Here’s an update on some of the women I’ve mentioned in recent blog posts.

Flo saw a nurse at her post-operative visit Thursday (the wonderful Janet drove her, of course!) and everything looks good. Her wounds are healing well, and (most important to Flo) some of the hair on her head is already starting to grow back.

What an honor--Nancy took time away from her keyboards to comment on my blog.

Sandra Murillo is doing so well at University of Illinois that she started volunteering to assist with ESL classes for Urbana Adult Education. Until last week, that is, when an email from the ESL program landed in Sandra’s advisor’s in box. The note said the program was “concerned” that Sandra was “not getting what she needed” out of her volunteer work. The note suggested other places for her to volunteer, all of them places that work with people who have disabilities. Sandra says she respects the disability field, but that wasn’t what she had in mind when she decided to volunteer. She’ll continue volunteering, but now she’ll mentor Latino students at Urbana Middle School instead. Link to Sandra’s blog to follow her progress – interesting stuff!

Hanna Bratman was in the audience with her son during my debut at the disability cabaret. “My son was hoping to talk to you afterwards,” she wrote in an email message. “he wanted to tell you how good you looked.” Dang. Sorry I missed them.

Francine Rich, the wonderful wise woman who published Hanni and Beth: Safe & Sound, was so taken by the excerpt of Hanna’s writing (published here last August) that she offered to assemble Hanna’s many, many personal essays into a publishable format. Stay tuned, someday soon we may all be vying for a good spot in line at Hanna’s booksigning.

My sister Bev is home safe & sound (gee, what a great title for a book!) from South Korea. She never did have to eat raw horse, but her son Brian surprised her with a mystery meat one night: pig intestine stuffed with noodles. “I told the waitress to hold the rectum,” he wrote in a comment to my blog about his mom and dad’s trip. “Seriously. No joke. They eat rectums here.”

On that happy note, I’ll end this post and try to come up with some good song requests. Need to be ready when I visit my blog-reading pal Nancy Faust at the final White Sox game tomorrow, doncha know.

Hanni and I were early enough to get the Nancy Faust bobblehead/hands.

All your positive comments to my post about Nancy Faust Day at White Sox Park made me think. Hey, maybe the Chicago Tribune would like to publish a blind woman’s view on Nancy Faust’s departure. After rewriting it a bit, I sent the piece off to the Tribune along with a photo of Hanni, me and our bobble-head Nancy Faust doll at the game.

Well, the Tribune couldn’t use the photo, but they published the essay — As the pipe organ melodies fade away ran in today’s paper. The essay reads pretty much like the blog post, except I had to take out the direct quotes from my memoir, Long Time, No See. You’re not allowed to self-promote in a Tribune op-ed piece!

Your comments to my Safe & Sound blog really do help me figure out which of my posts have struck a chord and might be worth sending out to other publications. Thanks for reading, and for commenting. And if you missed seeing the fruits of your labor in print, never fear: you can read the Chicago Tribune piece online here.

Back in 1985, a social worker predicted my first couple years of blindness would be like going through adolescence all over again. “It’ll be just like you’re a teenager,” she said. “You’ll be worried about how you look, and you’ll do everything you can to fit in with your friends.” She told me to be prepared to doubt myself, even over the smallest trivial things. “But anyone who says you can’t – or shouldn’t – do something, well, they better watch out!”

Know what? She was absolutely right. Except for one thing. That second round of adolescence didn’t last just a few years. It’s still going on.

An example: last week my mom had out-patient surgery (including a skin graft) for a malignant melanoma. Our wonderful niece Janet had taken Flo to all her doctor visits, but with four kids, she wouldn’t be able to stay with Flo at home during recovery.

That's my niece Janet with two of her kids, daughters AnnMarie and Anita

The teenager in me boldly offered to do night duty. This, even though I had no idea how I’d check Flo’s wounds to make sure they were okay. Not to mention what I’d do if Flo couldn’t get out of bed by herself. Or if she needed help in the bathroom. Or if she couldn’t feed herself.

Flo is 94 years old and lives alone. She walks on her own, often using a walker. She reads the newspaper every morning, and she gets behind the wheel every other day. “You know, just to make sure the car still runs,” she says. Flo is amazing, and under normal circumstances she can take care of herself just fine. But (happy to say) out-patient surgery is not a normal circumstance for Flo.

Janet drove Flo to the hospital the morning of her surgery. My cousin Darrell and his sweet girlfriend Carolyn met Hanni and me at the Elmhurst train station and drove us to Flo’s apartment for my stint. Janet and Flo were there when we arrived –- the surgery didn’t take long, and Flo was sleeping in her own bed already. Janet led me to the kitchen, placed my hand in the bowl where the pain pills were, gave me directions on what to do when Flo woke up, and took off to relieve the babysitter (her husband) at home.

I sat on Flo’s couch, tried listening to a book, but couldn’t concentrate. What had I gotten myself into? All that time I’d been saying No problem, I’ll take the overnight shifts, I’ll stay with Flo? Secretly I’d been hoping someone would step in, remind me that hey, Beth, you’re blind, you can’t take on that responsibility. No one did. On one hand, I was tremendously flattered. They actually thought I could handle this. I’d achieved my goal. I looked like a grown up. On the other hand, I was scared.

Two hours after returning home from surgery, Flo woke up, found her walker, and made it to the living room. I jumped up from the couch. “You okay, mom?” She was fine, she said, in a way that sounded like I can’t believe you are asking me if I’m okay, of course I am fine. “You hungry?” she asked.

Flo is the cutest.

And so it went, Flo mostly taking care of herself, me just reminding her to keep the wound dry, not touch it, sit down, rest. She only needed painkillers once, and when she got to the bowl in the kitchen to find them she shook the vial in a panic. “These are all whole pills. I thought Janet was going to cut them in half for me!” Flo is stubborn about taking pain medication. She only wanted to take one-half of the pill. I joined Flo in the kitchen, fished through the bowl and pulled out a Ziploc bag. “Janet only cut a couple of them in half,” I reminded Flo, pressing her fingers to the Ziploc so she could feel them herself. “You’re supposed to take one-and-a-half for pain, remember? I listened as she pulled one entire pill from the vial, then heard her swallow it with a drink of water. I handed her a half-pill from the Ziploc bag as a chaser.”

We were a good team. Flo can see, I have a good memory for details, and Janet was just a phone call away. I’d taken my laptop with me to keep busy, but I couldn’t get a good internet connection. That was a blessing. I slowed down. Heard Flo’s stories. Told her mine. Joined her outside on the glider. Welcomed visitors. Brushed Hanni. Listened to the radio. Watched them pave the parking lot across the street. Asked her how she’d ever learned to drive. Found out her teenage boyfriend, Huntz, taught her. “He was good looking,” she smiled. Kept the glider Rocking.

Flo and I didn’t always get along during my first adolescence. This week, though, the only time we fought was when she wanted to make my coffee, or go to the other room to get something for me. “I’m supposed to be helping you, mom!” I’d scold her. She’d laugh, and then insist she didn’t need any help. “I’m fine,” she’d say. “You sit down. I’ll get it.”

Hmm. Maybe at age 94, Flo’s going through a second adolescence, too.

I'm used to book store readings -- a cabaret will be a new adventure.

If someone told you they were going to a disability culture cabaret, would you know what the heck they were talking about? I sure didn’t. Still don’t, really. Guess I’ll find out this Friday, though – I agreed to perform in one!Here’s a description from the Chicago Amplified page on Chicago Public Radio’s web site:

General Event Information
Blood on the Tracks: A Disability Culture Cabaret
Friday, September 24, 2010 @ 6:30 p.m.

Featuring Mike Ervin, Rahnee Patrick, Pennie Brinson, Carrie Kaufman, Bartholomew Thomas, Laurence Clark, Riva Lehrer, Rob Rotman and Beth Finke. Emceed by Susan Nussbaum.

Venue

Access Living
115 W Chicago Avenue
Chicago, IL 60610

Presenter

Access Living
(312) 640-2100
Tickets

FREE

My plan is to put on a party dress and read a very short bit from Long Time, No See. I’m only familiar with a few others on the program — Mike Ervin lives in our building. He’s a playwright, and I know he uses a wheelchair, but we haven’t had much more than elevator conversations. I’ve met a couple of the women listed at previous Access Living events, but without being able to see them I have no idea what their disabilities are. Or what they might do up there on stage Friday night! I’m curious to find out. If you’re curious, too, come on by!

Sox fans will miss you Nancy, and so will MLB.

My visit to White Sox Park tomorrow is going to be bittersweet. Not because of the team – they actually did better than I expected this year. It’s because of the organist. This is Nancy Faust’s last year at the pipe organ, and tomorrow’s game has been named Faust Fest in honor of her 41 years entertaining fans at White Sox games.
My relationship with Nancy Faust started on another bittersweet day –- the day my eye surgeon told Mike and me that none of the surgeries they tried had worked, From my memoir, Long Time, No See:

The White Sox were in town that day. Going to a ballgame after learning I’d be blind for the rest of my life was probably a strange thing to do, but it beat heading home and sitting on our pitiful second-hand couch and wondering where to turn next.

The White Sox were having a rotten year. There were maybe 8,000 people in the stands. Floyd Banister pitched, the Sox lost. But it was strangely pleasant, sitting next to Mike with my head up, not giving a thought to eyes or surgery. We each had a bratwurst and a beer. Between bites and gulps and giving me play by play, Mike bantered with other fans, cursing the underachievers on the team. I laughed at the tunes selected by Nancy Faust, the Sox organist-she’s famous for picking songs that play on player’s names. Mike marveled at the endurance of Carlton Fisk, and we both wondered out loud why every time we went to a game, that bum Banister was pitching.

I stopped by Nancy Faust’s booth at White Sox Park after Long Time, No See was published to sign a copy for her. She is absolutely lovely. I was tickled to have an opportunity to thank her personally for helping me track what’s happening on the field. When Nancy Faust is at the organ and a player walks, you hear Johnny Cash’s “I Walk the Line.” If there’s a pickoff throw, she plays Michael Jackson’s “Somebody’s Watching me.” And when the pickoff is successful? The Kinks “You Really Got me.”

Nancy helps me know who’s batting by teasing the player’s name with a tune. Mike’s all-time favorite is the one for Gary Disarcina. No, it wasn’t “Gary, Indiana” from the Music Man. That is wayyyy too obvious. It was “Have you Seen Her?” by the Chi-Lites.

As for me, I think Nancy’s at her best whenever Travis Hafner’s in town. At the last Cleveland Indians game I went to, she played “Bunny Hop” for his first at bat, and then J. Geils “Centerfold” “his next time up. And you Yankee fans who read this blog will never understand our sorrow when Jason Giambi ended up in the National League. Nancy Faust used to play the theme from “Pee-Wee’s Playhouse” any time he came to bat. And no, it wasn’t about steroids. Again, wayyy to obvious. Duh. The reason she played Pee Wee’s Playhouse theme song for Giambi? A character on the show is named “Jambi.” Natch!

Some of Nancy’s choices are a lot more obvious –- Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five” for players with that number, the theme from “Magnificent Seven” for players sporting number seven on their backs. Michael Jackson’sBobby Day’s “Rockin’ Robin” bounced from the pipes back when Robin Ventura played third base for us, And we heard a lot of “Jingle Bells” and the disco hit “Ring My Bell” when Albert Bell was on the team. If he struck out? “We’re so sorry, Uncle Albert.”

My upper lip has remained stiff through all the other changes the White Sox have put me through -– new park, new managers, new announcers, new players. That lip is certain to weaken tomorrow during Faust Fest. The one thing that will pull me through without breaking down completely: the White Sox are giving free Nancy Faust bobble-hands dolls to the first 10,000 fans attending tomorrow’s game. Trust me, I’ll be there early.