, spells….
I have been very hyped about this election. Why? I have chomped at the bit in anticipation of dramatically and meaningfully casting my inaccessible ballot at the polling station. Let me remind you about the core elements of a democratic vote; secret, independent and verifiable. I have gone on and on, to EVERYONE who will listen and to some who won’t, about the importance of these elements, the sanctity of the electoral process, and how I am denied this right by virtue of inaction on the part of Elections Canada. I am blind, as are hundreds of thousands of other voters. We do not have electronic voting in Canada. We do not have telephone voting. We do not have voting machines at the polls. We do not have Braille ballots. I thought that today I would be pumped and ready to let loose my schpeel at the Presbyterian church where I would be voting. I ran through my dialogue, my diatribe, my kvetching complaint, like a Shakespearean actor preparing for Stratford.
Here’s what really happened. I made it to the church, and found myself outside with a woman in a wheelchair attempting to open a monstrously large door (no automatic opener). I opened it for her, but it was not wide enough. A worker from the poll came and helped to open another door. I commented wryly about Elections Canada and their accessible voting sites. She commiserated. By this point, I had, for some reason, already lost my oomph. Maybe it’s the time of year, or ‘my time of the month’. Some one came over as Opal and I walked into the large church basement. The usual useless pointing and “over there” was followed by an arm-grab which I yanked away. Someone else gave sensible directions to the table I needed. My ID was requested and checked. I did NOT give a long-winded lecture on the difficulty blind people have in meeting ID requirements, given that we don’t have driver’s license and many of us have no passport. Some of us choose not to have or use a charitable ID (CNIB) for reasons which are too numerous and complicated for this blog. I provided my stunning photo ID cards which have a photo of Opal and me posing together (CGDB and the Attorney General of Ontario), but my Guide dog ID cards do not have my address on them, so I added a phone bill. I had considered bringing a Braille bill, but I did not want to be turned away. At this point, the DRO asked if I wanted a Braille template. My interest peaked, as I thought I had discussed this ad nauseum with Silvestre from elections Canada and had confirmed there would be no Braille on the ballot, and to expect the usual flaky template. Now I had no idea what they were offering me. I asked (just to confuse them) if it was contracted or uncontracted Braille. The had no clue, so I let them off the hook and told them that I knew both, so it did’nt matter. The DRO put the ballot into the ‘Braille template’ and then came the offer to “come into the voting area with you”. I said I would pass, given that I had this allegedly accessible Braille template in my hand. Opal and I parked ourselves behind the privacy screen at a little table. I started to read the template. Numbers. Just numbers! I called out, “um, there’s no names here, just numbers”. The old lady who had grabbed me when I came in, offered to read the names to me. I said that would not do. The DRO guy came over and offered to read them “as they appear in sequence. then you pick the braille number”, he said with full expectation that somehow this would be acceptable to me. I had PLANNED to make a big ‘to-do’, maybe proclaim myself the Rosa Parks of the voting blind, given that I am repeatedly told that blind people ‘have found this acceptable for years’. Instead, I told him “no thanks”, and ” if I can’t read it for myself”…( in a country where government material must be provided in alternate formats by law), “I’ll have to spoil my ballot”. He apologised (as everyone always does). I scrawled multiple X’s in allthe holes in my template and ballot and handed it to the old lady. She wisely did not attempt to go into the insufferably patronizing routine of allowing me to put it in the box, but quickly disposed of it, stuffing it into the ballot box herself. I walked out, declining someone’s eager offer for me to use the elevator, saying, “my legs are fine, we’ll use the stairs”. I left deflated. I did not call the media, or my party delegate, or the PM (who doesn’t give a flying f…k anyway), or the queen, or Silvestre at Elections Canada (who I’m guessing was pretty busy today). Instead, I went for my routine blood work and called it a day. I wish I was one of those clever musicians, ’cause I’d be writing a tune tonight…’Voting Day Blues’.
STOP PRESS!!! Megan Leslie, newbie NDP canditate and personal acquaiantance declared winner of Halifax riding! Go get em in Ottawa, kid…and remember your roots…and your blind friends…
Canadians from sea to sea to sea are finally putting the dregs of their Thanksgiving Day dinners away in their fridges. Most will go to bed tonight still drugged from the turkey tryptophan sedation. Our politicians who are still scrambling like beavers today, in hopes one of them becomes the Big Canadian Cheese tomorrow (Election Day) probably missed the opportunity to a sit down family affair. And perhaps some of our less fortunate citizens who cannot find their way to the free dinners at shelters and centres missed out on a special dinner too.
I was one of the more fortunate people today. How so? I shared my Thanksgiving day dinner with my Unitarian Universalist Church of Halifax family….and my sweetie, L.A……and my guide dog, Opal….and L.A’s mum… and the friends and family members of all the UU congregants…and Reverend Julie (her first Canadian Thanksgiving). Reverend Julie asked us to speak out the name of one person who we would want most with us, but could not be there to share with us; those who live away, those who are ill, those who have passed on. Voices sprang up around the room, “Ivy” , Billy”, “Lorena” … I whispered, “mum”.
The food was pot luck, but oh, how extraordinary. It was one of those unusually well-organized pot lucks that went off with out a hitch. No tables were set ablaze from the candles, no one choked on the turkey (regular, free range and ‘Tofurkey’ my vegan contribution for Norm), None of the kids hurt themselves or others (except Aidan managed to hurt pocketbooks by selling a bunch of catalogue items for his school after the meal– I called him the UU version of Duddy Kravitz . He didn’t know what I was talking about, so I explained about Mordecai Richler’s infamous character). We ate the best food, all carefully prepared by everyone, in a civilized, joyous mood. Yes there was wine, but unlike some nightmarish family dinners of my childhood, no one got drunk. The volunteers did what was requested of them; setting up tables, dressing tables, decorating, shlepping stuff from home, working collaboratively to eat as a large group. The dishes got washed instead of broken. The leftovers were distributed to those with not much at home. Photographs were snapped, yet no one minded. I hugged my sweetie and held her hand and no one cared. Opal lay quietly as we feasted ( I fed her after). Music played at an appropriate level instead of deafening people. The rain stopped long enough for the kids to go out and play. People talked and talked like long lost friends, even though many of us had just been at service yesterday. It was the perfect family dinner. It was so UU.
Big Al (AKA ‘Aluion’) is reportedly heading for Canada today. Upon learning about the plight of Blend (Blind) Canadians as they face an inaccessible voting non-machine on Tuesday, Big Al, a resident of Alabama, boarded a Greyhound bus bound for Nova Scotia at 4 am this morning. There was some confusion at the bus depot in Mobile, as Big Al dumped a 63- pound sackful of Canadian coins onto the ticket agent’s counter to pay for his fare. Further disruption occurred when bus terminal Security spotted him donning an outfit that included hockey equipment and pieces of a 17th century suit of armour. He claimed that he needed to feel safe and to protect himself while riding the Greyhound, saying, “I can’t be losing my head on this trip”.
Wise Advice summoned Big Al to the Great White North, upon learning that his expertise might bolster the cause of the blind (blend) {See recent comments from Aluion} and lend support to her plan to ‘make a point’ when casting her ballot tomorrow. Big Al has been known to write clever comments and insults on doors in public spaces…in Braille. “He kinda scares me”, said Wise Advice of the southern guru, “Definitely a smart guy, but he must be crazy from listening to several synthesised speech voices on various computers simultaneously”. When asked about her plan to bring public attention to the inaccessibility of the Canadian Election, WIse Advice said, “Look, I can’t do this alone. If Big Al can fake a Canadian accent, we’ll get him one of those spare ballots floating around to do whatever he chooses with”.
This just in! Details are sketchy, but reports from our Canadian affiliate indicate that Wise Advice Chief, HRM (aka Lablady) and her staff have been robbed. Local diva, Poprah Minfrey claims to have witnessed the whole thing. “I was strolling up Olivet street, on my way to buy some organic broccoli and Twinkies at Sobeys. They’re on sale ya know, the Twinkies, I mean. Anyway, I was coming around the corner, and there was a guy with a pick up truck near the corner. Him and his buddy got out and stand around…ya know, like they’re up to no good. They commence to picking up the garbage can and hauling it to the truck! I yell, “Hey, that’s Wise Advice’s can. Her sweetie ‘re-located’ it for her!!! Get your own can, you bunch of f…goofs!” But they didn’t miss a beat. They just threw it in the back of the truck and took off like they were on fire!”Ms. Minfrey had no other comment, except that she did not want to miss the sale at Sobey’s.
Wise Advice and her staff (Opal IV) discovered the theft for themselves last evening, after much groping near the bus shelter for the missing receptacle. Staff member, Opal had just contributed her usual after supper ‘environmental offering’ which was collected in a small non-bio degradable bag and necessitated deposit. “Shock and Awe, that’s what it I’m feeling at the moment”, says a distraught Wise Advice. “Who would steal a 35 pound trash basket? It doesn’t even have a lid. And my sweetie sweated bullets hauling that puppy over from the other side of the street one morning last July. Sheesh! Some people have nerve! I have a good mind to take out a PSA asking for its return. Maybe I’ll offer a reward…yeah, how about this?; ‘Just return our can, no questions asked. If you do, I won’t start bringing poop bags onto the bus (’cause there’s nowhere to dump them now) which would cause the driver to gag, keel over and drive off the road into a crowd of old ladies coming out of St. Agnes’s Church after bingo! Ya don’t want THAT to happen, do ya? You’re reward is that you get to save a bunch of old ladies from getting hit by a bus. You’ll be heroes.” Staff member, Opal had no comment, though clearly she is equally distressed.
The RCMP continue to investigate at Wise Advice’s request. Constable Courrier des Bois commented, “We’re calling out the dog squad on this one”.
Canadians go to the polls on Tuesday. The Canadian election has been overshadowed by the huge political wrangling going on in the United States. I think Americans are about as aware of OUR immanent election, as they are of our Thanksgiving Day (not anytime near the American Thanksgiving Day, but on Monday, October 13th, one day before our election) However, we in the True North, are heavily and painfully kept in the loop of US political buzz. Canucks were split last week when faced with the dilemma of watching Palin and McCain square off, or tuning in to the televised Canadian leaders debate. American politics definitely has more drama, glitz and pzazz. The US process also goes on and on, like a grim death march, unlike the mercifully quick shenanigans in the North. Frankly, I don’t know how Americans survive two years or more of primaries etc. (or sanction the obscene amount of money spent to hold them). I’ve listened to the Canadian political ads for less than two MONTHS and I am fed up. Not that it matters in the least, because on voting day, I will not have the opportunity to exercise my democratic right to vote in the same way that other Canadians will cast their ballots at the polls in that, A BALLOT IS INTENDED TO BE CAST: SECRETLY, INDEPENDANTLY AND TO BE VERIFIABLE. There will be no option for electronic voting in Canada. There is no telephone voting either. Voting machines? No such thing here. Not even a Braille ballot for the handful of blind people who can read Braille. No, the best accessibility option that Elections Canada will offer me on Tuesday is their infamous “Template”. They proudly whip out this ridiculous piece of plastic with holes in it, at every election, whenever a blind person enters a polling station. For some reason, it has been accepted by blind people for years. Here’s how it works. The ballot is inserted into the plastic template. There are holes that line up with each candidate’s name on the ballot. A friend, or DRO (Deputy Returning Officer) reads off the order of candidates as they appear on the ballot. The blind person is then left behind the screen (Ooo, this must be our right to secrecy being observed) to mark an X in one of the holes (Ooo, this must be our Independence being respected), and hope that they have remembered which name is supposed to be in which hole, or that the ‘reader’ got the sequence right in the first place! You can forget any delusions you may have that you can verify your own ballot if you are blind. At this point, the friend or polling clerk returns to help fold the ballot (no one can figure out how to accomplish that without reading the how-to instructions on the ballot) and takes the blind person to the ballot box, where a minor fanfare is made of allowing the blind person to deposit the ballot into the ballot box all by him or herself. Elections officials will go to bed on Tuesday night, feeling all warm and fuzzy that all Canadians have participated equitably in the democratic process. Hmm. I heard a story on the news today which made me smile. It seems that a man in Pictou county was arrested on voting day at the past two federal elections. The first time, he stole a ballot box, took it outside and drove his truck over it. The second time, he stole another box and hurled it into a lagoon. He calls himself the “ballot box bandit” and is allegedly protesting inequitable compensation payments for industrial waste cleanups…I’m not going to be stealing any ballot boxes, but I will make my point on election day. How? I’m not sure yet, but at the very least, I will vote secretly, independently and it won’t matter if I can verify my ballot or not, because I am going to SPOIL it by whatever means I choose. I will not do this with a light heart, because I DO care who is elected (and certainly, that Stephen Harper does NOT win a majority government) but no one is reading my ballot to me! The eroneous expectation that Elections Canada holds, that they will have fulfilled their obligation of providing me and other blind Canadians with a democratic and accessible vote by offering a useless template, is NOT going to cut it with me this time.
Just one more time…if I hear the words, “Over There” when I ask someone for directions to a street, a building, a washroom or an item in a store…I promise to do something totaly irrational. Perhaps I will break out into a lively song and dance routine with Opal. The song? “Over There” of course! Yes, the toe-tapping, Johny-go-get-them WW I song written in 1917 by George Cohan. Mr. Cohan wrote the song shortly after the USA declared war on Germany. Many versions were recorded, including those by Billy Murray, Nora Bayes and Enrico Caruso….”And We Won’t come Back ’till it’s over, Over There!”. Perhaps it should become the international theme song for the blind.
I become very nostalgic around this time of year. Thanksgiving Day is approaching for Canadians (Monday, October 13th). When I grew up, our family Thanksgiving Day traditions were not very original; a family gathering around a turkey dinner. One year, someone introduced the idea of going around the table so that each person could state one thing that they felt particularly grateful for that year. Sometimes, the responses would be silly, probably because of the overwhelming discomfort some family members felt in ’sharing’. There was the odd morose remark expressed after too much wine had been imbibed. Once in a while, someone would quietly bare their soul and express their profound (and sober) appreciation for something they were truly grateful for in their life. My family complexion has changed. My parents are both deceased now. In fact, my mother passed away 6 years ago tomorrow. I miss her terribly. Fortunately, I have a tremendous church family here in Halifax at the Universalist Unitarian Church. I will be with THAT family on Monday. Together, we will eat, drink, laugh, share, sing, rejoice, and appreciate each others company. Reverend Julie will bless our feast. Perhaps I will introduce my family tradition of going around the table so that everyone who chooses to, can say what they are grateful for this year. What will I say? Perhaps I could say that I am immensely grateful to have a church family. I might say something about the girls (Opal and Lucy), my four-legged critter kids who give me joy and a reason to get up in the morning. I could add the usual about health and home in a peaceful country. I could say something about the special person in my life who continues to love me despite my menopausal moodiness. I may come up with something truly original… or not say anything at all, secure in the knowledge that I am truly and deeply grateful for all of these.
When mum woke me up at 4:30 (!) this morning, I thought that we might be going to the airport again. That wasn’t it. Instead we got up and ate breakfast, got ready then got into a cab and drove around. We ended up downtown. Mum tried to get us into the public gardens so that I could pee, but it was way too early and the gates were closed. We walked a bit and then went into to a building nearby. A guy in a uniform (Jeff, the commissionaire/security) put an ID sticker on mum. He unlocked the inside door (great security building) and took us to the lift. Jeff is afraid of lifts, so he ran up the stairs instead and met us on the 3rd floor. (Poor guy got stuck in a lift once). We went through more locked doors (they must have some very expensive radios in here, ’cause mum said this is a radio station). A nice lady came over and told mum that she could have coffee while we waited…and she asked if she could pat me. Mum said no, but thanks for asking. We sat and listened to the radio. I don’t get it. Why couldn’t we just listen at home? Why did we have to go to a special place to listen to the radio? They play the same program on CBC radio 1 at home… you know, Information Morning with Don Connolly and Elizabeth Logan? Don is the guy with a dog named, Oreo. The lady came back and mum asked me to follow her. We went through more doors. Finally, we found a big room with a table. A lady and a man were sitting and talking to a microphone, like mum has at home for her computer, except these ones were bigger. I noticed that the man smelled very nice….like a dog. I’m positive he is Oreo’s dad…so that means he IS Don Connolly. Mum and Don talked and talked into the microphones..blah, blah, blah. I fell asleep. Sheesh, can you blame me? Up so early, no nap and boring talk. Then mum was whispering very loud for me to wake up. Don and Elizabeth were talking to their microphones again, but not to mum. We snuck out with the lady who had helped us in earlier. When we got back down to the desk at the front, Jeff (who listened to the same radio…they’re everywhere in this place!) told mum that she had done a good job. I thought I was the one with a job! We left, walked a lot, got on a bus and then rode over to the grocery store. Mum tried to explain that SHE was talking on the radio today. If her friends missed it ’cause it was on so early or they live outside of Nova Scotia, they will be able to hear the interview on the Net. Mum will put a link up when she figures it out. We are both going to rest now.
You know you’re not having a good day when you go down to the laundry room to retrieve your clothes from the dryer and you discover that someone (that old gaga fart from the 3rd floor) has opened your dryer at least a half hour before time was due to elapse, and she ‘forgets’ to shut it, thereby allowing the drying time to tick down to zip. She does this a lot. I can never quite pin it on her, but I KNOW it’s her …What are you doing opening my dryer in the first place, you old ditz ?!! It’s not like you can’t tell it’s in use. Laundry basket on top, warm rumbling coming from the machine… and seven other machines empty and idle. Old age is no excuse for downright rude, insane and disruptive behaviour! Not to mention the health risk you created by forcing me to wear damp clothing outside in October… because gee, I hadn’t anticipated laundry sabotage today! I want security cameras! And guards…with Tazers!… and some big mean dogs on patrol! Then, just to add some nuts to my banana spit, I discovered that the damp pile of clothes that I had just hauled up to my apartment, had an unusual smell coming from them. This continues to baffle me. They smell worse now than they did before I washed them…much worse. Did the old biddie hurl a stinking potion onto them too? It gets worse. I had a few minutes to kill before leaving for the movie (‘Blindness’ day), so I thought I’d try out the HRM voting site on the Net. Yes, it’s the first day of electronic voting in HRM. I’ve been feeling all happy and victorious about accessible voting for weeks now, ever since I heard that HRM was testing electronic voting for the Halifax Municipal election. Woa! Not too quick with the democratic process happy dance! My joy fizzled out when I got onto the HRM voting web site start page and discovered that the security ‘descramble’ of letters and numbers DID NOT HAVE AN AUDIO OPTION!!! Good going guys. What are people with screen reading software supposed to do? It’s like winning a big honking Cadillac on The Price Is Right and discovering that the car has no engine. Sheesh! Being ever resourceful, I asked my neighbour to come look at my computer monitor and read the scramble for me. She was ‘visiting’ anyway, at least, just long enough to complain about the ‘thunking’ noise against our adjoining wall. “Oh that”, I said. “It’s just Opal getting settled in her recliner.” I apologized and promised to move my dog’s favourite chair from against the wall,. I gave my neighbour a cookie as she left, shaking her head and muttering all the way back to her lair. Sigh. Yes, my dog has her own recliner. But it’s VERY old and I WAS going to toss it out back in July…except Opal wouldn’t let me.
No, I’m not referring to preparation for loss of sight. I’m not referring to the skills-learning that someone “going blind” might undertake…the hours of O&M (orientation & mobility) training with a qualified instructor where someone learns techniques in the use of a white cane (example: streamline caning, tapping method, sweeping method) and use of sound reflection to determine position and location as well as learning to judge traffic flow etc., thereby allowing a blind person to travel independently. No, I don’t mean the time spent learning about, and purchasing adaptive devices which allow a blind person to read, cook, write, do math, tell time etc such as talking clocks, tape recorders, tactile measuring cups, talking book players, water level indicator, talking calculators etc… I’m not thinking of the exchange of information and tips with others who are blind which provide one with helpful ideas to make a home safe (removing scatter rugs, and repositioning furniture …) and allows one to perform the same tasks as they did before they couldn’t see, only differently (cleaning floors by using a grid system, marking appliances with bump dots to facilitate cooking and cleaning, using elastic bands and large print labels to distinguish containers….) I don’t mean the hours some people (15%) spend learning Braille, first uncontracted or Grade 1 Braille, then contracted or Grade 2 Braille, so that books, documents bank statements, telephone bills become accessible when available, as well as providing a means of ‘writing’ on the go with a slate and stylus, or reading storybooks to their children..No, I’m not referring to the assistive technology (Jaws, Guide, Window Eyes and other screenreading software, Kurswell scanning software and other scan- to-speech programs) that are available which enable blind people (who can afford or otherwise obtain them) access to the Internet, e-mail, document writing and reading etc as well as potentially obtaining education and employment in a more equatable manner so that they earn a living, raise families…essentially the usual happy story, except maybe there’s no station wagon in their driveway. Nor am I talking about joining blind sports and recreational organization for the usual reasons one joins them, like getting exercise and playing cribbage. I’m not referring to any of the stuff that a blind person learns over time that provides the skills so that they can lead independent, full, happy normal lives.
What am I’m talking about? I’m talking about preparation to attend a screening of the Canadian co-production of the movie, ‘Blindness’, based on the book of the same name by Jose Saramago. This involves researching the plot summary (very disturbing, depicting a world gripped by a blindness epidemic….trouble is, all the blind people are portrayed as helpless, altered and desperate…), linking to articles on the Net, listening to the BBC production available ’till October 8th on Sendspace, following the protest in the USA by the NFB, sending out a media release to local media and responding to those who have requested interviews following the screening tomorrow, and preparing a statement in anticipation that this movie’s buzz (as one which portrays blind people in a vile and unacceptable manner) is accurate. The statement would likely ask the people of Halifax and beyond to give it a MISS altogether, NOT support the filmmaker and theatre by paying for admission to see it, to look beyond Mr. Saramago’s comment that this is a “allegorical” film and his dismissal of the blind community (who are widely protesting it) as “ridiculous”, and send a message that this film is NOT OK with the blind community…I’m just preparing for ‘Blindness’, ’cause this movie is sending the wrong message about real blindness, and frankly I don’t care if Mr. Saramago’s literary soul is crushed in the process. Metaphor shmetaphor!
Now hear this Opal and Lucy! When mum goes into the bathroom and shuts the door, it means I want PRIVACY! I can not escape out a secret passageway. Trust me, I am not doing anything particularly interesting. Poking the door with your noses to see what’s going on, is NOT necessary. Lucy, I promise not to eat your food while I’m in there. I know you will not die of starvation while I am taking a bath. I’ll be in there 15 minutes tops. There is no party going on and there is no one else with me. I do not require assistance from either of you. I am not in danger of drowning or flushing myself down the toilet. Thank you for your co operation.
This is the 173 rd blog I have written. The bean (stats) counter on this page reveals that 13,479 + hits have occurred…and still counting like Micky D’s keeps track ….”139,000,000,000,001 (bad burgers) served”. Traffic has been low for some blogs and through the roof for others. I am grateful for the interesting assortment of loyal readers and occasional visitors. I know that some readers occasionally find my opinions harsh, my tone insolent, my satiric wit inappropriate….but I would say this in all seriousness…actually, I think it was Voltaire who said, ” I may not believe in what you say, but I will fight to my death for your right to say it”….
What I do NOT appreciate are misguided comments regarding the content of this blog. Allow me to explain. It seems an individual is on the receiving end of reading (er, listening to someone read TO them) SELECT blogs and select ‘comments’ which I have written in response to reader comments. That person is ‘disturbed’ by my words. My first thoughts are, (now get this straight ‘reader’/paraphrasing guy!!) you are not reading this yourself. Neither of us knows if you are getting an accurate rendition (verbatim and complete) of what I have written. Reading is very subjective and interpretive. Tone, inflection, reading speed, response to punctuation etc are all factors in the process that impact our perception of the text. You, sadly have no control over that because someone else is reading to you and we don’t know how well they are doing that. You have apparently not listened to someone read those numerous blogs I wrote which I know you would find astoundingly interesting, informative, and sympathetic to the human condition. Assuming that you are getting an accurate reading of the controversial ones, my second thought is, GET A GRIP! Yes, I do have strong opinions about many things…the CNIB for example. That is my right. I have not slandered them. They do a fine job of screwing themselves up. As for the mayor and my comment about “short guy with a whiny voice”? I talked to him last night. We kibutzed and laughed. He’s OK with me and my blog. He also is grateful that I work so hard for his city without payment…and he IS short and does have a whiny voice. it seems you are the one with a problem. The problem? You are in that horrible, dependant situation of passively receiving bits of my blog via a third party because you can not access it independently. Frankly, I think THAT is more of an issue than the contents of this blog. That aside, I would say that the essence of any communication and voicing of opinion, lends itself to a contrary or different opinion on the topic by anyone and everyone who hears or reads it. The minute we open our mouths in the morning and begin saying stuff … ” I don’t like big cities, or Republicans, or Liberals, or the taste of chicken, or the movie last night”, someone else is going to have another opinion. That’s life. You would have enjoyed the blogs I wrote that support your like-minded position….on gay rights, homophobia (see ‘God loves Everyone’) tips on independent living, fairness to animals and more. Trouble is, nobody’s reading those to you. Hmm. Maybe you should get over to that charitable organization you feel I trash too much and see if they will find you some computer gear so that you can check my blog yourself. If you do not wish to do so, (or they won’t/can’t give you what you need–a more likely scenario), then realize that I usually voice my opinion and temper it by adding something to the effect that others may not share it. While I may talk ABOUT the organizations or groups that I am involved with, I do not speak FOR them. It seems that your ‘reader’ is doing you a selective disservice. I can not write something that will interest or please every reader all of the time, or even half of them. What I do know is, that many people including: guide dog handlers and puppy-raisers, animal lovers, a jeweler in Australia, an urban planner in the UK, guide dog trainers, a blind guy who applauded my blog on who is suited to having a guide dog, several authors, Unitarians, environmentalists, a micro publisher in California, a gay guy somewhere in the world, a woman in Italy who has a blind friend, a budding film maker, a vacuum cleaner rep, many people who want their bus stops announced, friends, a centre for the blind in the Eastern USA, a small initiative to publish audio books in Africa….all of these people and many more have found something useful in my writing. Others? Some are not happy, but they tend not to comment directly on the blog or to me very much….they just bitch behind my back. The wonderful thing about freedom of speech and the information age, is how the inter-connectedness of the world becomes so evident. This is the end of this discussion my friend…unless your selective ‘reader’ does not pass THIS blog on too.
Mum says we’re going to a boring luncheon at city hall today. I don’t get it. I LOVE luncheons, especially at city hall where there is always lots of food, even though mum says the food is overpriced plastic crap payed for at the taxpayers expense. She says we have to go so we can bug the mayor and some city councillors while the going is good…something about a municipal election coming up and they’re falling all over themselves trying to get some votes. They don’t usually hold this event until springtime, but the mayor (you know, the little guy with a whiny voice?) wants to score political points NOW. She says we must shmooze with them…work the room before they know what’s hit them. I don’t get it. Why would HRM council not want to do the right thing in the first place? She says they could build me a service dog run (yeah!!!) and improve transit (maybe pay for a voice enunciator on buses to announce stops), and hire some bylaw enforcement officers, and FIRE some dead-weight HRM staff whose salaries suck up the city’s budget which could be better applied elsewhere, and get some funding to provide recreational programs for kids with disabilities, and spend more money on removing physical barriers instead of making ridiculous expenditures like the Chebucto road widening project which destroyed property and trees to allow a few more gas-guzzling SUV’s to squeeze into town, and make the public library services more equitable for the blind who don’t care to use the ‘charitable’ library, and find some balls ( not the kind I like) so they stop caving to the interests of developers who are destroying the city with condo and commercial development in all the wrong places, and….why don’t they just listen to mum in the first place? I think SHE should run for council in the next election. I’d love to run around my new service dog run.
Sometimes I get a little bored, so I ‘Google’ stuff. Today, I checked out songs about blindness sung by blind people. It seems there aren’t that many…Phew!!! Thank god we’re not ALL maudlin. I found a few though, mostly from old black Southern men (Sonny Terry, Sleepy John Estes, Blind Gary Davis and Blind Roger Hayes). Frankly, I’d be mortified if I had to live with a handle like Blind Helen. It’s bad enough that people refer to me as “Helen With the Dog”. Turns out that blind musicians have better stuff to sing about than their angst about being blind…. love, bad relationships, the world (Mr. Ray Charles does a great job of ‘What a Wonderful World’) and the city (Little Stevie Wonder’s ‘Living for the City’). As for all the SONGS with LYRICS which include the word ‘blind’ or blindness’….sheesh! That’s a whole different kettle of fish. Just as our everyday expressions use the words blind to mean that one is unaware, purposefully oblivious, uncaring etc. (“blind as a bat”, “turn a blind eye”, “love is blind”, “blind rage”, “blind leading the blind”…) song lyrics use them similarly and just as regularly. I’m not claiming that it’s not PC and we should immediately run around tweaking and rewriting all these songs. It might be an idea to think about language and how we use words. As a word nerd, I love to learn about the origin and history of words. I wonder how it came to be that a physical condition morphed into use as a negative adjective and verb.
Yesterday, my sweetie’s apartment building went up in flames. Luckily, no one was injured. However, 70 residents (mostly elderly) are without a home until further notice. My Significant Other heard the fire alarm go off and went outdoors to investigate. This building is prone to false alarms. In the minutes that L stepped out of the building people started to stream out. The fire department arrived simultaneously, The story is that the apartment nearest the fire triggered the smoke detector. It was unoccupied at the time. However, a tenant heard the endless buzzing and summoned the super. He entered the apartment and faced a blaze, and yelled for the tenant to pull the fire alarm and call the fire department. My sweetie called (from a stranger’s cell phone) to give me the news. Standing in shock, without a jacket, ID, keys, or Meerah the cat, L was not allowed to return into the building. Most residents were housed by the Red Cross at a local arena. Meerah? L was told that all cats would be collected by the SPCA’s staff, once the fire fighters declared it safe, with the most vulnerable (nearest the danger) being rescued first. Dazed and without a worldly possession, L learned this morning that little Meerah had been rescued last night, then taken to the SPCA Emergency shelter until morning, then transferred to a vet across town for examination. The cat was treated for dehydration and returned to the SPCA shelter where she remains with the other rescued cats until further notice. A friend of ours who lives in the same building and who was also forced to leave her cat behind, learned, to her horror this morning that somehow her cat was not in the apartment when the SPCA rescue team went in to find her.
Last week, L checked my smoke detector when I complained that it should have gone off after I dropped food on the stove’s burner and did not. L urged me to report it. I did so quickly (I am the ultra-prepared person when it comes to potential disaster). My big mistake, was not insisting that it be checked immediately by an electrician. So, today, after my seven thousand phone calls on L’s behalf (to the Insurance, the Red Cross, the SPCA, the EMO…) I picked up the receiver to make one more call; “come fix this thing today or I will call the fire Marshall”, I advised my landlord very forcefully. My defective smoke detector was taken away and a new one installed by an electrician within 1 hour.
There are some things too precious to conceive loosing, including my animals’ lives and my own. I urge you all to check your smoke alarms immediately. If you do not have a kit ready to take out your door when a fire alarm goes off, get one together. Include ID, medication, important numbers and papers…anything you would need to evacuate. Have a plan to evacuate WITH your animals and be ready to do so any time the alarm goes. Know where the carrier is for your cat. Be ready to get it out quickly, loading it with the cat, gathering the bag and dog and getting OUT. Practice doing so until you can do it in your sleep.
Yesterday, Opal and I went back to Citadel High school in Halifax. Our purpose this time was to introduce the 2008 Writing contest which AEBC Halifax (Alliance for Equality of Blind Canadians) is hosting with 100 grade 10 students. The last time we visited Citadel, it was final exam time in June. There wasn’t much of anything going on then, except that a handful of kids, bleary-eyed from all-night studying were getting bummed out about their exams. A few others were in a tizzy because Security had hacked off their locks and cleaned out their lockers. Yesterday was a totally different scenario. In a word, CHAOS! We handily found our way to the familiar ‘office’. The staff were helpful and made photocopies of some handouts for me. We sat next to a funked-out kid in trouble waiting to see one of the vice-principals. Opal and I listened to the bedlam in the halls. Announcements (both for students and teachers) are constantly being cranked out. Each one is preceded by an alarming ‘alert’ tone, which is reminisant of something you would hear on a submarine …or in a prison. Maybe it was the added destinations in the announcements…”…meeting in ‘D’ block” that made me think of this. I ate my tuna sandwich and took in the conversations students were having with the staff…”I DID bring a note signed by a parent, so why am I marked missing?” “My class is supposed to be in room 208 in ‘D’ block, but they’re not there!” Today, we were back to meet Marjorie, an English teacher who asked me to introduce the Writing Contest and speak to her class about blindness. She seemed her usual harried self when she arrived. As we gathered my photocopies, I noticed someone had stopped to pat and talk to Opal. “Don’t touch my dog please, she’s working”, I said automatically. They continued, oblivious to my words. I said, “Hey, don’t touch my dog”. This is when Marjorie introduced me to the offender, Kam the principal of Citadel High. I grinned but offered no appology. Instead I gave her one of the handouts on Guide dogs. Marjorie and I found our way to the staff lunch room on the 2nd floor where I was to wait for “the kids to settle down from lunch”. A teacher walked in and screamed, apparently terrified at the sight of Opal. This happens occasionally. Five minutes later, we bumped into the same teacher as we entered a doorway into a lunchroom alcove. He screamed again. This time, I grinned. Opal shrugged off his scream, disregarded him and guided me, as she is supposed to. Our visit with the kids was great. The contest will have them writing about what they think their world would be like without sight. We talked about blindness too. Questions? Sure. “How do audible traffic signals work?” When I mentioned blind sports, the restless, surly kid in the front (I’m guessing Marjorie parks him there to keep an eye on him) blurted out his question, “Is there blind basketball?”. I told him I didn’t know, but that Goal ball is a huge blind sport, even a Para Olympic sport. We talked about accessible technology and devices. I asked them to take out their cell phones. Most of these 36 kids have one and were eager to break the ‘no cell phone in class’ rule. I urged them to resist actually dialing, but to imagine trying to use it to text message or call, if they could not see. “I can’t feel the keypad or see the display”, some girl complained. “That’s my point”, I said. Most of the hundreds of models of cell phones, MP3 players etc are totally impossible to use if you are blind. As always, the majority of questions were about guide dogs. Time flew by and soon Marjorie was giving me the hook. We got a round of applause and then Opal and I were escorted out before the buzzer and the ensuing stampede of kids by a pair of girls (teenage girls always travel in pairs, even in 2008). Opal and I managed to get home without causing anyone else to scream.
Listen up cabbies! I’m going to say this once. Here is the not-so-definitive list of things you need to know when you pick up a customer who is blind or partially-sighted.
If you drive a radio cab, or if you get your calls through a computerized dispatch system, chances are that the customer will have specified that they are blind (they should ’cause they can’t expect you to guess). So, when you get to the pick-up location, do not sit in your car and expect the blind person to know that you have arrived. We are not physic. It is impossible to know if the nearby idling vehicle I hear is ‘my cab’ or just some other vehicle at this busy location (like a pimpmobile or a Fed Ex courier or a cab from the wrong company). You must get out of the car and identify yourself as the driver from XYZ cab company. If there is something wrong with your legs, attempt to crank open the window and announce yourself from the comfort of your car.
Notice the guide dog with the person? They will have specified this too upon telephoning. Unless you have a medical certificate which exempts you from having a dog in your car (you would croak from the allergic reaction), then YOU MUST, BY LAW, ACCEPT THE DOG IN YOUR VEHICLE!!! THERE ARE REPERCUSSIONS FOR PEOPLE WHO REFUSE ACCESS TO GUIDE DOGS…AND FINES.
Do not charge an ‘extra passenger’ or ‘baggage’ fee for transporting a guide dog (I have experience d this before). If you do so in Halifax, you could lose your taxi permit.
If the person with the guide dog wants to sit in the front with their dog, do not freak out. It is my practice to do so, as recommended by the school where I received my dog. I know that other schools have differing philosophies, but this is what I choose. Notice (as you always do) when we get in, that there is actually much more room for the dog in the front between my legs…yes, even (especially) in those monster luxury cars… than in the back behind the seat. The big hump in the middle of the floor in the back is very constricting. Back seat? No way. If we crash, she will not go flying off a back seat, or be hurled to one side of the cab. It is more comfortable and safer for us both to sit in the front. this works for all cars, even the smallest. She is always well-behaved and will not touch you. (she may sneeze, though, ’cause your car is dusty)
Do not think that because your passenger is blind, that you can travel the most indirect route to get to the destination (boosting the fare), ’cause most of us will notice that you have taken a side trip to Ecum Secum on the way to the corner of Barrington and Duke.
I miss the old days. Taxi meters ticked back in the day. Now, there is no possible way to determine if the requested fare is what actually appears on the meter…however, do not get the idea that charging $17.50 for a one mile ride is something you can get away with.
If your client has a charge slip, or you have a charge slip for them, and you want a signature, then think about how tricky that might be to sign. Me? I won’t sign one. “You sign it”, I say… (you could be asking me to sign up for donating a kidney for all I know)
When you get to wherever the passenger wants to go, ask if they need assistance to get to the entrance of the building, or at the very least, give precise directions…”the is 5 meters straight ahead”. As I suggest to everyone, saying “over there” while pointing is useless (and a bit brainless and thoughtless)
Alert your passenger if you are dropping them off in a puddle or ice patch. (I once stepped out of a cab, slipped on an icy patch, did a pirouette, landing on my knees, resulting in a bruise and torn jeans)
The CNIB is having their Annual General Meeting in Toronto on September 27 th, at least that’s what I was told. I could not confirm this on their website…guess they don’t want anyone to know. The local Nova Scotia/PEI Division is having its ACM (“Annual Community Meeting”) on Wednesday, September 24th. A community meeting is the spin that the local deadheads have put on an AGM which does not present an annual financial report. I can’t seem to get any accurate accounting for what this organization does with its money…er, that would be the money they suck out of innocent people who donate to their financial campaigns…like the horribly tasteless and demeaning e-mail campaign which caused such an uproar recently. No matter. I have resigned myself to the fact that accountability, consultation and transparency are not words in the CNIB vocabulary or philosophy. Imagine my delight when the local whiz kid who just won the NDP nomination in Halifax (Megan Leslie) invited me to attend this community meeting with her. I guess she needs an entourage in the guise of a friendly blind friend who can create a potentially good reason to leave (“Opal has a play date in Chicago! Let’s go, Megan!”). It will be fun, I’m sure to go to this thing and have a sensible ally. The Alliance for Equality of Blind Canadians was calling for a cross-Canada series of protests at the CNIB offices on the day that CNIB has their AGM (September 27th, I think). Why? Let me count the ways CNIB merits a slap on the wrists;
1- They must be publicly accountable for the tasteless and demeaning e-mail campaign which was the icing on the nutty CNIB cupcake for many blind people this year.
2- The CNIB plans to change their constitution to allow for a sighted CEO/president. I guess little Jim Sanders is going to be going quietly into that good night. I think there must be a stipulation about employing a percentage of staff within CNIB who are blind.
3- The CNIB services across the country have taken a gigantic nosedive.
4- The current philosophy of this merry band is a little skewed for many of us (not client centered, not service centered, not democratic), and
5- The monopolistic status of this organization that purports to speak on behalf of the blind.
So, if you are remotely interested in the rights of the blind, the nasty decline of services that the CNIB has taken, or the REALLY BAD IDEA of having a non-client as president of the CNIB (or at least a quota that ensures blind staff, and if you are tired about the dismal road that CNIB is travelling, then get to a CNIB near you and voice your thoughts on it. Call the media! Call you friends and family and ask for their support in protesting on September 27th in Toronto, or at the numerous protests across Canada at CNIB offices planned that day…or you might go to a fake AGM, like the one here in Halifax which they are calling an Annual Community Meeting.
It’s the weekend, so cut me some slack on the double pop-culture reference, eh?
In early May, I tediously cleaned my 8′ X 10′ area rug, rolled it up and stowed that puppy away in the closet. It was getting warm and the thought of vacuuming the beast during the hazy days of summer was overwhelming. I sweat buckets when I hoover, so adding summer temps to the task was not an option. Besides, my vacuum cleaner had been gasping and sputtering along for weeks. I feared its spontaneous expiration in a blaze of dog hair and a puff of smoke if I overworked it any more than necessary.
The weather has shifted in Nova Scotia…towards fall. That means crisp, cool air, the sweet smell of decaying leaves and the promise of winter to come. I decided to haul the rug back to its place in the lounge, but not before cleaning our digs tippy-top to bottom. The girls were curious when I lugged the large tube of rolled up carpet to the room where we eat, play and entertain. I’m convinced that they had completely forgotten that we ever had it in our home, so when I lay it out, it was all new to Lucy and Opal. They sniffed (mostly Opal sniffed) and walked end to end and corner to corner over the checkerboard pattern. Suddenly, their brains set off simultaneous light bulbs. WARNING! This is the double pop-culture reference! Necessity is indeed the mother of invention (Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention produced ‘Freak Out’ in 1966, one of the first ‘concept rock’ albums ever. Oddly, I recall the pillow on the floor that I was sitting on while I ate Twinkies with my cup of Jasmine tea…the dim lighting, incense, shag rug…the 12 members of the urban commune I was visiting…hmm, I can’t seem to recall any lyrics to the Zappa and Mothers music that was playing in the room.)
Opal threw herself on her back on the rug and got some intense back and muzzle scratching going for a full ten minutes. Lucy realized that she had discovered the world’s biggest scratching pad. She dug her many, many claws into it (she’s a double-toed calico). It was for them, a magic carpet ride (Magic Carpet Ride was released by Steppenwolf in 1968…sadly, I don’t recall those lyrics either. Like many of the free-spirited types or that era, I retained only bits about the 60’s experience…we ingested, puffed and imbibed way too many substances. Thank god, some of us grew up and retained brain cells).
My perk with the rug? My music sounds better with the sound damping effect created by the rug. I can listen to my tunes (not Zappa or Steppenwolf these days) and enjoy the richer sound that comes out of my stereo. Now, all I need to do is buy that monster shop vac at Canadian Tire to help me keep the girl’s magic carpet relatively clean.
One of the pleasures in acquiring a new puppy or kitten is spending hours with your family deciding on a name for the critter. The kids want to go with ‘Bandit’ or ‘Princess’, but you’re leaning towards a loftier, more meaningful handle, like… ‘Mandela’ or ‘Climate Change’. If you live alone, you find yourself scouring the ‘Names For Baby’ book at the library. When people ask me what my Guide dog’s name is (and they do so incessantly) I sometimes give my standard fake answer, ‘Lucy’, particularly if we are captive on a bus when the likelihood of loud, repetitive calling out of ‘Opal’ is great. On occasion, I fess up and say, ‘Opal’, and some people comment on her “lovely name”. When I have a moment, I explain that I had no say in choosing it.
Guide dog training centres all have breeding programs. The larger schools, like ‘The Seeing Eye’ in Morristown have hundreds of their own dog ’stock’ at any given time. Opal originally came from Guiding Eyes for the Blind’s program. She was raised in North Carolina before being sent to Canadian Guide Dogs For the Blind in Manotick, Ontario (a little like being traded to another ball team in the major leagues). Her pedigree information (like player stats) proceeded her, revealing that her mum (Dam) is named, ‘Regina’, and her dad (Sire) is ‘Buzz’. (Buzz has fathered hundreds, if not thousands of dogs and his sperm is shipped around the world, or so I am told) . Opal is in fact, Opal IV. The litter into which she was born at GEB, as in all cases, was assigned a letter of the alphabet. It was time for an ‘O’ litter. All the dogs in Opal’s litter were given names that started with the letter ‘O’ (She has a brother named, ‘Othello’). The naming process for guide dogs is not whimsical. Care is given to check records of active and retired dogs’ names before naming them. Sometimes a name is re-issued. I imagine it’s a bit of a challenge to name the ‘X’ litters… ‘Xena’, ‘Xaviar’ … then what? The sponsors and financial contributors of the schools and training centres sometimes influence the choices too. After all, if a generous company or individual donates a large amount of money to provide guide dogs to the blind, then why not? Not that I would want a dog, named…um, ‘Acme’.
I recall a conversation at the CGDB training centre in Manotick. A fellow trainee (whose own dog was a step-sister and kennel mate of Opal’s), said something about black opals (referring to the gem stone). I had never heard of such a thing but it stuck in my mind. In my Internet research, I discovered that New Zealand and Australia are lousy with them. In fact, I received a comment on this blog from an Australian jeweler bound for Canada who happened to Google a bunch of search terms that included, ‘opal, Halifax’ and ended up on my blog reading about Opal. I’m not rushing out to order a black opal-studded collar for Opal, but someday I may just buy myself a nice ring with a black opal set into it.
The movie, ‘Blindness’ opened at the Atlantic film Festival last week. It opens in wide-release on October 3rd in Halifax. Ya gotta know that a bunch ‘o blind folk are going to have something to say about it. At least, that’s my hope, idea, delusion, nightmare-to-be… When I heard about this movie, based on the book by Jose Saramago, I thought that it would be a great opportunity to get the Halifax chapter of Alliance for Equality of Blind Canadians together for a little outing to view this thing. My plan? Send out a media release to local feature hounds and hope that they might be interested in interviewing the blind ‘Blindness’ viewers for on-the-spot reaction to this movie’s spin on blindness. I listened to the trailers on the Internet that are pimping promoting this movie. It’s difficult to get a handle on what’s going on in this city where everyone suddenly goes blind. You know it can’t be good…a little chaos, panic, tortured emotional claptrap and the mandatory heroes who shine when their ‘lights’ go out. I wanted to consult the book in preparation. It’s only fair to compare before you go to the flic, right? Well, bad news. It’s not available in audio within the Halifax public libraries. I doubt it exists in commercial audio format. The ‘charitable’ library (CNIB) might have found some bored Scarbourough housewife volunteer to read/record it on THEIR discs ( the ones they destroy when you return them..but that’s another story and a past blog—-go look), however, I quit my ‘membership’ with that service in protest. No matter. Who needs a book? Full steam ahead, I say! I rang up my AEBC buds to invite them to the ‘event’. Now, I’m wondering…”What was I thinking!!!???” It’s bound to be, umm…interesting. I predict the following; A. (with poor O & M –orientation and mobility) will get lost on his way to the washroom, or worse, fall down the escalator. B will be shocked (devout Catholic) when she hears (despite her hearing loss because the sound will be maxed out for this monster movie on a Saturday) the sex scenes, foul language and violence which ‘Blindness’ promos and ratings promise (I forgot to mention this to her). A. (who has a brain injury) will show up at the wrong theatre on the wrong day, or not show up at all. C. (a smoker) will get wedged in the washroom stall with her walker as she tries to sneak a smoke that will set off a fire alarm. There will be lots of chatter amongst our group during the film…”What’s going on? What does that mean?..” which will cause other patrons to hiss. Opal will need a pee in the middle of the show, so I will step out (requires 15 minutes meandering through a mall) during which time, A. will have had a loud fight with J. (they don’t get along). The reporter (only one will show up from an obscure media outlet) will be awaiting our profound comments and reactions…after all, we are the pros, right? His recording device will fail. That may turn out to be the only blessing, as my motley crew will have no profound observations to make, other than that the sound was too loud and nobody ‘got it’. Oh, yeah…D’s guide dog, the ‘German boy’, that Opal loves so much, will bark incessantly as we depart the cineplex.
ADDENDUM: It has become evident that the movie, ‘Blindness’ seriously impacts the blind community. It is a graphic and some times horrifying film that portrays blindness as a terrible condition that robs its victims of their humanity. It will compound and perpetuate the existing irrational prejudices of blind people which are based on stereotype. It falsely depicts blind people as incapable of almost everything and even suggests that blindness alters the human personality. The complex decision for blind people everywhere is if they will spend money to see it (thereby supporting the film maker) or boycott…or protest…or go, sit and watch until they are disgusted (somewhere long before it ends), disrupt the show as they leave, and demand their money back and then discourage the general public from viewing it…choices to be made.
I hear it all the time. Strangers on buses, people in shops, taxi drivers, folks on the street say to me … “I’ve got a dog just like that”. My thoughts? Not likely. You may have a black Labrador retriever, but you do not have a dog like mine. You may have a clever dog who can do silly tricks, but you do not have a dog like mine. You may have a dog with a pair of sad brown eyes, but you do not have a dog like mine. You may have a black dog who is friendly and peppy, but you do not have a dog like mine. You may have a dog that is attentive to you, but you do not have a dog like mine. You may have a black dog of some kind, but you do not have a dog who will stand at a curb with traffic whizzing by her head. You do not have a dog who will ignore other yappy canines, people and smelly bushes as you walk down the road. You do not have a dog who can “find a seat”, “the lift”, “the escalator”, “the counter”, “the bus”, “the post office”, “the washroom”…”the way”. You do not have a dog with whom you entrust your life. You do not have a dog who saves you from disaster on a regular basis. You do not have a dog who is with you 24/7. You do not have a dog like my registered Guide dog, Opal IV…so just say to me instead, “I have a dog, but it’s nothing like your wonderful, smart and beautiful canine companion”.
Wise Advice Chief, HRM (also known as Lablady) was arrested Thursday evening. The self-proclaimed queen of Halifax was charged with the following offences: 1 count of Vincibilty (opposite of invincibility), 1 count of Aggressive Hoisting of a Microwave causing bodily pain, 5 counts of Excessive Use of Potty Mouth, 2 counts of Animal Emotional Neglect, and 327 counts of General Crankiness. Police spokesperson, Constable Opal commented: ” It was one of those sad cases of a woman trying to do too much with a body that would not cooperate. You can’t ignore chronic pain too long…something’s got to give”. Wise Advice was kept under house arrest for the weekend. Her phone and e-mail were shut down. She was allowed to go out into the community (escorted by Constable Opal) to purchase cat food and to attend church. Forced to take hot mineral baths, meditate, listen to countless audio books and play with her animals for three days, it appears that Wise Advice is now on the mend. Judge Judy commented on the case: ” Her moral compass may be intact, but the lady must get her other monitoring systems calibrated”. Hey…. doesn’t Wise Advice’s sweetie calibrate equipment by trade?
Now I’ve had it with you boorish bunch of anal retentive rejects. What’s wrong with you people?!!! The next time one of you ‘neighbours’ in this multi-unit building cannot be decent enough to emit a sound when you are ‘in my space’ as I greet you, I will not be held responsible for what may come out of my mouth. Sheesh! How rude can you be? Please tell me if you have some good reason (besides being assholes) for standing by the elevator, or at the laundry machines, or in the hallway, or at the mailboxes and totally ignoring my greeting? I didn’t think so. You’re as stunned as a sac of hammers! You seem to find your voice when other residents are around and they greet you. You there, big guy with work boot footsteps and smelly clothes…yeah you…do you know how creepy and scary it was to feel the presence of a huge man nearby, and not know that you were NOT an ax murderer or something because you couldn’t even seem to muster a grunt or fart to acknowledge my cautious “hi” when we met in the hall at 5am as I was going to relieve my dog? You know I’m blind, you ditz! And the fat lady with chunky heels who smells like a floral arrangement at a funeral home? What’s up with you? I was coming up the stairs to the lobby to get my mail when you were parked/docked/berthed by the elevator door and blocking my path. Do ya think you could move your sweet smelling butt over a bit or say something when you see a lady with a white cane (Opal was on a break) coming straight at you? Nah. You didn’t even say “hey, don’t whack me with that cane” when I ran into you. You stood there like a lummox after I muttered, “excuse me and hello”. I had just stepped out of the shower, so I know it wasn’t my body odour. Then there are the old biddies (yeah, the ones who “don’t like the disgusting sight of that dog on the lawn”) who seem to think that I have no ability to HEAR anything. Hey! It’s really not polite to dish someone WHEN THEY’RE STANDING FIVE FEET AWAY! …”She’s got a lot of laundry again. Bet there’s dog hair in it” . Sheesh! You geeks really need to get yourselves a crash course in social interaction 101, or read a Helen Keller bio or something! Anything would help your ability to interact with blind people at this point.
When I say to Opal, “come on, let’s read a book”. She knows that it means that sound will start coming out of our Daisy player…some guy or gal will talk and talk… it’s all blah, blah, blah to Opal, but she loves it. Why? It’s our quiet time together. She gnaws her bone contentedly as we lay on the bed and snuggle (oops! dog on bed again…check!). She takes my running commentary on the book in stride, looking at me (quizzically, I think) when I say things like; “that doesn’t make any sense!”, or “what kind of a moron wrote this thing? they can’t even string a sentence together!” or “Ooo, Opal. this is a really good book, eh?” To further cement Opal’s audio appreciation, the Audio Book Club which I started with the Halifax Public Library, has its meeting at the Alderney branch. Opal knows that when I say, or rather sing with a commercial jingle lilt, “Audio Book Club today!”, we are bound for Dartmouth on the ferry. That in itself is exciting. We sit on the upper deck and suck up the sea breeze as Opal watches the gulls fly overhead and the boats sail by. The BEST part, is AFTER we go to the audio book club…after the meeting filled with conversation and laughter, after I load up with more of the library’s audio books and sign them out, after the tea and more conversation with my friends at ‘Biscuit Lips’ (a nearby cafe)… after all of that, my girl KNOWS we will FINALLY go to the park by the shore. She also knows that mum has brought the ‘flexi’ (retractable leash) and her necklace (collar) and her rubber boomerang….and that she will get a chance to sniff and run and ‘blow the stink off’. We will soak up the rays and more sea breezes, and stagger back onto the ferry quite shattered, but definitely content.
Our audio book club meeting was yesterday. My task is to research the author and other details about the current book selection and bring in some information to share with the group. Our most recent title was “Kabul Beauty School” by Deborah Rodriguez and Kristen Ohlsen. I was as eager to share my ‘find’ with the book club as Opal was to get to the park. I managed to interview Ohlsen by e-mail. She was very forthcoming and answered my probing questions. I listened to an old NPR interview with the Afghan women who are the subject and spine of the book. (they’re quite cranky and claim that Rodriguez left Afghanistan and did not receive money from the book profits). I asked Ohlsen (who is often overshadowed in reviews and interviews despite her role as primary author) to comment on this, and more. She came through, and in doing so, gave the Halifax Public Library’s first ever Audio book club something juicy to talk about. Our next pick is “Treasure Island”. Somehow, I doubt that I will raise much in the way of interviews with Robert Louis Stevenson.
CNIB President and CEO, Jim Sanders cranked out another e-mail message to me today. Damage Control Central seems to have found the following words to put into his mouth: ” Dear Helen….the message was not appropriate (What would you sell to save your sight?) …fund-raising campaign discontinued… as signatory of the letter, I take full responsibility and extend my personal apology for any discomfort or offense that this message may have caused you”… signed Jim Sanders
This e-mail had no lovely GUIDE DOGS in the images ( CNIB does NOT train or financially support Guide dog training in any way) ….it had instead, the boring and newish CNIB logo and bush (maybe it’s the tree of Vision Hope? ) …a ‘brand’ they spent an obscene amount of money developing. It seems the braniacs at CNIB didn’t like the sound of “Canadian National Institute for the Blind” any more. Nah, that’s too, um…’blind’ sounding. So they changed it to CNIB (like RBC or BMO banks) and now they never use the word blind in their name. Some marketing geeks decided to go with “Vision Hope, Vision Health” as the buzzwords du jour. That was some big pile of letterhead, pamphlets and building signs to change, guys! What’d that cost you?…or rather how much of the money that you solicited from unsuspecting donors (the ones who still think that you actually “help the blind” in every way and at every turn) did you waste? That dough could have actually gone to client services…gee, why didn’t you just just ask your clients what they thought about the new brand….oops, I forgot. the CNIB is not into consultation, transparency or accountability.
Mum says we are going to the NDP nomination meeting to vote (for Megan Leslie). She didn’t seem too happy about it…says someone else is going to read the ballot, point where to sign, watch her do it and check it for her…so why bother? She seemed to brighten up a moment later when she got one of her ‘ideas’. Now she says I AM GOING TO VOTE FOR HER!!! cause I’m so smart, and she trusts me and we’re going to make a statement about accessible voting for the blind. I don’t usually say much but now I get to make a statement….wow!
Opal and I live in Nova Scotia. If there’s one thing Easterners really get into, it’s talking about , preparing for , and experiencing hurricane season. It must be that inbred Canadian love of imminent danger and disaster arising from weather conditions. We are now in the midst of Hurricane season. Most hurricanes do not reach us, but we have had some over the years that did make landfall (Hurricane Juan, for example) and many tropical and sub tropical storms which can pack a mean punch. For people with disabilities, there are significant challenges involved in preparing for bad weather. Just like the boy scouts, my motto is, ‘Be Prepared’. The Nova Scotia Disabled Persons Commission wrote a guide for PWD called “Are You Ready?”. Voiceprint released a CD version of the guide. It is full of helpful hints for PWD and seniors. Other organizations in all jurisdictions have similar resources available. Consult the web sites or call the Red Cross, the Independent Living Resource Centre, Canadian Food Inspection Agency, National Organization on Disability, Emergency Management Nova Scotia, VON (Vial of Life Program) or any EMO in your area.
Opal is a hurricane veteran. She was raised in North Carolina and was evacuated more than once, including during Katrina. Service animals, by the way ARE allowed into shelters (pets are not). I had no Guide dog at the time Hurricane Juan blew through Halifax some years ago. I do recall my cat being terrified, especially when one of our windows blew in. The power was out for five days. The streets were dangerous and impassible because of fallen trees and power lines. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to experience Juan with a guide dog. In the last 12 months, Opal and I have dealt with bad weather, including tropical storms packing 120km hour winds and 150 ml of rain. It’s important to listen to weather forecasts. It is helpful when planning your dog’s opportunities to relieve, because you can’t expect your 60 pound animal to be willing and able to squat in a gale (there’s always the bathtub…grin).
Plan your strategy for an upcoming storm. Obviously, you must have enough food and water on hand, for yourself and your animals. You should have a pre-determined disaster plan for home, work or school. Create a communications and evacuation plan. and develop a support network of people. Your service animal’s kit must include food, dish, labeled medication, identification, papers, toy, bone, play collar, small blanket. Fill your bathtub with water. Make sure you have the following on hand: non perishable food, water, batteries, portable or crank radio, medication supply, important papers including a list or audio tape of phone numbers and insurance information, first aid kit, warm clothing, sleeping bags, and items specific to your disability. Remember that phones and power may go out (have mechanical can opener). There is often a lot of noise and confusion during building evacuation which makes it difficult for people who are blind who can no longer rely on familiar audio cues. Be familiar with your plan and practice regularly.
It’s not a good idea to use a land line when there is lightening ( My friend was knocked over while talking on the phone during a thunder storm as lightening hit the wires). Unplug stuff, particularly computers. Modems, monitors and so on, which can also become toast during a bad storm. On that cheery note, I am shutting down, unplugging and hunkering down as the weather begins to rage and we await the remnants of Hurricane Hannah.
Opal visited Dr. C. today at the Veterinary clinic. It was time for her checkup, one of two exams which I am contractually obligated to provide for her every year. Verdict? She’s a healthy girl and a real charmer (kissed the vet into a giggling heap as she tried to listen to Opal’s heart). Opal did not flinch when the doc gave her the mandatory shots, and squirmed around playfully on her back while Doc. C. felt her ‘girl bits’. The trip through the clinic to the weigh scale is always fun for her. She loves to sniff the mountain of cat and dog food bags as she passes by. It’s a challenge to keep her still on the walk-on scale bed long enough to get an accurate weight reading. She tends to lean against the wall which skews the number. Sometimes there’s a dog being bathed in the same room, so that sort of activity peaks her interest . I suspect she’s thinking, “better you than me!” The doc kindly filled out our Canadian Guide Dogs for the Blind health book and faxed them the new entry. We payed our bill (less 40% Guide dog discount). The discount for vet services to guide or service dog is offered by many practices. It’s worth calling around to the local vets to enquire. The most important thing is to find a vet that you have good confidence in. It’s a given that they love animals. I look for someone who is down to earth and not an excessive pill or procedure pusher. Our doc was an emergency veterinary hospital vet for many years. I also had no qualms about ‘googling’ her to check out her credentials and history. There seems to be a generally better-than average accommodation for clients who have service dogs among vets. My experience has included getting appointments quickly, a longer than usual amount of time spent examining or treating an injury, patience in answering all of my questions, willingness to fill out and fax forms as required, granting of credit when I could not afford to pay immediately, easy availability for phone conversation/questions and providing alternative or ‘jigged-up’ methods by which I can accurately dispense medication like ear drops. A vet is more than someone who shoots your dog.
There are people who self-identify as ‘Dog People’. “I’m a cat person” others say. Then of course, there are enthusiasts of animals in general as well as sects people whose entire world revolves around one creature in particular; monkeys, spiders, reptiles, fish….
But how can you spot a ‘Dog Person’ ? (assuming Fluffo is not by their side). Chances are, the clothing they wear is a dead give away. If Bubba sheds like a bandit, obviously the Dog Person is covered with dog hair but even the most meticulous of Dog People can’t hide it. You’ll see them absently picking at the dog hair on their clothing from time to time. They probably have a Miracle Brush in their desk drawer at work. Dog People often have a wardrobe that is… um, unusually casual. They own a large number of ratty pants, old windbreakers and sturdy shoes. Many keep that special non-dog outfit in the back of the closet, sanitized and ready to haul into service for a funeral or wedding. Me? I don’t own clothing without pockets. Where would I put my poop bags and kibble if my clothes had no pockets? When you climb into Dog Person’s car, you will see further evidence of Trixie. Maybe there’s a cage-like grill to contain her to the back of the car and restrain her from jumping on Dog Person’s head while they are motoring down the highway. Some Dog People even have a canine seat belt for Fido. There is likely a lot of dog hair in the car too, along with things like old towels, blankets, dirt, plastic water dish and toys. Examine the car windows. Note the nose prints all over the glass. You’ll see the same nose prints in the windows of Dog Person’s home too. When you visit Dog Person’s home, you’ll notice other stuff there too… a minefield of bones, toys, and miscellaneous objects that Buddy has strewn about. The furniture? It’s probably as casual as Dog Person’s clothing (Note: this does not apply to Park Avenue princess lap dog owners who manage to keep their home and clothing pristine) . When Dog Person apologetically invites you to sit on their sofa (and you KNOW they will give you the standard dog hair disclaimer), you might notice a faint (or not so faint) odour which you realize is the legacy of Sandy. Dog Person seems oblivious to this odour. In fact, to them? it’s mildly pleasant. As you gaze around Dog Person’s home, you also note a bizarre array of dog-related paraphernalia. There are blankets, a dog bed, bowls, leash, collar, grooming brushes, toys, a big bin of filled with Rex’s food, more toys, dog medication on the shelf in the kitchen, bones, dog treats, a dog house outside, special fencing, and even more toys… You also note the state of disrepair of Dog Person’s home. When you ask them about the hole in the living room wall, they stare into space and mumble something about Pixie’s ’separation anxiety’ issues. Above the hole in the wall, is one of the seven ‘dog callendars’ you have spotted so far in the house today. Chances are, it’s specific to the breed of Dog Person’s best friend. It matches the dog image on the coffee mug in your hand which you are drinking out of, as well as the pillow behind you on the smelly couch. During your visit to Dog Person’s home, you will remember these dog theme objects and make a mental note to buy your Dog Person friend something similar for the office gift exchange next Christmas. Now you know why Dog Person always seems to be talking about their dog. Clearly, they are obsessed. If the weather is cool and your Dog Person host has provided you with slippers to wear ( or is that just a Canadian thing?), you wonder why the slippers are partially shredded. It becomes crystal clear to you when Rover enters the room with a half-mauled object in his jaws. Rover brings it to you, eager to play. He drops the slobber-filled thing in your lap as Dog Person apologises once more. You start to say to Dog Person that you don’t really mind, when suddenly, you realize that the disgusting thing on your designer pants is actually your favourite, authentic Tilly hat. Dog Person apologises some more and offers to replace it, but you decline graciously. You decide to take your leave from Dog Person’s home. You carefully step around the dog toys and other stuff on your way to the door. Dog Person explains that they have a number of baby gates in the house because of the dog, and that they don’t actaullly have a baby. You cut through the yard, detouring around the dog house which Mindy has never used, carefully avoiding any rogue dog poop piles and holes dug in the lawn. As you pull away in your car, you hear Dog Person whistle and cheerfully say, “come on Albert, let’s go for a pee”.
Ron Sexmith popularised this tune written by Mark Erelli. Today, DW and JM performed it during our (Universalist Unitarian Church of Halifax) service. Maybe it’s not ‘traditional’ church music, but if you’re a UU? …well, it works for us. When I learned that today’s service was to be “Pride Sunday”, I groaned inwardly. Didn’t we just get done with Pride Week in Halifax? I asked myself. Isn’t it enough that at the beginning of each UU service, the service leader reads the following: “We are a community which nurtures personal growth, practices inclusiveness, celebrates diversity and affirms individual and collective commitment to community service and social justice” ? I arrived at my church physically tired and mentally weary after a long night of ‘discussion’ with my significant other about the state of our relationship. Sigh. By the time the service began, I was programmed to being cranky and resistant to the presentation. My determination to be bored didn’t ‘take’ . Was it the lyrics to ‘God loves Everyone’? ….“There are no gates in heaven, Everyone gets in, Queer or straight, Souls of every faith. Hell is in our minds, Hell is in this life, But when its gone, God takes everyone….” Can you imagine the wincing and squirming fundamentalist-types would do if they heard these lyrics in THEIR church? The narrow-minded lot who preach homosexuality as ’sin’ would trip over themselves trying to escape such a scene. But UU’s? Some smiled, some wept (like me) in the clutches of memories of a world that can be ungracious to the its citizens and unaccepting of human NATURE. There has always been and will be, an estimated 10 to 15% of the world’s population who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered, or ‘other’. It boggles the mind why so many ‘people of faith’ have expended so much determined energy to ‘change’ this reality. What is accomplished by persecuting/criminalizing/alienating/discriminating against non-heterosexuals? Surely it’s not the procreation argument for the ‘unbabies’ that DON’T get cranked out and added to a planet already groaning from overpopulation? That’s a stale, homophobic argument that’s just as irrational as wanting to rid the world of potential child molesters (child molesters and rapists are predominately straight men) . That some countries continue to execute ‘homosexuals’ is, at the very least, sad and more accurately, an atrocious act. How grateful I am that my country (Canada) has entrenched the rights of its citizens protecting them (in theory) from discrimination based on sexual preference. How happy I am that my church performs a myriad of weddings for ALL couples, and that their union is recognized as LEGAL in my country. Former Prime Minister, Pierre Elliot Trudeau, is the guy who said “the state has no business in the bedrooms of the nation”... he got that right.
I don’t have hard statistic-gathering methodology to back up this claim, but I am quite certain that my recent self-monitoring of the number of times a day that I say, “Good Girl!” to Opal, would reveal that I utter these words…umm, A LOT!!! More times than I say “hello”, “thankyou”, “Don’t pet my dog, she’s working”, “excuse me”, “Where is the…”, and any other combination of words on most days. In total since I’ve been with her? thousands millions billions times more than Micky D’s has sold cardboard burgers to the unsuspecting carnivore citizens of the world. It pops out of my mouth without forethought; a verbal reflex that I do not use sparingly. Opal gets a “good girl!” (with or without the exclamation in my voice) when she relieves, when she responds to any command and when she does something of her own initiative. I croon it to her when we cuddle, when I groom her and when I kiss her goodnight (YES I KISS MY DOG GOODNIGHT!). I say it to comfort her when the vet is poking her or the technician is trimming her nails. I say it to her in the night when I sleepily extend my hand down to her bed to check that she is OK. I will continue to say, “Good Girl!” until one of us takes our last breath.
An interesting e-mail arrived in my box today: Alliance for Equality of Blind Canadians President, Robin East wrote a searing letter to Jim Sanders (big CNIB cheese) regarding the same distasteful fund raising e-mail that CNIB sent to Canadians, some of them CNIB clients. It was a paltry plea resplendent with Guide dogs (GUIDE DOG TRAINING IS NOT PART OF THE CNIB “SERVICES”), and an offensive query ,asking people like me and Robin East, what we would sell to save our sight. (see earlier blog I wrote entitled: Why CNIB Leaves Me Flat). In Robin East’s letter to Jim Sanders, he asked for an apology and that CNIB withdraw this campaign immediately. Robin forwarded the whole thing to me, therefore, I am delighted to post it here. Here is Jim Sander’s response to Robin East:
“Dear Robin, I wish to acknowledge receipt of your letter and confirm that the e-mail campaign has been discontinued. I can assure you that the content do not reflect the philosophy and service practice of CNIB. I have released the following statement and would welcome any additional comments which you or your members may have.
I do sincerely apologize for the content and also for any negative impact that this letter has had on individuals. Your letter will be brought to the attention of the Board.
Here is the statement: On behalf of CNIB, I wish to let you know that the fundraising campaign to which you refer has been discontinued. The message it portrayed was inappropriate.
We are reviewing CNIB’s marketing operations and associated creative materials to ensure that future marketing and fundraising efforts better reflect the CNIB philosophy, service, model and the views and experiences of people who are blind and living with vision loss.
Since I am the signatory to the letter, I do take full responsibility and extend my personal apology.
sincerely,
Jim Sanders”
Hmm. Sounds to me that Jim’s eating crow. Did someone say Damage Control? Do I see Jim’s litttle blind butt roasting at the CNIB Board Bar B Q? Do ya think they’ll drop some people (like Robin and me) from the mailing list in the future?
THIS JUST IN!!! Jim Sanders appologizes to angry chief executives of Canadian Guide Dog schools…
Dear GDAA (Guide Dog Addicts Anonymous), my name is Opal and I’m an addicted Guide dog. It all began when my mum bought me a lovely red ’skibble’ ball. She thought it was one of those ’smart’ dog toys that would occupy my mind with problem solving (trying to get the kibble to fall out of the ball by moving the ball around). At first, it WAS a fun pastime. Mum would pop a few kibble in the ball and toss it on the floor. I would spend a leisurely few minutes rolling it on the floor until I was done. I was a ’social’ skibble ball indulger. I thought I could handle it. Then, I found myself slowly increasing my skibble ball use. I would drop it off the couch or the bed, bring it to mum to throw, play skibble soccer with it, bring it with me to bed at night, drop it in my water dish, drop it on Lucy the cat, drop it on mum’s head in the morning to wake her up, and once, I even tried to bring outside when I needed to pee. I can’t “Leave It!” as mum sometimes tells me to do. It’s no use. I took your test….you know the one…“10 questions to help you determine if you are an addicted Guide dog, hooked on any one of 25,000 substances or behaviours and in desparate need of a 12-step program”. I have enclosed my test results (not so good) and the processing payment of $49.95 (mum will sign off on the VISA thing) plus a sample of my fur for ’special analysis’. Please send the list of Guide Dog Addicts Anonymous meeting locations in my area and my ‘genuine laminated GDAA membership card’ as soon as possible. And by the way, there’s a Guide Dog who lives upstairs (a drop-dead gorgeous German boy who works as a shepherd too), who I think is a Guide Dog Barking Addict. Can you send me the toll free number for THAT 12-step program?
The hoopla is over in Beijing. Or is it? Sure, thousands of athletes and visitors have streamed onto airplanes and returned to their home countries. They tote medals and for some, sponsorship deals. The media assault on the world has abated. Disinterested people around the globe give a collective sigh of relief as their TV and radio programming returns to normal. However, on September 6th, the Para Olympics get underway. These are, in my opinion, the REAL games. You won’t find flaky sub “sports” such as BMX bike racing, syncro-swimming (plenty of gel and nose plugs here!) or trampoline in the Para Olympic lineup. No, instead, count on things like equestrian, swimming and goalball.
The Para Olympics began in 1948, when British war veterans with spinal cord injuries decided to participate in a sporting ‘olympics’. Since then, the Para Olympic Games has grown into a huge ‘after’ event with thousands of ‘disabled’ athletes (the lucky ones who are have the resources and facilities at home to participate in para sport). These Games come on the heels of the ‘real’ Olympics. Frankly, I would love to see the day, when there is no separation of the games. It would be a logistical nightmare to facilitate all this ‘inclusion’ and access to venues etc, but how wonderful it would be for Olympic fans (able bodied and not) to be able to wander from ‘Olympic Girls Gymnastics’ in one part of a stadium, to the ‘Para Olympic Fencing’ competition in another part of the same stadium.
‘They’ (and I mean the government funders and planners and other do-gooders who spout ‘inclusion’ and ‘accessibility’ in all things) often do not really walk the para-walk, so to speak. It’s one thing to provide an automatic door opener and modified washroom in a sports arena or community centre and announce with great fanfare that the complex is “ACCESSIBLE”, but it’s another thing to provide accessible PROGRAMS for the kids with disabilities who want to use them. These facilities are erected at great cost and are intended for EVERYONE’S use. However, they often have physical barriers to PWD (persons with disabilities) or, there simply is no provission for PWD (kids and adults) to access programs. What is the point if someone in a wheelchair can get INTO the building, onto the pool deck and maybe, even into the pool, but there are no programs for them? The big bucks and support go to mainstream (able-bodied) sports. I think there is really little genuine interest on the part of government and society in true ‘accessibility’, ‘inclusion’, ‘full participation’, ‘diversity’…yada, yada, yada. For many ‘Planners’ (the able-bodied guys and gals in suits) who tweak design and convince the tax payers that they have done an admirable job with their ‘accessible’ design, it’s ‘all about the money’ and creating a building that minimizes spending on the project and provides what is mandatory by law in the way of accessibility features. There is much time and effort (ergo money) spent (ie. wasted) on legal consultation by city planners to avoid the risk of not meeting the minimum accessibility requirements and, god forbid, a Human Rights or other legal (ie costly and embarrassing) challenge by some ‘minority’ group (persons with disabilities or cultural, ethnic or other). Sigh. Do you need to live the experience of seeing YOUR kid in a wheel chair before you start thinking, “Hey! there are hardly any programs for my little Johny!” ? Sadly, that’s the way it seems to work. A physiotherapist and advocate for kids with disabilities recently told me that she has spent 3 years trying to hammer home the need for programs, not just physical accessibility to a proposed Halifax sports venue to some of our city ’suits’. She described ‘vacant stares’ by some of these dudes and dudettes. Her frustration was evident but her conviction?…unwavering.
My Guide dog, Opal has found an amazing array of ’stuff’ in the time we’ve been together. Some of it was lying on the sidewalks we travel (like a five dollar bill!), and other stuff she discovered in the places she relieves along the way and in our apartment building’s hallways. Here is a partial list of her (our) ‘finds’: Articles of clothing include; 3 winter scarves, 2 pairs of gloves, 3 mismatched mittens, 2 wool hats, 3 pairs of men’s briefs (one of them in a bush) 1 pair of trousers, 1 pair of women’s panties, 1 children’s sweater, and 2 sunhats. Ya gotta wonder about the clothes, eh? She has found 2 tennis balls, dinky cars, a colouring book, a doll and 2 stuffed toys (these do not include the ones she tries to steal when I’m shopping). There have been coins on the street and in restaurants, a pair of brand new ear rings, nail clippers, pens, magazines, a booklet of postage stamps, a back pack, and several pieces of ID.
There are many less memorable items which I would rather she NOT find; pop, beer and liquor bottles (some broken), cigarette butts and packaging, bubble and chewing gum, medication bottles, condoms (used), TONS (literally) of fast food containers and wrappers (some with dregs of ‘food’ in them), and an astounding assortment of garbage which has found its way into OUR neighbourhoods. Sheesh, there are a lot of pigs in the world!
NOW HEAR THIS!!! Keep your crap in your cars and in your backpacks and pockets and dispose of it appropriately instead of hurling it into OUR SPACE. If you insist on indulging in disgusting habits like smoking and public drinking and sex, be resposnsible and haul the evidence of your little party away. Smokers are particularly irritating to us. Opal finally gave up a habit of eating butts. (Her nickname, given to her by some Brits, was ‘Fag Ash Lil’ ). Frankly, I think YOU smokers should eat your own butts. Maybe you gum chewers should stick your gum wads into YOUR own hair. See how much fun it is to pick out, just as I pick it out of my dog’s paws, and fur. As for the nuts who smash bottles on sidewalks? YOU try walking barefoot over your expression of youthful nuttiness and/or drunkiness.
I love those sixties tunes mum plays. Protest songs are big in our house (go figure!). Sometimes, mum plays a song by Barry McGuire called, “Eve of Destruction”. I wasn’t around in the sixties, so I don’t really understand what the words mean, but I’ve been trying to figure them out. …”The eastern world it is exploding…” That’s probably about the nutty cannon they set off at noon every day on Citadel Hill here in Halifax. It’s soooo loud and scares me every time! Then, there’s the part “If the button is pushed, there’s no running away…” I’m pretty sure that means that when I find the button and mum presses it to call the lift (elevator), we must wait for the door to open, right? and, “You tell me over and over and over again my friend, ah, you don’t believe we’re on the eve of destruction?…” Now THAT’S gotta be about the way my mum KNOWS that in the morning, I am going to try to get her attention by grabbing the Braille phone bill and ripping it to shreds. Then she’s going to shake her head and say, “Hey, Destructo! I don’t believe you just trashed my Aliant bill”.
Yesterday, I received an e-mail from Jim Sanders, national CNIB president. I doubt that Jim actually hit ’send’ himself. This e-mail was soliciting money. It was probably spun out by the CNIB fund raising elite PR machine to everyone within the CNIB data bases, including clients. I don’t fault any organization for being creative with fund raising initiatives. This thing? It offended me to the point where I wrote Jim an e-mail letter this morning. Let me explain the nature of ‘Jim’s’ request.
The e-plea was colourful and filled with lovely photos of guide dogs and blind people with guide dogs. the header stated, “Harnessing Independence begins with your generous support”. It went from bad to worse by asking the question, “How much is your Independence worth to you? Dear Helen, close your eyes for a moment and imagine that you’ve lost your sight” Hmm, Jim. You’re too late, done deal, been there, done that, got the t-shirt. I AM blind! Then, to really annoy me, it went on to claim that “37 % of Canadians would sell everything they owned to keep their sight.” I don’t know or care if this is statistically valid. What I DO know, is that these kinds of claims propagate the erroneous assumption that blind people are miserable with their lot. Hey Jim, I’m OK being blind, my life is not horrible, so don’t yammer this defeatist nonsense which only entrenches public misconception about Persons With Disabilities. As for the clever references to guide dogs… “and when we’re ready, some of us may even get a guide dog” …blah, blah, blah, resplendent with pics of the dogs with CNIB clients who are in the CNIB photo op pocket, I could vomit. You and I both know (though apparently you’re still milking the sensibilities of a confused public who do NOT KNOW) that CNIB does NOT train guide dogs nor do they financially support guide dog training. Why go down that murky road, Jim? Why not spend some of your PR money on CNIB client services (ya gotta know that expensive glossy hard copy of this pitch for donations will be sent out to thousands of Canucks). I walked into my local CNIB office a couple of weeks ago looking to BORROW a tape recorder. My two recorders are broken, and my Hadley School for Blind Spanish assignment is due. Did I get some of that CNIB ’support’? No, Jim. I left with bubkis and went home to e-mail Senora Good-Krochuk that I am tostada with my Spanish until further notice. When someone stopped me on the street later that day and asked, “Is that a CNIB dog?”, I promptly took 15 minutes of my time to explain to the deluded individual that ” THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A CNIB DOG!!! CNIB HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH GUIDE DOG TRAINING!!! THEY DON’T PROVIDE A SCINTILLA OF THE STUFF TO THE BLIND THAT THE PUBLIC ERRONEOUSLY THINK THEY DO!!!!” Sigh. Jim, I am so dissapointed with this sordid pathetic e-mail. You can bet that I am going to encourage people to respond to it’s lack of respect for people like me…happy, hard-working, tax-paying citizens who happen to be blind. And how, you ask Jim? I’m going to suggest to them that they make their charitable contributions elsewhere...like any guide dog training school, and my pick would be, Canadian Guide Dogs for the Blindin Manotick Ontario (613-692-7777 link on blogroll). maybe they should e-mail you about their displeasure too…. jim.sanders@cnib.ca oops, I think I just did. Have a nice day.
Guide dogs begin to train when they are approximately 14 months old. So, where have they been knocking around all through puppyhood? Answer: With their ‘puppy walker’ or ‘puppy raiser’ (depending on which Guide dog school they are bred for). These are the families or individuals who take a little 8 week-old ball of canine energy for a year or more, love it, feed it, groom it, play with it, expose it to all types of things, people and places…and then say goodbye to it. That must be a sad and and very difficult time for the puppy walkers. But look what these dogs become! They are part of that awesome, elite corp of ‘dog guides’ for people who are blind. When Opal and I ‘qualified’ in our final days of training at Canadian Guide dogs for the Blind in Manotick, Ontario, there was a minor fanfare that included a ‘graduation’ party, and a ‘Puppy Walker’s Tea’. The Puppy Walker’s Tea is a get-together where the newly-qualified CGDB Guide dog and handler has an opportunity to meet the person or family that raised the dog. Other guide dog schools have a different policy whereby the handler and puppy raiser do not ever meet or access each others contact information. I was ‘on course’ with three other individuals. None of our puppy walkers (the people who had raised our dogs) could attend because of the distance involved in traveling to Manotick (some from BC, Opal’s from North Carolina). We did, however have an opportunity to speak on the telephone with the puppy walkers at a pre-scheduled time.
I wonder what it would have been like for all involved if all the puppy walkers COULD have attended. I think a Puppy Walkers Tea could be a valuable and enjoyable opportunity for some people, but potentially awkward for others. I have yet to meet A.A. ( a then-15 year old) who raised Opal, though I have spoken to her many times, exchanged letters and gifts, and e-mailed her mum (a writer) hundreds of times. I now have an arsenal of Opal stories that could curl your hair…well, that’s for another blog… Sure, WE would have gotten along swimmingly at a Puppy Walkers Tea, but I have heard stories (maybe that’s all they are) about such encounters that did not turn out quite so well. It is a tense time…gotta be. The new handler is stressed after a rigorous month of training and wants to get home and settled, the dog is transitioning from trainer to the new handler so it is probably a little stressed too, and the puppy walker walks into the midst of it all? I think that it would all go well, provided that everyone understands their roles; the puppy walker is no longer ‘top dog’ in the relationship. That dog is now in a special relationship with its blind handler. The handler must remain cool and know that their dog will recognize the puppy walker and want to express its emotion. The trainers and staff have an obligation to keep everyone clear on the ground rules for the meeting. For example, it is no longer the puppy walker’s role to give any type of command to the dog…not even ’sit’.
I am so pleased and grateful to hear from all the puppy walkers and puppy raisers who have written to me through this blog. Please realise that those pups are treasured after you ‘let them go’. Do not think for a moment that your role is not as important as that of the professional trainers who actually train the dog to do all the fancy stuff, like stop at curbs and go around obstacles. These formative months in a dog’s life (before it trains), are critical. If you take that dog everywhere and expose it to social situations, surfaces, noises and so on, then you will have done the grunt work from which will emerge a potentially fearless Guide dog.
Oooooo. I have stunning new bling! Mum’s friend gave me a beautiful purple necklace. Some dog’s call their necklaces “collars”, but mum tells me that mine is special (like me), so we call it a necklace or bling. Mum put my tag (the one with my CGDB registration number on it) and my bell (so mum can hear me moving around) on the new necklace. I always wear my necklace around the house ’cause mum says that a pretty girl needs her bling at all times. Also, if anything were to happen (like a fire..ooo, I hope not), it would be easier to drag me out of the house ’cause I might get scared and be resistant. My tag has the CGDB phone number on it, so if I ever get lost and wander way over to Pictou county or somewhere, the person who finds me can call CGDB and they would know by reading my registration number, who I was and where I belong. And hey! I have a computer inside me too. OK, maybe it’s really called an AVID microchip, but if I get lost without my necklace, a vet or animal shelter can scan me (like a box of Milk Bones at the grocery store checkout) for my ID information. AVID (American Veterinary Identification Device) is a really big computer data base that tells the scanner who I am when it reads my secret AVID 8 digit number. And then there’s my tattoo that’s located on my…..
This is for all Canadians out there who amble into the local Walmart store or other retail location where perhaps, you once noticed a large, plastic Golden Retriever Guide Dog sitting by the entrance or near the checkout counter. The boy (or girl) dog has a money slot on the top of his/her head. On the base of this acrylic canine is a little sign that says, “Canadian Guide Dogs For The Blind”. This is the school where Opal comes from and where we trained together. This is the Guide Dog Training Centre that ‘gives’ Guide dogs to blind people at a cost of $1.00. It actually cost $35,000.00 to put one dog into the hands of a blind handler.
So, I do my bit to show my appreciation to CGDB. I convinced the local Walmart manager to allow CGDB to place two plastic Guider collector dogs in his store. It’s no skin off the manager’s nose. These puppies take up only one square foot of floor space each. They attract kids and people generally love them. I go each month to empty the coins out of Buzz and Regina (named after Opal’s mum and dad). I clean them because kids often ‘pat’ them with grubby hands. They will go to the car wash next summer for pressure hosing. Today, the haul seemed lighter than usual. Maybe $150 or $160. I said to Opal, “looks like CGDB can buy a Guide dog’s toe today”. You do the math. One entire guide dog=$35,000.00 so $150. would likely buy a toe. Next time you see the collector dogs? Put some money in them. If you’re one of our regular contributors? How about digging a little deeper into your pockets or billfold?
Several months ago, I dreamed up a plan to hold a ‘Blind Art Day’. My idea was to bring some blind and partially sighted individuals together to create tactile art as part of the Canadian Mental Health Association Halifax/Dartmouth’s annual ‘Mosaic For Mental Helath’ fund raising project. I begged, borrowed and solicited materials to use, including wallpaper samples, glue, fabric and an avalanche of craft supplies (thanks to Marg, Betty, Lee Anne, Gerrard, Acadia and Quigley’s Decorating Centre for donations and to Michael’s Crafts who gave us a discount). A suitable location was found without cost (thanks to Keith, the CMHA ’social club’ coordinator who allowed us to use the space and Sylvia who made coffee). A knowledgeable volunteer was recruited (thanks to Gerrard M. of ‘ Visual Connections’). Of course, the whole thing would have been a bust without some people creating art. The participants included Alfredo, Amy, Alice and Helen (two Helens CAN be in one room together, despite my misgivings). Bloomfield Centre staff were efficient at guiding and disposing of dog poop bags. The Guide dogs (Jager and Opal) were well behaved and making goo-goo eyes at one another all morning. As for the art? Alfredo had some ‘glue issues’, Alice had ‘centering’ problems with stuff on her tile and the other Helen was her usual chatty self, but no serious disasters occurred warranting a trip to the Emergency room (mercifully). My evaluation? a minor success! and next time…we’re having Blind Potters Day!
I struggle long and hard to come up with pop culture references for this blog. Admittedly, sometimes it’s a stretch.
Today, Jane, a trainer from Canadian Guide Dogs For the Blind in Manotick, Ontario came for our yearly aftercare visit. These visits ensure that guide dog and handler are still working efficiently and that nothing is amiss with the dog’s care or health. I am one of several clients from CGDB that Jane visited this week. My concern, as expressed in a past blog, is that I might be getting a little sloppy with the ‘rules’ regarding guide dog handling. I CHOOSE to allow Opal on the bed and sofa. I give her a ‘cookie’ when she gets home…. however, when it comes to the meat and potatoes of my relationship and handling of Opal? Tickety-boo! The girl saves my life every other day. She also adds a dimension to my life that I never thought possible. To put it simply, my life is more enjoyable because Opal is in it. I still value Jane’s expertise, so I was a little concerned about the impending visit. Jane knows dogs. She loves, lives, and breathes guide dog training. I refer to it as, ‘Jane’s Addiction’ , like the band of the same name. (see how I finally got to the pop-culture reference?! Jane’s Addiction, by the way, is an alternative American rock band that plays hard rock, punk etc. They’ve had a spotty past, but are reuniting this year for the third time in their ‘musical’ history)
Opal adores Jane. She did a BIG happy dance when Jane arrived. My concerns began to ease when Jane commented on how well Opal looks; healthy and cared for. We chatted for a while about my experiences with Opal over the last year. Then, we went for a walk over to the post office in the mall. Opal constantly spun her head back to look at Jane (trailing and observing us). Other than that, we were fine. There is apparently nothing wrong with this Guide dog team! My girl even went off-curb to take me round an obstacle I could not see. We returned home victorious (and sweaty). Jane showed me a better way to clean Opal’s ears. She checked Opal’s equipment and put a new reflective sleeve over part of Opal’s harness ( goes over the chest strap). We shared t-Touch tips (see Tellington Touch link on blogroll) and then, sadly it was time to say our goodbyes. Opal? She stared at the door for a minute after she left and seemed OK when I said, “Jane had to go home and train some more guide dogs”.
I checked some of the search words that people are using to get to my blogs. My conclusion is that many people are interested in numbers…’number of blind people in Canada’ for example. Here is some statistical information. I do not guarantee that it is the most current information, but it will provide a sense of proportion about the population.
According to Statistics Canada, the last PALS study (Participation Activity Limitation Survey) a total of 4.4 million Canadians (1 in 7) reported having a disability in 2006.
In 2001, 12.4% reported having a disability, and in 2006, it had risen to 14.3% of the population.
The Eastern provinces reported higher rates of disabled residents. Nova Scotia checked in at 20% compared to Ontario with 15.5%
Problems relating to pain, mobility and agility affects almost 3 million adults.
5% of the population reports a hearing disability (1,265,000)
3.2% report a seeing disability (815,000)
1.9% report a speech disability (480,000)
In Canada, the average number of days lost per worker due to a disability or illness is 7.6
According to the AFB (American Federation for the Blind), 1.3 million Americans are legally blind.
AFB reports 5.5 million elderly Americans have vision loss.
109,000 Americans use a white long cane to get around. There are over 7000 people who have dog guides.
There are 93,600 visually impaired students in special education programs. in the United States (AFB) with 10,800 being deaf-blind.
There are 55, 200 legally blind children in the USA.
Only 32 % of working age blind Americans are employed.
1.5 million Americans with vision loss use computers.
CNIB reported 104,184 registered clients in 2002. The important thing to note is that CNIB registration is VOLUNTARY, and reflects only 50% of the actual number of people who live with vision loss.
In 2001 it was estimated that the number of people in the world affected by AMD (all age related macular degeneration) between the ages of 65 and 75 was 2.2 million.
It is projected that the number of people in the world affected by AMD will increase to 4 million by 2021.
Hey Potty Mouth!
October 17, 2008 · 2 Comments
Hey you!….Joe F..k (swear to god, that’s his handle), I DON’T appreciate potty mouth comments on this blog…that’s why they are moderated, pea brain! If you have something interesting, clever, or even stupid to say, I will post it, but potty mouth and shameless self promotion from commercial sites are off limits here!
and now Joe F..k is bugging me about why there there should be a coin with guide dogs and handlers, because only 3 % of blind people have them… well joe, I still won’t put your potty mouth handle up on this blog but I will acknowledge your comment here pea brain…answer: pretty much the same reason there is a quarter with Helen Keller in america, or a Canadian coin with a beaver or moose, creatures which are about as common place and seen in day to day life by our citizens as a guide dog team…Coins and stamps are issued in countries all over the the world to pay tribute to interesting and notable people, creatures, events etc.
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Tagged: comments, moderation, potty mouth