The kids were mesmerized, but Harper? Not so much.

I love the Pfister Hotel in Milwaukee. So does Harper. He and I stayed at the Pfister last month when we visited General Mitchell Elementary School in West Allis, and we were there again this week for our visit to Wilson Elementary School. They know us at the Pfister, and our appreciation for the place has become legendary: this week the Pfister Hotel blog published a post called Safe and Sound in our honor. Here’s an excerpt:

Beth talks a mile a minute, with vivacious enthusiasm. She spritely tells me about the reason for her 3-day visit: several speaking engagements, including an entire day at a school just outside Milwaukee. Beth and her seeing eye dog Harper travel to schools to visit with kids and talk about what it’s like being blind.

You know, I was a little perky during my conversation with Stacie Williams, the woman who writes the Pfister Hotel blog. I was pretty excited about being interviewed by someone from my beloved Pfister Hotel, and hey, I’d downed more than my share of coffee to keep up with the students at Wilson Elementary School that day. The kids had asked lots of great questions, and I shared one of the more thoughtful ones with Stacie. “Do you ever forget you’re blind, and then you can see?” I told the little girl yes. “When I go to sleep, I forget I’m blind. I dream in color.” Stacie was appreciative, and she used that little story in her blog post.

Mostly, though, we talked about the Pfister. My Hotel stays are Walter Mitty experiences for me. “Hello, Ms. Finke.” “Welcome back, Ms. Finke.” “May I take your bag, Ms. Finke?” The front desk has keycards waiting for me with one corner clipped off — that way I know which end to put in the key slot. The doorman who walks Harper and me to our room always reminds me how the keypad on the phone works so I’ll know how to call the front desk in an emergency. He sets the radio station to public radio, makes sure the alarm clock is turned off and helps me set up the hotel toiletries. The front desk always arms me with rubber bands to wrap around similarly-shaped bottles to differentiate them from each other — I washed my hair with lotion once, and trust me, you don’t want to do that twice. Once my room is set up, I have Harper lead me down to the lobby. The Pfister Hotel blog quotes me complimenting their piano players:

Last night I went downstairs and had a Lakefront IPA — it’s nice to have local beer on tap — while I listened to Dr. Hollander, who was taking requests. I also love Perry. And, I book my train home after 1 p.m. so I can catch them playing for the lunch hour. They’re just wonderful.”

I’m writing this blog post from my seat on the train ride back to Chicago, matter of fact. Harper is sound asleep at my feet, and I’m considering leaning my seat back to take a
quick nap myself. All day and evening at an elementary school followed by a nightcap at the magical Pfister Hotel piano bar can leave a woman, well…dog tired!

Back in 2009 I wrote a piece for the Chicago Tribune about how difficult it can be for people who are blind to keep track of U.S. currency. From the article:

180 countries use printed paper money, and the United States is the only one that prints bills all the same size and color, no matter how much each bill is worth.

A federal appeals court had ruled in 2008 that the U.S. currency system discriminates against blind people, but Henry M. Paulson, Jr., (the Treasury Secretary back then) had testified against the ruling. He said that people who are blind can function fine using credit cards or electronic scanners to identify different bills, and if that didn’t work they could rely on help from others.

Treasury Secretary Paulson did have a point. I’ve been blind for 25 years now, and in all that time I have never been shortchanged by a cashier. Even Chicago cab drivers — who have an undeserved reputation for being rude — have been honest with me, correcting me when I’ve made mistakes and tried to pay them too much. Still, I feel pretty stupid sometimes when a bill unfolds itself — or gets mangled up in my wallet — and I have to ask what money I’m carrying. So I was happy to find out this week that the U. S. Bureau of Engraving has developed a free app that people like me can use to increase accessibility to U.S. paper money. I was even happier still when Mike offered to download the EyeNote app onto my iPhone for me — I’m still crawling up the learning curve on using that thing!

I’m gaining ground, though — after a bit of a hitch at the start, Mike and I were able to get the EyeNote app working pretty quickly. The app is available as a free download at the Apple App Store. It runs without any special filters or background material, and you don’t have to have a data connection for the app to work. I double tapped on the EyeNote app, My iPhone read the directions out loud to me, I pulled a bill out of my wallet, pointed the iPhone camera lens at it, listened for the shutter to sound, waited a few seconds and…voila! A woman who sounds like she’s from Ireland called out the denomination! EyeNote was designed to work when the banknote is held in one hand and the mobile device is in the other hand — real life conditions. We played around with it, and it didn’t matter if I pointed the lens to the front or the back of the bill — I could even point it at an angle and that Irish woman inside the phone got it right. And if there comes a time I don’t want to hear her sweet little voice, I can go to “privacy mode.” Specially keyed vibrations/tones will identify the denomination for me. The U.S. government’s Money Factory site claims the EyePhone app is not in lieu-of any other accommodation they are considering, but in addition to other ideas.

It simply provides another option for the public which would preclude a user from having to carry a separate reader if they also own a compatible mobile device.

Recent studies say that over 100,000 people who are blind or visually impaired own Apple iPhones. The EyeNote app is one of a variety of measures the government is working on to help us keep track of our cash. A recent Federal Register notice says other measures include

• implementing a Currency Reader Program whereby a United States resident, who is blind or visually impaired, may obtain a coupon that can be applied toward the purchase of a device to denominate United States currency,
• continuing to add large high contrast numerals and different background colors to redesigned currency, and
• raised tactile features may be added to redesigned currency, which would provide users with a means of identifying each denomination via touch.

EyeNote will not be able to tell me if a bill is counterfeit, but the app will be updated to recognize when the design of U.S. paper money changes from time to time. The Bureau of Engraving says my EyeNote will work with the new $100 banknote after its introduction into circulation, so if any of you want to send one of those my way, let me know and I’ll give you my mailing address. I’d be happy to check that out.

A lot of you have been asking about Harper’s progress after that home visit from a Seeing Eye instructor last month. How about I start with some details about that visit?

The refresher course is working--Harper's starting to work the corners just right.

Nicole flew in from Morristown on Monday, April 24 and spent that first afternoon observing my work with Harper. He did not hold back. In one short walk, Harper refused to go all the way to the corner at an intersection, he veered right when we crossed, and then wouldn’t follow my command to turn right so we could take a walk to the park. He did get me home, though and over a cup of tea Nicole assured me I hadn’t done anything wrong to cause Harper’s behavior. “We’ve just gotta work on how you react when he behaves like this,” she said.

I’d been talking sweetly to Harper when he cowered down on the sidewalk. “C’mon, Harper, it’s okay,” I’d coo, telling him he didn’t have to be scared, then urging him to get up and continue working. My sweet-talk rewarded Harper for his bad behavior. Not good. And when he veered during street crossings, I’d pull back on the harness, which only made him want to pull harder the wrong way. Nicole assured me that Harper wants to do the right thing. When he isn’t sure what the right thing is, though, he cowers. “You need to tell him what you want from him,” she said. “And you need to say it like you mean it!”

She pointed out another problem, too. Harper loves to retrace his steps. “I’ve never seen a dog with such a strong homing instinct!” Nicole told me. One of the many, many reasons dogs have been selected to guide people who are blind is that strong canine homing instinct. Harper’s determination to retrace his steps, however, is a bit extreme. Example: We’ve visited my doctor at his office on Michigan Avenue once. Just once. Now Harper drags me to that building any time we get near it.

I like my doctor and all, but there are other places I like to visit on Michigan Avenue. When Harper veered towards the building, I’d say a gentle “no” and command “forward.” Harper would cower, then plant himself on the sidewalk. We were going into that doctor’s office, or nowhere at all.

Some of Nicole’s suggestions to remedy Harper’s behavior were simple. When Harper veers left at the doctor’s office, I keep my arm at my side, drop the harness and keep my body facing forward. Harper’s leash is looped around my wrist. If I keep my arm stiff when he veers towards the building, he is naturally jerked back to my side. I pick up the harness again, command “forward!” He may test this a few times, but once Harper realizes I really do know where I want to go, he leads me forward. Good boy, Harper!

Other suggestions were a bit more complicated. Clicker training, for example. Award-winning Seeing Eye instructor Lukas Franck taught us clicker training while we were in Morristown last December, and I’ve used it at home to teach Harper to find the elevator button in our hallway. When Nicole was here she taught me how to use the clicker method out on the street, too.

For the past couple weeks I’ve been clicking the clicker every time Harper gets me to the end of a block. He understands that the click means “you got it!” and he knows that the sound of the click means he gets a small treat. Harper hardly ever cowers anymore, he’s in such a rush to get to the end of the block to collect his reward! He’s also learned that he doesn’t hear the click if he tries to turn left or right before we get to the end of the block. I don’t click the clicker until I can feel the curb or curb cut with my feet. The lack of a click tells Harper that he has to adjust position to hear his click. Then, and only then, does he get his food reward. From the clicker training web site:

Traditional guide dog training utilizes praise to inform the dog of what behavior we want them to continue to perform. It relies on using a verbal word or phrase (“Good dog!”, “Atta boy”) immediately when the dog performs in order to tell the dog it has done well. Although this clearly works, it is not nearly as precise as communicating with an audible event marker like a clicker. The clicker’s sound has meaning to the dog because the trainer first conditions the dog to expect high value reward following the sound of the click.

Giving Harper a treat to reward him for getting to the curb goes directly against what I’d learned when training with my previous Seeing Eye dogs Pandora and Hanni. Back then we were strongly discouraged from rewarding our dogs with food. Heap on the praise instead, they told us. Guide dogs are allowed in restaurants, amusement parks, receptions, food courts, you name it. They have to be able to keep on task without being distracted by food.

Lukas — and then Nicole — assured me that the Seeing Eye had tested the clicker training method extensively. I could use treats as rewards and still expect Harper to ignore food distractions in restaurants and the like.

And you know what? It’s working. Harper’s work is not perfect – well, not yet, at least — But it has really, really improved. This week I’ve started weaning him off the clicker; IOW, I don’t click at each and every curb anymore. So far he’s still getting me to the end of each block without cowering, and his tail wags with pride when he does. Atta boy, Harper. Good boy!

My friend Lindy Bergman was an art collector. Then macular degeneration set in.

When the disease became so severe that Lindy could no longer see the surrealist works on her apartment walls, she donated the collection to the Art Institute of Chicago. From a

The unsinkable Lindy Bergman

New York Times review of the Art Institute’s new modern wing:

…and a wonderful little tropical fantasy by Leonora Carrington. This last work is part of the museum’s extraordinary Bergman Collection of mostly Surrealist art, which forms a kind of cabinet of curiosities at the heart of the third-floor galleries.

The Bergman trove includes a phalanx of 30 boxes by Joseph Cornell, an American. That collection contains the only artists on this floor who developed outside Europe, primarily Arshile Gorky, Matta and Wifredo Lam. (The exception is the Parisian expatriate Man Ray, who is in the Bergman collection and elsewhere in these galleries.)

After donating her collection, Lindy took to writing. Out of Sight, Not Out of Mind chronicles Lindy’s journey with macular degeneration and offers suggestions on how to keep your head above water when vision loss is trying to pull you under. Lindy is the perfect role model. In her 90s now, she swims a quarter mile each day, works out with her trainer, attends meetings of organizations where she is a board member and goes to concerts and lectures. She is particularly enthusiastic about the audio cassette that comes along with her book — it features recordings of classical music as well as Lindy’s children and grandchildren. I recognized the voices of a few of the experts on the cassette — they are the same caring University of Chicago doctors that did my eye surgeries back in the 1980s. “I didn’t want it to just be my old voice droning on and on. Who’d want to listen to that?” she says with a self-deprecating laugh.”I wanted the book to be uplifting, not depressing!”

My friend Bonita has known Lindy a long time and was wise enough to introduce us when Mike and I moved to Chicago. On our first lunch date, I showed Lindy how to fix her talking watch so it’d quit announcing the time out loud every hour on the hour. We’ve been friends ever since.

The stories Lindy tells me about tracking down art with her late husband Ed sound like Hemingway novels to me. “Ed always was a collector of something or other,” Lindy says with a shrug, describing a sun porch full of aquariums when Ed was collecting tropical fish, or his enormous shell collection.

“Not just a few shells. We had a lot of them. So he really was always a collector, and I just went along with it.” They’d already been married about 10 years when she and Ed decided to take a course on the Great Books at University of Chicago. A teacher there recommended a book by the Museum of Modern Art called Masters in Modern Art. “We had a lot of books to read for class, but every night we would start reading about art. That’s how it all began. We really educated ourselves.” By the late 1950s, the Bergmans were established as Surrealist collectors. They met Wifredo Lam on a visit to Cuba in the mid-50s, and the painter met them again in Paris in 1959 to show them around. Aside from that Salvador Dali poster with the melting clocks we hung in our college dorm rooms,I don’t know a whole lot about surrealism. Lindy met a couple artists in Paris whose names I actually do recognize, though: Man Ray and Max Ernst. They met Dali on another trip to Europe.

Time flies when I’m with Lindy. She loves hearing stories about my travels with my Seeing Eye dogs, and delights when Hanni — and now, Harper — sneak away from me under the table to lie on her feet. “It keeps me warm!” she laughs. The Chicago Lighthouse for the Blind is honoring Lindy Bergman at a gala at The Four Seasons tonight, and Bonita is generously sponsoring me to attend. A description of Lindy from the invitation reads like this:

Lindy has been living with macular degeneration for nearly fifteen years and has become an exemplary benefactor of The Chicago Lighthouse. In 2009, she was among those who played a critical role in helping The Lighthouse realize its goal of a new building addition. Most recently, she has helped establish the Bergman Institute for Psychological Support, where our professional rehabilitation staff counsel people who are blind or are losing their sight. Finally, she has partnered with our professional rehabilitation staff on a second “Lighthouse” edition of her book on macular degeneration, Out of Sight, Not Out of Mind.

With all of Lindy’s accomplishments, the one area where she lacks confidence is…public speaking. At our last dinner together, and in subsequent phone calls, I’ve been coaching her for the short talk she’s been asked to give at tonight’s gala. I know she’s gonna wow them. She sure has wowed me!

With a last name like Knezovich, you’d think Mike would love accordion music.

But alas, he does not.

About a year ago, the F sharp key on my accordion got stuck. Every time I’d squeeze the squeeze box, it’d play F sharp. Which would be fine if any of the tunes in my accordion repertoire were in F sharp. None are.

Mike did not weep when I told him last year that my accordion was broken. I was near tears, though, when he dialed the number for the “Buttons and Keys” division at Andy’s Music Chicago yesterday and handed me the phone. “See if they can fix your accordion,” he said. “I’ll drive you there on our way to get groceries.”

Mike may not like accordion much, but our son Gus does. The one thing Gus has always enjoyed, the one thing that motivates him and, at times, soothes him, is…music. Hip hop, jazz, new age, Cajun, punk, country & western, African…even accordion. If it’s music, Gus loves it.

Gus was born with a genetic disorder that left him physically and mentally disabled. Mike and I didn’t know a whole lot about music therapy when Gus was young, but our love of music rubbed off on our son. From the time Mike met me, he has always seen to it that we have a piano in the house. When I started losing my sight, I was also losing the ability to do things on my own — I couldn’t drive anymore, had trouble reading print, I tripped over curbs. Recognizing how important it was for me to learn to do something new, Mike went to a second-hand store and bought me a fiddle. It only took one year of screechy lessons to convince me to sell my fiddle. Earnings from the sale went towards paying a graduate student to teach me to play my piano by ear. Gus would lie across my lap as I practiced.

My former fiddle teacher recommended me to a local old-time string ban that needed a piano player. I passed the audition, and I arranged for the band to practice at our house for Gus’ sake. I started experimenting with jazz, surprising my traditional string band with an occasional flat five or minor seventh. They tolerated it.

They tolerated a lot, really. When I first joined, “Oh, Susanna” was the only old-time tune I knew. I brought my handheld tape recorder to every practice, listening and registering at home to differentiate and memorize their repertoire. At gigs, my memory would fail me. I had to be reminded what key every tune was in. And instead of the traditional eye movement or foot kick to signify song endings, the lead musician yelled “last time!” loudly enough for me to hear over my playing. I didn’t know it, but practices and performances served as therapy — I’d pound out chords when I was angry, play painfully slow on melancholy days.

Sequestered at home with a newborn, I practiced a lot.

Our old-time string band was successful enough to garner gigs outside in the summer. I couldn’t carry an upright piano with me, so I taught myself to play the accordion. Poor Mike. Who would have guessed that his thoughtful notion to buy me a used fiddle would lead to a lifetime listening to polkas on the accordion?

Good ol' Gus.

Mike and I couldn’t get away this weekend to visit Gus in his group home in Wisconsin, but that’s okay. Gus doesn’t understand that today is Mother’s Day, so we’ll just go up next weekend and celebrate Mother’s Day then. As always, it will be great just to be with him. Gus doesn’t have a piano in his group home, but if “Buttons and Keys” gets that F sharp key fixed, thanks to Mike’s generous Mother’s Day gift, maybe I’ll bring my accordion.