A guest post I wrote for The Bark blog earlier this month explained why it was that I’d been toying with sending Harper back to Morristown while I stay in Chicago and recover from my broken foot. That guest post (called “What’s a Seeing Eye dog do when his human breaks her foot?”) ended like this:

While getting regular workouts with Seeing Eye trainers in Morristown would be great for Harper’s work ethic, we worry what a temporary move back to Seeing Eye School might do to Harper’s mental health. Not to mention … mine.

A few days after that post was published, Mike took Harper to a regularly-scheduled vet visit. I stayed home, slumped in front of my laptop with my cast up on the back of the couch. Harper checked out fine except for one thing. He’ gained five pounds.

So it wasn’t just about our mental health anymore. Now my broken foot was affecting Harper’s physical health, too. I cut his food down from two cups to one-and-a-half cups a day and gave the Seeing Eye another call.

The doc left the x-ray up on the computer and Mike snapped it. It's getting there!

John Keane, Manager of Instruction & Training, said that, yes, I could send Harper back to the school for a while.” Our trainers could walk your dog every day, and of course Harper would perform for them,” he said. “But really, what would that get you, Beth?” Not much, I admitted. Just like cars that squeak or malfunction at home but perform perfectly at the mechanic’s, guide dogs are notorious for behaving well with instructors. It’s working at home that really matters.

“We usually only have dogs come back for help if they’re having problems in traffic, problems that are so serious they can’t be solved at home,” John said. In that case, trainers might try to re-enact the traffic problem while the dog is there in Morristown, see if they can remedy it, then bring the dog back and work with the team in the graduate’s home environment. I’d been doing my best to get out with Harper a couple times a week, even with the boot cast. “I really don’t notice any problems with traffic,” I told John, and he was happy to hear that.

“We’ll send someone out to give you another refresher course once your foot is healed,” John assured me. “Just be sure to let us know the minute you get any hint about when you might be out of the cast.”  John is the guy in charge of scheduling home visits, and he wants to get mine on the calendar.

I may be making that magical phone call to the Seeing Eye very soon: last Wednesday the foot doctor gave me a prescription for orthopedic shoes! I never dreamed I’d ever, ever be so excited about the prospect of wearing orthopedic shoes, but trust me, I am doing the one-legged dance of joy. My foot is on the mend, the doc said, and once my shoes come in and get fitted with a wide shank for added stability, the  boot comes off for good. And then, watch out, world: Harper and I will be on the road again.

Flo has been checking up on me every day since I got my cast on. She was elated to hear how protective my new shoes will be, and relieved to hear my foot is healing. “I’ll have to start out slow with the new shoes, you know, only one block the first day, then two the next,” I told her, explaining those are the only shoes I am allowed to wear the next couple months. “Guess I won’t be wearing any of my summer dresses for a while.”

“Oh, you can still wear your dresses,” Flo assured me. “They wear anything these days.” It’s a Floism she’s been using since I was a teenager. And you know, she’s still right.

One break was so severe that it will heal crookedly. So much for a future career as a foot model. Even after a few months, when I can get out of the orthopedic shoes, I’ll have to stick to practical ones. Hardly a concern, though. thanks to Flo’s daily phone calls, Mike’s help at home and his work with Harper, my sister Marilee and our friend Matt Cunningham subbing with Harper when Mike was out of town, and you countless others who have helped keep my spirits up the past couple of months, you’ll be seeing me back on the streetd soon. I’ll be easy to spot: just look for the happiest clodhopper in Chicago.

eMy guest blogger returns! Here’s a book review from my husband.

What we can learn from people like Gus

by Mike Knezovich

This is a great book, but I'm not linking to Amazon. Go get it or order it at your local bookstore.

As many of you are lucky to know, Beth has a knack for giving poignant, thoughtful gifts. She was true to form this past Father’s Day when she gave me a book called The Boy in the Moon. I just finished it. And what a read.

Beth doesn’t mention our son Gus very often in these blog posts of hers. Like other parents, we love our son. Think about him. Worry about him. But loving a child who has severe disabilities can be difficult to explain, so we tend not to try.

As for me, I admit I wonder what people think of what it’s like raising a son like Gus. I can get angry if I detect pity — or condescension — toward Gus, toward me and Beth, or the unspoken wonder that we could love a kid like Gus. And I can get hurt if people don’t ask or don’t know how to ask about our son. And then, when they do, sometimes they don’t really want to hear the answer.

Over time, I have come to understand that Gus, and life with him, simply had to be a mystery to others. After all, our son’s life has been—at least in real time—something of a mystery to me. Gus lived with us at home for 16 years, and all that time I had no way of telling others what it was like. And I have no way of telling people what it is like having him live away from us, either.

Now I don’t have to. Ian Brown, a writer for the Toronto Globe & Mail, has done it for me, and he’s done it better than I could hope to in his book The Boy in the Moon. So here’s a request: Go out and buy The Boy in the Moon. And read it as soon as you can fit it into your schedule.

That's Gus and Beth at a lunch date near his home in Wisconsin.

I’m not asking you to do this just for me and Beth and Gus. I do admit to selfish motives, though. If you read this book—which is the author’s account of raising and trying to understand his son Walker, who has a rare genetic disorder that leaves him with multiple disabilities—you will know what it has been like raising Gus. Ian Brown’s accounts are superbly written and uncannily similar to my memories—from receiving the genetic diagnosis to the 16 years of sleep deprivation to what it was like to parade around hyper-normal places like Disney World when things are not normal.

But more than that, you will understand why it all was worth it. As the author writes about his son Walker, “Everything about him compels me, unless it terrifies me, and sometimes it does both.”

The first half or so of the book covers Brown’s experience as a parent and a husband, but the rest is a look at what disabled people like Gus and Walker have to offer the rest of us. What they can teach us. You might be skeptical that they can. Or anticipate saccharine platitudes. I understand. But it’s richer and more complicated than that.

Beth and I and other families and caretakers know that people like Walker and Gus teach us extraordinary things. This book explains how and why better than I can—I hope you’ll read it.

One of the portraits in the "Fade to White" project.

A few weeks ago I got an email from a photographer who said he takes portraits of people who can’t see. “I am emailing you to enquire if you would be interested in participating in the project,” he wrote. “It would be an honor to take your picture!”

Uh-oh, I thought. Another nutjob who heard about my job modeling nude for art students. Before hitting the delete button, though, I did a little research. And guess what? This guy is legit!

Charlie Simokaitis is a sought-after commercial photographer whose eight-year-old daughter has an eye condition that will soon leave her blind. Faye Simokaitis is the inspiration for Fade to White, a compilation of the portraits her dad has been taking of people who are visually impaired or blind. Charlie Simokaitis describes the project as an “effort to try to understand the impending reality” of his daughter’s loss of sight. From his artist statement:

As I spend more time with blind people, I am developing a perverse kinship with the very condition that will eventually lay claim to my daughter’s eyesight. For me, solace lies in the creation of this work.

After reading that, I hit the reply button on his email message. Y-E-S, my talking computer parroted the letters I typed. Sitting for a portrait would be an honor.

Charlie likes to meet with his models to chat before a shoot, so I suggested we meet for lunch at Hackney’s. Once Mike took a look at some of the portraits already up on the Fade to White web site, he decided to come along. “These pictures are great, Beth,” he told me. “I want to meet this guy!”

Charlie is as striking as the photographs he takes. Over lunch, he told Mike and me a little about the research he had done before starting his project. Photographing the blind has its roots in street photography. “It was pretty much voyeuristic,” he said. “You know, the blind person would have no idea the photographer was there.” In contrast, Charlie wants his subjects to know exactly what he is up to, and he doesn’t need us to be grasping white canes or posing with our guide dogs. When I showed him my cast, he assured me it wouldn’t get in his way. “Most of my portraits are from the waist up.” More from his artist statement:

This work looks at the unseeing Other while attempting to understand the fetishism of other people’s perceived pain and the taboos and tacit responsibility of representing a blind person.

It was hot the afternoon we scheduled the photo session, and I showed up wearing a dark red tank top. Charlie knew right away where he’d want me to pose. For most of my shots, I’m standing against a yellow brick wall in Printers Row Park. That’s the park Harper loves to look down at from our kitchen window. The session took about an hour, and it made me feel like a model – only this time, with clothes on.

Charlie uses film to take his portraits, and he’s still scanning mine in. You don’t have to wait to see his other work, though. Charlie’s Fade to White photos are available online, and two of them will be featured in a show opening this Friday at the Catherine Edelman Gallery, W. Superior in Chicago. Charlie’s photos were selected along with the works of 11 other photographers from The Chicago Project, and the show will be up until September 3. If I were you, though, I’d head over there for the opening reception this Friday, July 15, from 5 to 8 pm. The artists will be there that night, and trust me, it’s an honor to meet a pro like Charlie Simokaitis.