A Gift I Had to Learn to Love

This article is scheduled to be published in the Summer, 2018 issue of Dialogue Magazine. I posted the first part of the story on my birthday back in February.

A GIFT I HAD TO LEARN TO LOVE

My 57^th birthday was on February 23, but my husband Murray couldn’t wait and gave me my gift a week early. Our phone company had a great deal on an IPhone. Murray was so excited when he handed me the box to open.

I think my first words were, “I wanted an IPad.”

My mother taught me better manners than that.

I said an IPad would be good, to help me to read e-books. But for now, I could do everything I needed to do with my cheap flip-phone, even text.

Not a very grateful response to an expensive gift.

For weeks I had trouble learning to use the IPhone. People told me to give it time; I would learn. “I doubt it.” Grumble, grumble.

At first I could, usually, answer calls, as well as make calls and send texts by using the speech feature. But reading texts, listening to voice mails, using any function listed on the screen? Those attempts made me want to cry.

And sure, I could make a call, but what about when the recording on the other end said to push one or six or two, or to press the star or pound key? Grumble, grumble.

My sons Benjamin and Caleb, both blind, use an IPhone. Caleb said almost every blind person he knows has one.

Well, that stiffened my spine a little. I refused to let myself be one of the only blind people who couldn’t use something, a former rehab teacher, who liked to feel capable of learning new technology.

Of course, the people Caleb knows are younger than I am, with far more flexible brains and fingers. Caleb worked with me from the beginning. He is an encouraging and patient teacher. Yet we must remember the rough, raw student-material he has to work with.

On one web site I found while looking for IPhone manuals, it said that people who’d never used an Apple product, or even a smart phone, would find learning to use an IPhone a difficult and frustrating process. It might take them several months.

That made me feel a little better. I wasn’t the only dunce.

And it’s true. I’m used to using computers and devices with definite, clear buttons to push. Here we had flicks and slides and drags, and finding the correct place on the screen. How was that supposed to be more accessible to blind people?

And not only did I not show Murray the proper thanks for his gift, but I was constantly irritable about it. Sometimes I wanted to yell, “If you didn’t give me this dumb thing, I wouldn’t be having all this trouble!”

My mother definitely taught me better manners than that.

I was complaining and asking Benjamin a question about the phone one day, and he asked if I’d like him to sit with me sometime and work on it. As we did that, and he was showing me which gestures to do for what, he figured out that I wasn’t positioning my fingers correctly. He explained how I should be doing it, using the whole first pad of the finger, not just the nail tip. I said, “You mean the part I read braille with?”

It started working so much better for me. I was able to use the number keypad on the screen. Most of the time. I found some functions on the screen and was able to do the actions.

I was bubbly. I had successes. I wanted to share how excited I was with Murray.

And I felt so silly about how I’d been acting.

For a time, I discovered so many things I could do—listen to voicemails; read texts; hear the news; listen to YouTube; read books; check the weather.

I’ve slowed down some now, no new things in a while. I can’t do emails or use the internet. But I’m satisfied, and I believe I can learn to do more if I work at it.

When I think back on how I said the IPhone was too hard because it wasn’t like my easy, push-button keyboard, I laugh at myself. Was I referring to my computer that shuts itself down in the middle of my work? The one where just hovering my hand above the mousepad changes what window I’m working in? The internet which skitters all over the place, and I can’t figure out what to do. The desk-top that adds new programs I never asked for, or deletes the ones I use every day without asking me. Right. That simple keyboard.

Do I still have trouble with my IPhone? Sure, and I still complain about it sometimes. Caleb is so lucky. He lives with me, so he gets to help me with problems every time he’s around and a new difficulty arises.

But I laugh more often than I want to cry. When a problem comes up, I believe we’ll figure it out. And yes, I love my IPhone. Who would ever want a silly flip-phone?

Shopping With Rebecca

This article is scheduled to be published in the Spring 2018 issue of DIALOGUE Magazine under the title "My Very Personal Shopper."

I’ve never enjoyed shopping.

In college and before I was married, I would go clothes shopping with friends, and I hated it. Not that they weren’t helpful to me, they were. But while they were looking for what they needed for themselves—and remember for people who enjoy shopping, that might take a long time—I would stand waiting and bored. Since I’m blind, I couldn’t look around at items in the store, examining, making finds I liked or didn’t like. So I just stood waiting, bored.

I did go grocery shopping with friends and roommates sometimes, but most of the time I lived alone, I made grocery lists, and let someone else shop for me.

When I was a stay-at-home mom, I always made lists, and my husband Murray went shopping for us. Sometimes, when the kids went with him, and begged for items they saw in the aisles, Murray would check the list and say, “Nope, sorry. Mom didn’t put it on the list.”

When I was a teacher, Murray bought all my work clothes for me. I trusted him. He wanted me to look nice, professional, to feel confident about what I wore.

I’ve never enjoyed shopping. Until my daughter Rebecca was old enough to drive and take me with her.

Rebecca lives in another state now, and we only see her a few times a year. But one of the biggest things I look forward to at Christmas time is shopping with Rebecca.

She is patient and takes the time to look for just what I need. I have grown to trust her as much as Murray in buying clothes. She has learned what I like and want when buying yarn for my crocheting and knitting projects.

She helps me buy birthday and anniversary gifts for Murray and the other kids. She’ll stand with me and look carefully through movies and books and music and clothes, helping me to find things that they would like. She takes the time to describe colors, pictures and styles to me, to read titles and blurbs about books and movies, never trying to rush me.

She knows the kind of jewelry and clothes that Sarah would like. If I want to buy cologne or body spray for one of the guys, she says, “Be sure to tell him not to use too much.”

I make a list for when we go shopping, and I always add, “Stuff for Rebecca.” I usually tell her that I’ll pay for a few things for her, and she’ll say sweetly, “Aww, really? Thank you.”

While we shop for me, she sometimes shows me negligees or scanty underwear she knows this middle-age mama would never wear. “This would be good for you, don’t you think?” She shows me huge stuffed animals which cost more than I’d ever pay. “Aww, you’d love this.”

She finds something fun or pretty that she knows I’d like and tells me, “Okay, but it costs thirty-five dollars.” “Oh,” I sigh. “Just kidding.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “It’s only seven.”

We always make it an outing for just the two of us, since we have to buy gifts for the rest of the family. We usually have lunch together, and I’ll ask, “So, tell me about what’s going on in your life.” Rebecca is agreeable. “Okay.” She gives me a detailed account about work and other things she’s involved with in her church and community.

Rebecca knows this is a service she does for me, but sometimes, when we’re visiting her during the year, she’ll ask with enthusiasm, “Do we need to make a shopping trip while you’re here?”

Rebecca has made shopping fun for me, and I will always look forward to it at Christmas or whenever she’s visiting.

What Are Colors Like?

I recently read this article in the Spring 2016 issue of DIALOGUE MAGAZINE. It is beautifully done. The vivid splash and dance of words remind me why I want to be a writer. Used by permission.

What Are Colors Like?

EDITOR’S NOTE: Reprinted from the Winter 1965 issue of DIALOGUE (originally published in the Peoria, Illinois, JOURNAL STAR, issue of August 5, 1965).

EDITOR’S NOTE BY DON O. NOLD: A columnist who calls himself “Andy” received this question from Fred Oliver, a blind student of Lansing, Michigan. The answer he gives is poetry in prose form and could become a classic of descriptive writing.

***

There is more to colors than meets the eye. They often prod the feelings we get from scents and sounds, from touch and even taste. They trigger moods that stay with us long after they are faded and gone.

The biggest color is blue, the high sky serene above the storms and the wide ocean deep below the waves. Its courtesy has no limits, and its glorious harmony is an anthem of murmuring rivers, of choirs and pealing organs. It recalls the freshness of May and the bland touch of well water.

Green is a fair lady, fragrant and soft-spoken. There is a separate green for every tree and more to carpet the fields in checkerboard squares—all perfumed with pines and parsley, sages and mint. Green recalls a lilting lullaby, a leafy rustle of whispering breezes.

Brown is low and rough like the ground and sturdy tree trunks. It has the furry touch of guide dogs and bears, bags of cloves and spicy cinnamon, comforting coffee and chocolate. It buzzes with the bees, hums with throaty drums and keeps toe-tapping with thumping puppy tails.

Red is fierce as a flame and fast as a beating heart. It is a loud laugh and a wild dance, always bold and on parade. It is the stabbing color of wounds and warfare. And sometimes, it dons a festive mood of flags and Christmas berries and offers a bowl of smooth, round apples.

Deep, heavy gray roars with the thunder. It has the touch of steely metals, the power of ships and bridges. Light gray is a dreamy mood of swirling smoke. It tiptoes away a misty morning and returns like a weary echo, bringing a whiff of lavender and a surprising touch of dew drops.

Yellow whistles a high, shrill tune with the happy birds. It nods to the warm sunbeams and dances with the wind-blown flowers, cheek to cheek. It teases and tempts with mustard and melons.

Orange has a merry mind of its own. It is a playful Halloween prankster that ho-ho-hos like a tuba and rolls downhill like a pumpkin.

Pink has a shy smile and trills a soft love song. It has the satiny grace of seashells and comes with frothy frills, with bows and birthday cakes.

White stands out crisp and clean, proud and straight as a cane. It recalls starched aprons and new bread, smooth marble, and the tingling touch of snowflakes.

Black has nothing to say. It hikes the velvety mysteries of midnight and the silent secrets of empty boxes.

Each color is a ladder of graded shades. Its dark, heavy tones step up to paler tones, lightly rinsed in watery washes. The colors and all their tones are in the rainbow. This symphony of distant music spans the sky in an immense half-hoop of banded ribbons. And no human eye is sharp enough to see or count all its colors.