Hi all, this is Mike–also known as husband of Beth. She’s in New Jersey at the The Seeing Eye, training with her new guide dog. I’m holding down the fort with Hanni, and will post occasionally over the next three weeks. I’ll try to get you the latest news from New Jersey and maybe mix in a little of my experience during the transition.

Before I get to dog news, though, some of you probably had trouble listening to Beth’s WBEZ radio essay last week. The link was broken, and though it was labeled as Beth’s story–and had a photo of Beth and Hanni–it went to a story about pies. Well, this one is supposed to work better:

http://www.wbez.org/episode-segments/saying-goodbye-old-friend

Now, dog news. Beth called to tell me she just got matched up with her new guide dog. It’s a boy! He’s a yellow Labrador Retriever, and judging from the sound of her voice, Beth seems already to have fallen in love with him. And, she reports, he snores while napping.

Hearing her so happy is what I expected–but it was still a relief. Last week Beth and I both moped, knowing that Hanni’s working days–and really, a whole wonderful era for Beth and me–was coming to an end. Beth got Hanni in 2001, not long after 9/11. We still lived in Urbana, and when I went to pick Beth and Hanni up from the airport, they wouldn’t let me go to the gate to meet her. The beauty of Champaign’s Willard airport, though, was that I could see the gates–all four of them–from my little bench on the other side of security. What I remember is Hanni’s tail wagging straight up in the air, and the two of them walking so fast they were a blur.

First there was Dora (she's the one with the antlers). Photo by Lois Haubold.

Since then, our son Gus moved to Wisconsin, we moved to Chicago, Beth’s had two books published, and well, really, she’s built the career and life that blindness had interrupted. Hanni’s been there for all of it, so the retirement decision has been especially tough on Beth.

Hanni–and Pandora before her–have meant nearly as much to me as they have to Beth. Not because they’re great dogs to have around when they’re off duty (they are). But because when Beth heads out without me, I know she’s not alone. When Beth first lost her sight, I worried constantly. In the beginning, before she got orientation and mobility training, the thought of her walking to the mailbox down the corner from our Champaign apartment terrified me. Even after she learned cane skills, though, I struggled with anxiety when she’d go places without me.

That all changed when she got a guide dog. When Beth goes out, she’s always got a partner. For better or worse, people have responded to Beth much differently since she began working with a dog than when she used a cane. With a cane, they were hesitant to engage her. They’d get out of the way and not utter a word. But with a dog, you can’t beat ’em off with a…stick. I don’t mind that

...then there was Hanni, a wonder of a dog. New guy's got a tough act to follow, but I know he'll be up to it.

a dog provides a little security, too–they’re not trained for that purpose, but I have to think a would-be mugger is deterred by a 65-lb. dog.

Which is all to say, I really can’t say enough about what The Seeing Eye has done for Beth–and for me. I’ll always have a place in my heart for Pandora, Beth’s first dog, who lived to 17–and was one stubborn Lab. I know I’ll love the new guy Beth brings home. In the meantime, though, I gotta go play with Hanni. We’re both off work today.

Blog readers might recall that the assignment for the seniors in my memoir-writing class last Wednesday was “The Last Time I Saw Her.” Wanda Bridgeforth stretched the topic a bit, and her essay was so sweet I thought I’d share it here with you as I say goodbye to Hanni and take off for the airport.

That’s Wanda, saying farewell to a fellow retiree. Photo by Sheila A. Donovan

The Last Time I Will See You

by Wanda Bridgeforth

The announcement of your retiring and moving to another city came as a bit of a surprise. My first thought was how much I will miss you. How selfish of me. I have retired twice. Instead of expressing sadness I offer observations and bits of advice and say, “WELCOME TO RETIREMENT!”

I retired and moved to another part of the city and felt moments of isolation. This will pass. There will be times you will start preparing for work and suddenly remember you are no longer part of the hustle and bustle of the rat race.

DON’T FRET!!! TAKE A NAP!!!

Retirement is a benefit that comes to all in the process of aging and the passing of time. I can’t tell you how to prepare for it. Everyone must cope in his own way. One day at a time.

there will be days the hours will fly. Others they will crawl and boredom will prevail. These days are tests of ingenuity. Explore your new surroundings. Look up at the sky. See the beautiful formations of the clouds, smell the flowers, listen to the birds. RELAX!!! RELAX!!!

Winter is coming; you can shut off the alarm clock. Roll over and take another nap. Retirement means you don’t have to slosh through the rain and sleet, cold and heat, to get to work or appointments.

The times you feel unneeded look back at the job you performed. The service you rendered. The comfort you gave, the lives you touched. Every job, every being is a stitch in the quilt of life and living. In your new setting you will make new friends and have new experiences. I’m sure you have many memories to share.

At retirement occasions we vow to keep in touch. Our intentions are good and our promises sincere, but time passes, lifestyles change and the chances of meeting again are lessened.

As I say Good-bye and God Speed, I raise my cup of Java and wish a Long and Happy Retirement to my friend and fellow author Hanni Finke Knezovich.

Best. Dog. Ever.

Note: If you link to WBEZ to listen to the piece, it’s a little confusing. Use this link, and then just wait, don’t click anything–the right piece should start playing. Don’t pay attention to the playlist that may appear.

A longer version of this blog post aired on Chicago Public Radio November 24. I don’t cry during the reading, but if you listen closely you’ll hear me get a little choked up. Hanni has given me so, so much to be thankful for. I am really going to miss her.…

My Seeing Eye dog will be 11 years old in February. Walks to the Loop used to invigorate Hanni. Now they wear her out. She takes long naps after our excursions, and she doesn’t wake up from those naps as easily as she used to.

It’s time for Hanni to retire.

Back in 1990, it took two terrifying mishaps in traffic to convince me to switch from a white cane to a guide dog. Now, after ten years of side-by-side travel with Hanni, it’s going to take a lot to convince me I’ll ever love my next Seeing Eye dog as much as I do her.

Blindness dictates practicality, however. For Hanni’s and for my sake, I’ve signed up to return to the Seeing Eye this Saturday. I’ll be there three weeks, training with a new dog.

Dog-loving friends assumed I’d keep Hanni as a pet. Mike would like to keep her. I’m just not sure I can devote myself to a new Seeing Eye dog if Hanni is still around.

I can bring Hanni back with me to the Seeing Eye when I fly there Saturday to train with my new dog. They’ll find her a good home. I’m just afraid I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on my new dog knowing Hanni was in the nearby kennel, waiting. The new dog wouldn’t stand a chance!

And so, I’ve decided. I’m giving Hanni to a couple of friends. We visit these friends often, so when I get Hanni pangs, I can always head over there for a hug. These friends don’t have a dog now, so they’ll be able to give Hanni their undivided attention. That’s something she’s used to. Getting attention, I mean.

I’ll get to visit Hanni, but it’s hard to imagine traveling more than a couple feet to hug her. Or trusting a dog other than Hanni to lead me around the city and keep me safe. I can’t think about that now, though. It’s time to take one last walk. With good ol’ Hanni.

That's my friend Sandra.

My regular blog readers might remember a post I wrote about my young friend Sandra Murillo. Sandra lost her sight when she was three years old, and now she is a journalism student at the University of Illinois. A year ago she, her father, and her brother were in a terrible car accident on their way home from Champaign for Thanksgiving break. Her father was critically injured in the accident, and her beloved brother and only sibling Chris died at the scene. Sandra walked away with minor injuries.

It’s been hard for Sandra to talk about the accident, but she says writing about it helps. In a post called It’s Been One Year Since My Life Changed Forever, Sandra describes what happened that day:

I knew my mom was on her way to the scene of the accident, and I gave one of the nurses her cellphone number, although I was sure she wouldn’t answer – like me she was in utter disbelief. “We can’t get a hold of your mom. Is there anyone else we can contact?” she asked. “Yes, Peggy Madera,” I heard myself say. Till this day I can’t understand how I was able to say Peggy’s phone number off the top of my head with all the mixed thoughts racing through my mind.

Peggy Madera was Sandra’s orientation and mobility teacher. Certified Orientation and Mobility Specialists show blind people like us how to use a white cane. They teach us ways to map routes, navigate crowds, interpret sensory landmarks (textures, sounds and smells), and know when to ask for help. With training, we blind types can move confidently and safely through unfamiliar areas and use public transit to get wherever we need to go.

I met Peggy Madera years and years ago when I interviewed her for a story for the Chicago Tribune. Peggy is renowned in the Chicago area for her skills as an orientation and mobility instructor. In addition to teaching students their way around physically, she teaches them to be kind, and to appreciate the wonders of life. A good orientation and mobility instructor is a Godsend to a blind person, and Peggy Madera is definitely a Godsend to my friend Sandra. Again from Sandra’s post:

Peggy was my O&M teacher from preschool through high school. This long student-teacher relationship allowed us to get to know each other very well. It also caused my family and me to become good friends with Peggy. Many people have asked me “why did you call Peggy?” I have never been able to directly answer this question, but now I have realized the true reason.

To me, Peggy was not just my teacher; as I said she also became a friend to me and my family. For this reason, I knew she would be there for us the night of the accident if I asked her to. I have also come to trust Peggy.

I know from talking with Sandra that she lost her white cane in the accident. Sandra has used a cane since she was in pre-school. The evening was disorienting enough, and without her cane Sandra felt especially lost. Peggy arrived at the emergency room with a spare white cane in hand for Sandra. She stayed and held Sandra’s hand throughout the emergency room ordeal, and was there when Sandra’s mom arrived to tell Sandra that her brother had died. Sandra’s father was in critical condition and had been airlifted to another hospital, so Sandra’s mother couldn’t stay long. She had to return to the other hospital while her husband underwent surgery. She knew Sandra would be in good hands with Peggy Madera.

Peggy brought Sandra home, found her a clean nightgown and tucked her in to a warm bed. Peggy sat with Sandra at her brother’s wake, describing what was going on and who was entering the room to pay respects to Chris. She was at Sandra’s side during the funeral and has traveled to the University of Illinois with Sandra to help her with routes to class. Once again, from Sandra’s blog post:

Tia Peggy, I am glad I called you the night of the accident. This situation has made our relationship become stronger. Although we are not blood relatives, my parents and I regard you as part of our family. Again, thanks very much for taking care of me that night.

Thank you, Sandra, for having the courage to write out your feelings this way. Your post reminds us how fortunate we are to have friends and family to turn to when we need them. With Thanksgiving right around the corner, I know I sure have a lot to be thankful for.

That’s Wanda and me at the Chicago Cultural Center. Her favorite invention? The Frigidaire.

That’s the topic I assigned to my memoir-writing class last week, and my stellar seniors did not disappoint. Annelore opened her essay wondering whether there could possibly be one best invention.

In the days when my grandmother told tales about the awesome impressions of seeing her first airplane fly and land, riding in a car or on a motorcycle for the first time, listening to a voice coming from a box or her bewilderment when hearing music coming from a spinning plate, I felt as if there was nothing left to be invented.

By the end of her essay, however, Annelore settled in on one best invention:

The harvest of millions of brilliant minds is stored somewhere on that magical space, called the Internet. What I would give if I could share THAT with my dear grandmother.

One essay was about the polio vaccine, another about the credit card. Hanna’s essay about the radio described how she and her teenage friends snuck to their Rabbi’s apartment in Stuttgart back in the late 1930’s to hear the BBC. “It was illegal to listen to foreign radio stations back then,” she wrote. “If you got caught, there were heavy fines, and if you were Jewish, you’d be jailed.”

Susan, a retired nurse practicioner, knew immediately what she’d choose.

Without hesitation I think “the pill” is the most important invention of my lifetime—not necessarily to me personally but certainly for many women, including members of my family as well as the patients throughout my career.

Wanda described her daily chore emptying the water from under the ice box. The pan was usually full to the brim, unwieldy and awkward for a little girl. Water always spilled during her “delicate waltz” to the sink, which meant little Wanda ended up with two daily chores: she had to wash the kitchen floor, too. The best invention in Wanda’s lifetime? The Frigidaire.

Audrey came up with something I would have never thought of, but anyone who’d endured days without a hot shower might have to agree with her:

I like the silly little mesh sponge or pouf too. And the shower gel is so much easier than bar soap. So as long as I can have my hot shower, I am well placated.

It can be too easy to mourn the passing of the good ol’ days. How refreshing to focus on things that have gotten better! Vaughn enjoyed the class so much he sent me an email message right afterwards describing the session as “outstanding.” He also had a suggestion for next week’s topic: “How do you relate to an opportunity to suddenly find yourself in touch with your first SIGNIFICANT girl (or boy) friend after some 50 years?” I shortened his idea a bit, and assigned this for next week: The Last Time I Saw Her. Students can write about “The Last Time I Saw Him” if they prefer. So much to know, so much to say. Can’t wait until next week’s class.