Monthly Archives: August 2015

HER NAME IS

21 Friday Aug 2015

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HER NAME IS

I meant to post this yesterday but I forgot. A little story of the moments before I met my first guide dog.

August 20, 1975. Wednesday
I sit waiting, not patiently, eagerly, anxiously, but definitely not patiently. My classmates surround me, and I wonder briefly if any of them are as eager and anxious as I. They must be, but have any of them been waiting ten years for this very day? I don’t think of my classmates long; my concentration is on what will happen to me in the next minutes and hours.
We sit in a room the staff calls the loading lounge. It’s directly across from the instructors’ room, and I can hear their hushed voices.
Come on, come on! The thought spins and twirls in my brain. It’s time, surely it’s time. Come on!
I hear the instructors come out of their room. They join us and find seats, papers shuffling. I focus on the sound of those papers. Is that it? Is that the list? They give me my answer. It’s not the list yet. It’s a lecture. They tell us how the afternoon will progress, what the procedure will be.
Yes, yes. After this meeting, we return to our rooms. We wait. (I know that waiting will mean pacing the floor for me.) When they call us, we bring our leashes to the instructors’ room, and there we will meet our partner. We will spend the afternoon getting acquainted, then feed, then let the dogs out on the run. And then? Oh goody, more lectures.
I’m listening to their words, but in another part of my mind, a frantic desperate refrain plays over and over again. Will the dog like me? What if the dog doesn’t like me? How long will this take? I want my dog. But what if the dog doesn’t like me? Of course the dog will like me. This is my dream, my goal, the first important goal I have accomplished in my life, a whole seventeen years now. I’ve waited and worked for this so long, and I just know the dog will like me. But—but, what if it doesn’t? What if I can’t keep up? What if I do something wrong? Oh, will the dog like me?
I’m quiet. I don’t speak up much in groups. I listen. I fidget. Cross my legs, uncross them. My hands are constantly moving. I can never keep them still when I’m nervous. Now, my fingers twine and untwine. I fiddle with my fingernails. I twist my fingers together. I rub one hand over the other. I force myself to fold my hands and try to keep them still. It doesn’t work. In seconds, the fidgeting starts again.
Oh, when will this lecture be over? Will the dog like me?
At last, it’s over. Is it time? Are they going to read the list? Damn! People start asking questions, and I just want to scream for them all to shut up!
Please, please, please. Can’t they ask their questions later? The questions have gone on for at least fifteen minutes. Oh, please, I just want to hear the name! Does anything else matter at this moment? No!
Finally! Finally people become quiet; the questions stop, and now we are waiting. Everyone knows what comes next. The instructor shuffles papers again and clears his throat.
Now my brain goes on a new track. Will they read the list in alphabetical order? By last name? Or maybe first name? Maybe by dog name? Perhaps by room number? Birthday? Application date? Oh no, what if I don’t like the name? Could that be possible? No way, I’ll love the name. But what if I don’t? What if it’s a dumb name? Oh, never mind, I’ll love it. But, but, what if the dog doesn’t like me? And the frantic moving of my hands begins again.
Suddenly, the instructor begins to read. I freeze; even my restless fingers are still. I catch my breath. I feel my smile grow with each name he reads. Soon, soon, it will be my turn. I’ll hear the words I’ve been waiting so long to hear. Well, just one word, that name, that all-important name!
I listen as he reads one person’s info, and then the next. And the next. When will it be my turn!
And then, at last, he says:
“Miss Gomes, you are receiving a female black labrador retriever named Quincy. Q u I n c y, Quincy.”
Quincy! Cute. It’s cute. I beam. I think if my smile muscles stretched anymore they might just break right out of my face! I’m so happy, so happy.
They tell us to go to our rooms and wait to be called. We will meet our dogs one at a time. Did I think waiting for the name was too much? It was nothing like waiting to be called to meet my dog. Pace, pace, sit at the desk, write in my journal, pace more. Don’t want to write too much because the braille writer is noisy and what if I miss them calling me? Flip up the face of my watch to feel the hands. How long, how long? Pace, pace. I hear others go down the hall; hear them come back, the sound of doggy toenails clicking on the floor, tags and leash jingling.
Are they ever going to call me? Did they forget me? Did something happen to my dog? What if the dog doesn’t like me?
“Miss Gomes, it’s your turn. Grab your leash and come down to the instructors’ room.”
I answer calmly. I don’t scream out the things hiding behind my lips. “Finally! Far-out!” And all the rest of the joyful exuberant words pushing to be screeched at the top of my voice. But I don’t act like that. So, I feel that smile break out. I take the leash and not calmly at all, I go down to the instructors’ room, ready, oh so ready, to meet my destiny.

Forty Years ago

17 Monday Aug 2015

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FORTY YEARS AGO

On august 17, 1975, I took my first steps to true independence, my first steps to a new life. I walked into the San Rafael campus of Guide Dogs for the Blind, and I was never the same again.
I was young and innocent, just out of high school, two months from my eighteenth birthday. I’d never been away from home more than an overnight at a friend’s house, and there I was planning to be away for a whole month. I was shy. I was nervous, but oh was I ever excited. This was my dream, had been my dream for ten years. I was finally there, finally getting my first guide dog after waiting so very long.
When I was seven, I read a book about a guide dog. I didn’t understand mobility for blind people then, but I did understand that there were dogs just for blind people. I vowed right then and there that someday I would get one of those guide dogs, no matter how long it took. I loved dogs, and I wanted my own dog. Dad had hunting dogs, but they weren’t my dogs, and I so wanted my own. I wanted a dog that would sleep by my bed, cuddle with me, share my life, be my companion. When I got old enough to understand about mobility,then I wanted a dog for all those other reasons, but also for excellent and safe mobility.
Over the next ten years, I had to fight a lot of battles to achieve my dream, but then, should a dream be an easy conquest. Shouldn’t we have to work for it a bit? During high school, a person in authority, tried all he could to talk first me out of getting a dog, and when that didn’t work, tried talking my parents out of letting me get a dog. Just before high school graduation I broke my leg and had to put off training. I did everything the doctors said to get my strength back after the break. Nothing was going to keep me from getting my dog.
Finally I was there, settled in my room. Long before the era of computers and cell phones, I had my Perkins brailler, a binder full of blank paper, about a hundred cassettes with all my favorite music, taped off the radio of course. I had a ton of cute clothes and comfortable shoes. I was ready, so ready to meet my dog. I was nervous about the other students. I was one of sixteen students in that class, and my shyness threatened to choke me that first day. But it would be worth it all in three days when I would finally meet my dog!
I did get over the shyness, and I made friends. I fell in love with my dog, and I fell in love with a boy. Neither the boy nor the dog were part of my life forever, but the dog set me on a new path of freedom, first of seven, and special for being the first. I learned many things, not all related to interacting with and caring for a dog.
Was it all worth it? The ups and downs, the hard lessons and the good lessons? Today, as I look back forty years, and as I no longer feel that young innocent girl inside me, yeah, I know without a doubt, yes, it was worth every bit of it!

book review, Freud’s Revenge, by PJ Adams

14 Friday Aug 2015

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Freud’s Revenge
By PJ Adams

Two knife wounds–one to the groin, one to the hand impaling him to the desk–suggested somebody definitely wanted the guy dead. In this Amanda Carlisle
Mystery set in posh Del Mar, California, empath Amanda Carlisle and detective Nick Caswell find themselves in a race with a nearly invisible psychopath.
When Amanda mind-walks the killer, she discovers a complex Freudian psychosis that may be the key to the crime. Unbeknownst to her, that psychotic mind
has decided Amanda will be next. It will take Nick’s hardboiled sleuthing and Amanda’s deciphering the victim’s cryptic clues to catch the killer in gorgeous
surf-meets-turf Del Mar–where the ponies race and a psychopath is on the run.

I got this book on kindle a couple years ago, but I hadn’t gotten around to reading it yet. I finally started it two days ago, and I literally couldn’t stop reading it. Amanda, the therapist with a unique gift of empathy, Nick the tough detective who won’t stop till he uncovers the truth. Together, they are a fantastic duo. Amanda has the understanding of the psychological elements and people in the counseling practice, and Nick knows how to read the clues. There’s enough delving into psychology theory and practice to keep it interesting but not so much as to overwhelm the average reader.
I began to guess who the killer was about halfway through the story, but I didn’t guess the complete reason why and I didn’t put together all the aspects of who and why. There were good guys and bad guys and not-so-nice guys, a great blend of real humanity. The danger Amanda experiences was well done without being so constant and edge of your seat, which would have made me enjoy the book less. I liked the blend of the intellectual process of figuring it out for both main characters with the danger element keeping me and the heroes on our toes, not letting us relax or become too complacent.
Nick and Amanda are likable characters. There is attraction between them, but that isn’t the focus of the story and they don’t fall into bed together every time you turn around. They are committed to figuring out the mystery, and their attraction will have to wait for another day. I liked that about this book very much. And I liked these characters very much.
The setting is the San Diego area. I lived in San Diego for most of the nineties, and reading about places and sites with which I am familiar brought back fond memories and made me smile. Horton Plaza, La Jolla, Del Mar, UC mall, all of it here and more, making me want to take a trip back and visit some old haunts.
There isn’t too much excessive violence. The murder is gruesome and some of the details can be a bit disturbing, but other than that, it was a comfortable read for me, not overly violent, not loaded with sex scene after sex scene—though there is a sexual element to the plot which I can’t describe without spoiling the story. Two great characters, a great setting and an engrossing mystery. How much better can it get?
I looked on amazon for more books featuring Amanda and Nick, hoping this was the first book in a series, but it doesn’t seem to be. If there should be a sequel, I would definitely read the next one. I would give this four out of five stars, mostly because I started to figure out the culprit too soon and because I would have liked more explanation of what might have caused the situation with the killer and why that person became what they became. Other than that, I loved it.

Book Review, Dante’s Dilemma, by Lynne Raimondo

13 Thursday Aug 2015

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Another captivating story of psychologist Mark Angelotti. And so far, my favorite in the series. In this one, he’s got a new boss who doesn’t think so highly of Mark. He’s also given the assignment to be an expert witness for the prosecution of a woman who claims to have murdered her estranged husband after years of domestic abuse. But things just don’t seem to add up for Mark, and he’s off into another investigation and into danger. Someone definitely doesn’t want Mark to discover the truth.
Mark has a lot on his plate this time around. Not only does the mystery lead him round lots of twists and turns. Every time I think I’ve figured it out along with Mark, something undoes the whole solution and we’re back where we started. But along with the mystery, Mark has the new not-so-friendly boss, and a potential law suit with his ex-wife who isn’t so thrilled about the possibility of joint custody of their son. Mark seems in a better place personally in this book. He seems to have a better handle and acceptance of his blindness, and as usual with this series, Raimondo gives us a number of laugh out loud moments. Everything from Mark walking into his office furniture, mysteriously outside his office instead of in it, or the trials of trying to use a white cane on sidewalks buried in snow. As a woman who is blind, one of the things I love best about this series is that I forget about the whole blindness thing altogether. I tend to avoid books with blind characters, and if I read them at all, I read with part of my brain critiquing the portrayal of the blind character. But with the Dante series, it’s shown so realistically that I don’t think of Mark being blind any more than I wake up every morning and think, “good God, I’m blind!” The ways in which Mark performs the everyday things of life are so real and natural that I don’t even think of it as I read. I’m too caught up in the personality of Mark, his kindness, his sarcasm, his sense of humor. I’m too caught up in the mystery wondering how the author will surprise me this time. Mark’s blindness is in the background, just as it should be.
The mystery this time around was glorious, kept me guessing almost to the end. I thought I’d gotten it figured out. I thought I knew why the accused killer was going along with the prosecution. I thought I knew who was doing what, and at almost every revelation, I had been wrong all along! I generally figure out mysteries very quickly, so whenever I read one that surprises me, I’m so delighted, I just have to sit back and smile at the end, wishing I could read it again as if I hadn’t read it before, to see if I’d pick up the clues differently this time.
The author deals realistically and with great respect on the subject of long-term domestic abuse, a topic so heartbreaking and sadly still far too prevalent today. She doesn’t sugar-coat it, and yet, the rest of the story, with Mark’s compassion and humor, keeps the subject matter from getting too dark.
The Dante series is just plain fun, delightful. A good solid mystery, with a protagonist who is human and real, who makes you laugh out loud one moment and ache with sorrow for him the next. He’s a character you could meet on the street, someone with flaws and greatness, just a guy, and every man sort of guy, trying to make the best of his life, trying to give the best of himself and stumbling and succeeding just like all the rest of us. Seriously, I can’t rave enough about the series. This series isn’t so-called disability fiction, it’s a series of psychological mysteries with a hero who just happens to be blind.

Daddy Can You See Me?

06 Thursday Aug 2015

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DADDY CAN YOU SEE ME?

Today would be my dad’s seventy-sixth birthday, if he’d lived this long. He died in February 1997, at age fifty-seven, the very same age I am now. I was thirty-nine when he died. If I make it till my birthday, I’ll pass my father’s age. It’s a weird, unsettling thought somehow.
Some years go by, and I don’t remember Dad’s birthday until it has passed. I feel guilty, disloyal, when I forget it. Yet I know for sure that he would not want me to have those feelings. He’d be glad I’ve reached the point where each dreadful anniversary goes by and sometimes I forget. August 6, the birthdate. February 12, the death date. Father’s Day, in many ways, the day that hurts most.
Still, even if I miss those dates, I think of Dad often throughout the year, when the good and bad things happen in my life. More than anyone else, I wanted his approval, wanted him to tell me he was proud of me, and couldn’t wait to share the big things. The new job, the new apartment, the new guy, whatever it was, I always wanted to tell him first and hear him say how proud he was and how he loved me.
When I do think of him, I wonder, if he could see me now, what would he think.
I’m not one who believes that our beloved dead look down on us and either watch or intercede in our lives. They paid their dues; their lives’ toils ended, and they shouldn’t be worrying about us here below anymore. However, if he is looking down, what would he think of me today?
After Dad died, other family members told me how much he’d worried about me over the years. Worries he never wanted to share, because he was proud of my independence. He worried if I’d be able to continue working and supporting myself. He understood the difficulties of trying to be employed when you have a disability. He’d taught me to be independent and to believe in myself, but he knew that most of the rest of the world didn’t see me that way. He worried about what would happen to me if my JRA continued to worsen, if I lost more range of motion or became more disabled from it. He worried that I would be alone. He wanted me to spread my wings and keep flying in the face of all the odds against me, and so, he never shared those worries. But now I know, and now I wonder, what would he think, if he could see me now.
Knowing how much I wanted my own home, what would he think of my condo? The last thing he was trying to do before the last major attack of his cancer, was to find out about computer training for me. What would he think of the fact that I went on and got that training, and now, I do tech support for a major adaptive tech company?
Would he worry that I have no medical insurance, and that my arthritis gets worse all the time? Would he worry that I am so alone in my life, that my siblings and I rarely talk and haven’t seen each other in nearly seven years? Would he be sad that I am not married and don’t have any children?
Would he be proud that I am still working? Would he love my condo and be thrilled? Would he walk in my door, plop himself down on the couch, pull me onto his lap and listen quietly to every little detail of how it came to be? Would he still roar with laughter at my absolute ignorance regarding the game of golf?
Does he look down and growl with frustration over what I am or am not doing with my life? Does he wish I’d gone another direction? Would he like to take me by the shoulders and give me a good shake, or would he like to wrap his arms around me and give me a good hug? Or both? Does he wish he was still here with us? Is he finally at peace?
Yes, I wonder, what would he think if he could look down on me now?

“Daddy, can you see me? Daddy, can you hear the words I say?
My life has changed since you went away, and I need to know that I’m doing okay.
I’ve done all I can to make you proud,
“Daddy, can you see me now?”

Daddy Can You See Me, Anita Cockren