Pro wrestlers don’t give pedicures.

At least Atlas Horn doesn’t. Atlas (he claims this is his given name!) is a groomer at Doggie Bath House, a new business right down the street from us. I brought Hanni to Doggie Bath House yesterday to get spruced up for our upcoming trip to California. I wanted Hanni to get her nails painted for the big event — we’re accepting our ASPCA/Henry Bergh Children’s Book Award during a cocktail reception at the American Library Association annual conference on Monday.

“We don’t do nails,” “we don’t paint nails,” the owner told me right away. “We only do nails as in nail trims.”
For a short moment I considered going elsewhere. But when the owner introduced us to Atlas, I knew we had to stay. How could I deny Hanni the chance to be bathed by a pro wrestler?

Atlas grew up with dogs, he told me. Dog grooming seemed the perfect way to supplement his pro-wrestling income. “You can make good money wrestling,” he said. “But I have a daughter now.”

Does the responsibility of fatherhood make a pro wrestler more careful in the ring, less interesting to the audience? Does the thought of a daughter at home distract him from crushing his opponent? Do you get paid less if you lose? Atlas never explained. What’s more likely, I figure, is that fatherhood forces Atlas to cut down on travel to faraway cities. There are 12 venues for pro-wrestling in Chicago, he said. “But the work is only there on weekends.”
And so, during the week, Atlas grooms dogs.

Hanni tried to be stoic in the pro wrestler’s presence, but truth is: she hates getting soaked. She hardly ever gets bathed, really. Think about it. Guide dogs don’t need baths as often as other dogs. Guide dogs are pretty much always attached to their owners. Unless we go playing in mud puddles, or get caught up with skunks, or tangle ourselves in brambles, our dogs stay pretty clean. The guide dog schools teach us how to brush and comb our dogs, and if we do that every day, baths are unnecessary.

For our special day in Anaheim, though, I wanted Hanni to sparkle. The trip to Doggie Bath House was worth it. Her nails may still be the same black color they were when we entered the place, but now, thanks to Atlas, her fur coat absolutely shines!

One question I get during the “q&a” after some of my talks has to do with colors. You know, whether or not I still remember them.

I do.

I will admit, though — There are some new fashion colors I have trouble coordinating. Teal, for example. Terra cotta. Chartreuse. When in doubt, I Pair them with black.

One color combination I cannot get out of my head ( much as I might like to) is orange and blue. I graduated from the University of Illinois. I can safely say that even a blind woman could have chosen better school colors.

But to quote the school fight song, I’m “loyal to you, Illinois.” I even bought myself a tangerine-colored skirt and top (I didn’t pair it with any blue, thank you very much) the year Illinois played in the final game of the NCAA basketball championships.
And of course I am especially loyal to my alma mater when it gives me a nice plug – I just received an issue of The Media I — a newsletter put out every month by the University of Illinois College of Media. What a fun surprise to hear my name mentioned in the alumni section.

Beth Finke ’81 JOURN, author of the book, “Hanni and Beth: Safe and Sound,” recently received an ASPCA Henry Bergh Children’s Book Award. Based on publisher nominations and presented each year by the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, the awards are named for the founder of the ASPCA.
Henry Bergh was born in 1813, chartered the organization in 1866, and also spent time working to prevent child abuse. Finke is the 2007 winner in the Nonfiction
Companion Animals category.

Hanni and I leave for Anaheim a week from today to receive that award. My dress?A basic black number, to coordinate perfectly with Hanni’s shiny red manicured nails. We’ll be the belles of the ball.

This afternoon Hanni and I cabbed over to 1151 S. Wood St. in Chicago. Mike and I had only been married a year when I first visited that address in 1985. Back then it was called the Illinois Visually Handicapped Institute (IVHI). To put a positive spin on my absence, Mike & I anticipated it as being like camp. Braille Camp.

From my memoir, Long Time, No See

That fall, Mike drove me and my things to IVHI to begin my formal rehabilitation. It reminded me of being dropped off at a college dorm for the first time. Except I wasn’t going to school to learn new things so much as how to do without old things. Except now I was married and didn’t want to live away from home.
Except now I was blind.

I was at IVHI to learn to read Braille, travel with a white cane, accomplish daily living skills without being able to see. After Mike dropped me off, I was told I wouldn’t be able to leave IVHI unless accompanied by a sighted adult.

In my head I heard the clang of a cell door slamming behind me. It wasn’t Braille Camp; it was Braille Jail.

Things have changed at Braille Jail, thank goodness. For one, they took the word “handicapped” out of their name. The Illinois Visually Handicapped Institute is now called the Illinois Center for Rehabilitation.

Most people refer to the place as ICRE-Wood, which always makes me laugh – there is nothing close to “woods” at the Illinois Center for Rehabilitation and Education.

There is, however, a more open feel to the place now. Although ICRE was designed to be a facility for adults who have lost their sight, every summer they open their doors for two weeks to blind teenagers from all over the state. Kids with visual impairments don’t necessarily go to state schools for the blind like in the old days – they go to their neighborhood schools. And while it’s great having kids with disabilities included in schools with average kids, it sometimes means they miss out on other things they need to know. So every year “Summer in the City” brings kids to ICRE-Wood to spend the week with other teenagers who are blind.

College students serve as chaperones, and the teenagers attend classes during the day. They learn cooking skills, money management, orientation & mobility, technology, stuff like that. Every day a different adult with a vision impairment visits to talk about their careers – the job search, the obstacles, the victories. That’s where I come in – I go every year to talk about writing as a career.

It’s not all work and no play for Summer in the City, though. The teenagers go out on the town in the afternoon and the evenings to explore Chicago.
They visit Navy Pier, enjoy boat rides, take sailing lessons, shop downtown, attend a Shakespeare play, and get an “insider’s tour” of White Sox Park.

I horned in on the White Sox tour in 2005, the year the White Sox won the World Series. The radio piece I did about that tour won a couple of big-time journalism awards! That was just icing on the cake, really. The true reward of going to this real Braille Camp is, of course, meeting the teenagers. Like all other kids between 13 an 18, they are curious, dramatic, and sarcastic. And Funny! You don’t think there’s any chance they refer to their “Summer in the City” experience as Sex in the City, do you? Nah!!!!!

It was a thrill to be part of the 24th annual Printers Row Book Fair in Chicago over the weekend – I signed books at Sandmeyer’ s Bookstore on Saturday, then gave a formal presentation Sunday morning. It can make a person feel downright proud, living in a neighborhood that devotes an entire festival to books every year. When the fair was over last night, our neighbor Margaret joined Mike and me for our annual ritual. Each year we sit outside Hackney’s while the street is still closed to traffic. It’ s so quiet we can actually hear the glasses clink as we toast the end of another great book fair. I didn’t know it last night, but the celebrating wasn’t quite over after those toasts. A review of this year’ s Printers Row Book Fair in this morning’s Chicago Tribune features me, Beth Finke, along with the likes of baseball giant Billy Williams and best-selling author Scott Turow, as one of “the fair’s star attractions.”

Beth Finke Beth Finke’s fan club turned out to cheer on the woman teaching them how to write a journal and, evidently, how to live a full life. The South Loop resident makes it sound wry and funny as she recounts the loss of her vision in her mid-20s, learning to negotiate a new world of talking computers and Seeing Eye dogs; dealing with marital difficulties and becoming a mother; and translating her experiences into books and teaching. Finke has strung her experiences into a memoir, “Long Time No See” (University of Illinois Press), published in 2003 and based on the taped journals she started after losing her sight.

Finke’s latest book, written for children ages 4 to 10, is a beautifully illustrated story told from her Seeing Eye dog’s point of view. “Hanni and Beth: Safe & Sound” (Blue Marlin Publications) has taken her into classrooms all over the area to meet with children and talk to them about assistance dogs and what it’s like to be blind. Finke’s journal-writing class meets weekly at the Chicago Cultural Center. If she presents events in her life like beads on a string, it’s only because she has plenty of experience examining each thought and finding a place for it. When you are overwhelmed by your own recollection, she advises her students, “Take it a chunk at a time.” —L.L.

WOWEE! whoever you are, “L.L.” – I love you. Looks like we may have to return to Hackney’ s for another toast!

Mike and I walked over to Burnham Harbor late this morning for an open house — the Judd Goldman Adaptive Sailing Program was offering free sailboat rides and grilled food to get the word out about what exactly they do.
What they do, exactly, is teach people with disabilities how to sail.

Truth is, I really didn’t need to go to the open house to learn about their adaptive sailing program. I already knew about it firsthand. I took some lessons a few years ago.

But hey, who can argue with free food and a sailboat ride? I also felt it was important for me to be there to support the program – you know, it can feel pretty pathetic to have an open house and then no one shows up.

When Mike and I arrived at the harbor, it was obvious I needn’t have worried about that. The place was packed! People in wheelchairs, with walkers, accompanied by guide dogs and service dogs – everyone was milling about, chatting, laughing, sharing stories. It surprised me how moving it was, just being with everyone there. Mike agreed. “It’s like a whole lot of people who might never have a chance to sail like this if they didn’t have a disability,” he said.

He’s right. I was one of those people, and it made me feel good.

In the end, I didn’t get to sail today –the line was too long. That didn’t matter. It was still worth the trip.