It’s been happening steadily and gradually, and…Beth and I are busy again.

Busy as in going to plays, hearing music, joining friends for dinner—we went to see our son Gus a week ago and stayed overnight in Milwaukee.

We forgot how exhausting being busy can be. Fulfilling, but exhausting. (Play along and imagine that it has nothing to do with being two years older back when we were busy before covid.)

So last week we resolved to commit to nothing for this past weekend. Even if one of us brought up something that sounded kind of good, the other would scold: “We agreed not to schedule anything!”

And we ended up with a very enjoyable and full weekend. On Saturday—the nicest day of the year here in Chicago so far, our friend Colleen drove in from the burbs. We lunched at Roots, a place that opened just down the street from our place right before covid and somehow managed to survive. It was the first time Beth and I sat on the second floor—noteworthy because the place has an honest-to-god retractable roof. And it was retracted. It was glorious.

We spent the lunch catching up and enjoying a stiff breeze and the sunshine. It really is pretty cool up there. During lunch I got a text from our friend Jim. He was headed out to a local park to set up and test out a swell new tent he’d just gotten. But he ran into our friend Shannon, who was in town from the burbs with her toddler.

The rest of Jim is in there somewhere.

Toddler isn’t quite right. Sprinter is more like it. I saw him flying around at a distance but didn’t recognize him. He was bigger and faster. We hung out at our little plaza/park next to our building, and then headed to Dearborn Park, a proper park with lots of grass, to put Jim’s new purchase to the test.

Now, you should know that Jim is at least 6’5”. When he went looking for a one-person backpacking tent, that dimension was critical. And he found the perfect solution. An especially loooonnnng one-person tent.

The best thing about the tent? The name. It’s called the SoLong. Get it? Solo. Long. Solong! Turns out the tent itself is as clever as the name. It uses trekking poles for supports. Beth and Colleen and I watched as Jim assembled it, occasionally holding things down in a stiff wind.

I would call it’s maiden voyage a success. Hello SoLong! Beth and Colleen headed off for a walk and my backpack and I headed to the grocery store. Everywhere people smiled and laughed. Every outdoor café was full and buzzing with conversation. After what seemed like weeks of grey and cold, we were all liberated.

Some neighborhood friends had tickets to the Sunday 4:00 show at Jazz Showcase; they couldn’t use them. But we could! And did. And we heard a fantastic group: the Tom Harrell Quartet. On the walk in, a sign said that “at the request of the group’s management, we ask that you voluntarily wear masks.” We did, as did most in the crowd. Turns out that the bandleader, Tom Harrell, has both a heart and respiratory condition. In fact, he never stood up and played. He sat in a chair, bent over with his horn pointing downward. He’s 75, and clearly facing challenges. You might think that all sounds sad, but if you’d heard it, you’d have found it both remarkable and inspiring.

So an empty weekend turned, extemporaneously, into a busy and splendid one. There’s still a ways to go, but it’s fair to say, I think, that Chicago is back. And so are we.

Luna and I had a great time at Oak Terrace.

Yesterday our friend Ruth drove Luna and me to Highwood, Illinois to visit third graders at Oak Terrace Elementary, a school that participates in an Educating Outside the Lines Disability Awareness Week program. Every day that week someone with a disability comes to talk with them about their disability and the “helper tools” that let us do the things we like — or need — to do. My goal yesterday was to talk with the kids about being blind, what service dogs do, how a talking computer works, and answer their questions:

• Did you get to pick which dog you got, or were there not that many to choose from?
• Are you the only one in your family who is blind?
• Did you know I have a bunny named Luna?
• How do you eat?
• How do you shower?
• What is that metal thing on your dog’s back?
• So do you ever use that white stick anymore?
• Do you have a husband?
• Did your dog ever hurt itself and then cry so you knew?

I had to think a second before answering that last one. ”You know, we’ve been lucky,” I finally said, explaining that in the three years I’ve been working with Luna, she has never gotten hurt. “The only time I hear her cry is when she’s asleep having a dog dream.”

One kid there found this astounding. “Dogs dream?”he asked, but before I could respond, one of his classmates did. “Everybody dreams!” he said matter-of-factly.

Once my presentation was over, the kids told me that earlier this week a guy named Mac came to talk with them. “He only has one leg!” they told me. “A shark didn’t eat the other one, he was born that way.” Patty O’Machal, the founder of Educating Outside the Lines, was there with us and asked the kids what they learned from Mac that surprised them.”I never knew that someone with a disability could play football,” one boy said. “And basketball,” another one chimed in. “Fortnight, too!”

A girl raised her hand then. “I learned that people with disabilities can do things we do, they just find different ways to do them,” she said. “And they have fun.” Patty and I beamed. Disability Awareness Week was working.

“Except for one thing,” a boy in class reminded us. “Mac can’t do the hokey-pokey.”

There’s a lot to fret about, isn’t there? And I was about to fret in this post, but nobody needs that. We need some good news.

So, from my working life, I can tell you this: When it comes to climate change and energy, a whole lot architects, builders, engineers, policy makers, and planers who are doing a whole lot of good work.

My employer, Phius, trains architects and builders to construct buildings that use 40-60 percent less energy than normal code buildings. That’s not all: The buildings are extremely comfortable—no drafts, and they have phenomenal indoor air quality. What’s more, they’re resilient—residents can ride out long power outages because the structures remain comfortable even without power. During the Texas power disaster, an owner stayed put when others had to evacuate. During wildfires in the Northwest, residents of Phius buildings enjoyed superb indoor air quality because of the innovative HVAC systems.

This isn’t an ad for Phius. It’s a tip of the hat to the absolutely marvelous, talented people out there who are pushing the envelope to get these things built.

Some examples:

The Techny Activity Prairie Activity Center in Northbrook, Illinois.

In my own backyard (well, Northbrook, Illinois): The Techny Prairie Activity Center operated by the Northbrook Park District. It’s a Net Zero building—meaning it generates all the renewable energy it needs (and then some). That’s largely because Phius certified buildings put conservation first, making it easier to hit the target.

FYI: To electrify buildings (and phase out all combustion) in a timely fashion, we won’t be able to generate enough renewable energy unless we also reduce the energy buildings need. (Electrifying buildings is key to reducing carbon.)

In about 10 years we’ve gone from around 10 certified projects to 600 and the rate of increase is increasing. It’s exponential. And it includes houses, schools, market-rate apartment buildings, low-income affordable housing, health care facilities…and public buildings like the rec center.

Right now the finishing touches are being put on 425 Grand Concourse, as 26-story mixed-use project in the

425 Grand Course in the Bronx, New York will include affordable and market rate housing.

Bronx, New York. It includes both affordable and market-rate housing and more: a supermarket, a community health clinic, an educational facility and a cultural Center. On-site resident amenities will include a fitness center, tenant lounge, community room, a package delivery room, and an accessible roof deck.

The other thing you should know: There are people working very hard and doing incredible things to reduce carbon from the building sector. They include state and local policy makers, who have gotten out ahead of the Federal government and are pushing the envelope on energy efficiency and carbon reduction.

All kinds of new technologies and clever solutions are on the way. One is microgrids: Basically, imagine a block of houses, all equipped with solar, on a single grid. If there’s a power outage, they’re fine.

A research consortium (that includes Phius) is working on cost effective ways to build panel systems that can be built in a factory and then shipped out to retrofit existing buildings. (We’re going to have to make existing buildings perform better to get where we need.)

Then there’s direct current—when Thomas Edison and his alternating current won out over Nikola Tesla and his direct current, we went down the road of central power generation, which today means large swaths of power outages in severe weather and other natural disasters. Lots of power is lost over long paths of transmission—power lines, and such. Beyond that, you know all those converters you have for computers and electronics? That’s wasteful, too, because those little marvels need a measly few volts. Renewables generate D.C. that wouldn’t have to be converted. It’s now possible to power an entire house with efficient D.C. power—there are appliances, mechanical systems that run on D.C. It’s inherently substantially more efficient than A.C. (Here’s a good article on the subject in Electrical Industry News Week.)

That stuff is expensive right now, and retrofitting will probably be too expensive even when the price comes down. But D.C. and microgrids mean that where housing and development are desperately needed in places like Africa, it can be done without adding to the carbon problem.

That’s the tip of the goodness iceberg. In the midst of disorienting, dark times people are still doing fantastic, hopeful stuff.

I am pleased to introduce our friend and longtime neighbor Crom Saunders as a guest blogger today. A theatre interpreter and American Sign Language (ASL) master, Crom has a M.A. in Creative Writing and began teaching ASL and Deaf Culture at several universities before getting tenure at Columbia College Chicago, where he is currently Director of Deaf Studies.

by Crom Saunders

When I saw Troy Kotsur perform as Stanley in Deaf West Theatre’s A Streetcar Named Desire in 2020, I knew, or at least hoped, he was destined for a distinguished career as an actor.

In the years since, Kotsur has held some acclaimed roles on Deaf West’s stage, and several film appearances, but nothing that garnered nationwide attention until the 2021 film CODA.

CODA was a contender for Best Picture at the 94th Academy Awards, and Troy Kotsur also was nominated for the Best Supporting Actor category. That honor was well deserved in the eyes of many film aficionados and critics. After all, Kotsur has already won several other prestigious awards (such as the Screen Actors Guild Award for Outstanding Performance, plus the Independent Spirit Award and the Critic’s Choice Award for Best Supporting Actor) for his portrayal of Frank Rossi in CODA, a feather in the collective cap of the American Deaf community.

The Oscar nomination was also the first Actor/Actress nomination for a Deaf actor since Marlee Matlin’s win for Best Actress at the 59th Academy Awards in 1987.

Troy’s portrayal of the patriarch of an all-Deaf family, except for the single CODA (Child of Deaf Adults), who makes a living as a fisherman in a small town is excellent in every aspect. His characterization, his expressiveness, and language articulation and delivery all create a very memorable role.

If only the film itself was of the same caliber.

Its win as best Picture notwithstanding, CODA is rife with negative stereotypes of Deaf people and also feel-good pabulum that does no service to the Deaf community or culture.

To begin with, CODA, a remake of the French film La Famille Bélier, relies on the well-worn premise that Deaf people do not appreciate, understand, or access music. This is used as a plot device here to create drama between the CODA character, Ruby, and her Deaf parents.

Ruby is also used as an interpreter in several situations where a professional interpreter would be more appropriate and, indeed, in the case of the doctor’s office, legally required. Again, a plot device to create friction in the family dynamics.

Several of the story scenes in CODA feel dated, more representative of Deaf experiences prior to the 21st century. The Deaf characters are at times portrayed as ignorant and bumpkins, even in contrast to the other small-town residents. The American Deaf community that has viewed the film with a culturally critical eye, if one takes a look at discussion threads in social media, predominantly are of one mind on this:

CODA is more progressive than many films with Deaf characters in the casting of Deaf actors and actresses for all Deaf roles, and giving American Sign Language the importance it deserves. On the other hand, the story feels quite retro in its representation of Deaf people’s views of the world and where they fit into it.

I don’t always watch the Academy Awards, but I did watch this year — in full support of Kotsur and the cast and director of CODA. I was hopeful (and much more confident) that Kotsur would win Best Supporting Actor for his stellar work.

And he did! His career can only grow from this point, a good thing for Kotsur himself, but also for audiences everywhere who can appreciate his skill. And by now you know that CODA won best picture, too. My hope is that win will lead to more modern, Deaf-centered films that have mainstream appeal but also give Deaf people the representation they crave and deserve.

A shorter version of this post was published on the Easterseals National Blog this past Monday.

Check out the trailer.

All the talk today in the wake of last Night’s Academy Awards show seems to be about Will Smith slapping Chris Rock. I’ll be honest—in real time I thought it might have been a bit that was supposed to be funny that went bad. But apparently not. (I also completely missed the Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction in real-time, too. I think I was the better for it.)

Anyway, I’ve pretty much always tuned into the Oscars—it started when I was a kid and it was a family event. I used to see a lot more movies than I do now. for one thing, it’s a part-time job to sort out which movie is streamed from what service. And to get them all you’re essentially paying another cable bill. For another, the real-thing big-screen in-person experience is clogged with superheroes and CGI-ed comics. That and animation. I hate animation. Just do.

Usually, somehow, Beth and I have seen one or two nominated films but this time, zilch. So the awards were sort of a way of figuring out which we’d want to bother with (which is its purpose, after all).

The Smith-Rock incident really didn’t and doesn’t matter much to me. Two other things stuck, though. One was a gag by Regina Hall that kind of went sideways in two ways. First, she said she needed to do covid tests, which is sort of unfunny at its face. Then she asked for “volunteers” to be tested, but called up only hunky and-or dreamy men. What followed flunked on all fronts, mostly because it was just not funny. (And apparently lots of others thought this was weird, too.)

But the thing that struck me, being of a certain age, is that it was the sort of bit that I would have seen on the 60s Johnny Carson Tonight Show, or the Dean Martin show—and would be considered wholly inappropriate today. I distinctly remember a Dean Martin show where Raquel Welch was the guest star. In one skit, Martin played a doctor, and when a man came in saying he wasn’t feeling well, Martin’s doctor told the patient to go home and take an aspirin. Then Welch’s character came in and said she wasn’t feeling well. Martin told her to go in the exam room and take off all her clothes. Pretty sure that wouldn’t fly today.

I’m not particularly offended by last night or Dean Martin, save for it being sort of juvenile. But flip last night’s script to have a male host call up attractive Hollywood women, then frisk them, and, ooh boy. Will Smith and Chris Rock are an afterthought. Mostly, I don’t care, but I think it does beg questions about whether sexist, exploitative jokes cut both ways.

I’ll probably not remember any of it after a couple of days. One thing I will remember, as long as I have the capacity to remember, is when Troy Kotsur became the first deaf man to win an acting Oscar. Beth usually doesn’t stay up late, and typically she would’ve been asleep by the time that award was handed out. But in her part-time role as blog coordinator for Easterseals, which supports people with disabilities, she had a professional interest. (Indeed, it provided fodder for a post at the Easterseals blog.)

When Troy Kotsur was announced as the winner, I heard weeping. I looked and Beth was in full blown tears of joy and tears of relief. It took me, who has lived with Beth for nearly 38 years—37 of which after she lost her sight, completely by surprise.

But it shouldn’t have. For all the discussion about equality and equity, it mostly focuses on gender and skin color. Rarely is disability included.

For as long as she’s been blind, Beth has resolved to educate and advocate for people by leading as full a life as possible. To advocate by example. But that’s really freakin’ hard. On one hand, she feels the need to impress the idea that she can do anything sighted people can do. On the other, it’s not the same—and most things are harder.

In that glorious moment, I felt, deeply, something that I had always grasped intellectually. But I didn’t, until that moment, get how it felt.

Beth called our friend, who is married to a deaf man and is a sign-language interpreter, to share her joy—and our friend was also in tears. Of course, I couldn’t keep it together at this point either.

Beth went to bed and I was up alone when CODA won for Best Movie. And it happened again.