In Beth’s last post, you may have noticed a couple things:

• The photos were extremely sharp and well composed
• The list of kids’ questions was longer than usual

Hope you’ll check out Jamie’s piece about Bill Veeck, a legend.

That’s because our pal Jamie Ceaser has been driving Miss Beth and accompanying her to school visits more than usual because of Beth’s broken wrist. Beth would get to the school one way or another, but it’s better when Jamie is involved.

Jamie happens to be an award-winning film and TV producer. (Her enterprise is called Ceaser Salad Productions). So she has, you know, nice cameras and stuff. And she’s a journalist. She takes notes. Hence, more of the kids’ questions.

She will always hold a hall-of-fame place in my heart because she produced  “A Man for Any Season,” a documentary made for Chicago Public TV station WTTW about baseball owner and raconteur Bill Veeck and his wife Mary Frances. (Mary Frances narrates it.) It’s a gem, it includes footage from his and Mary Frances’ appearance with Edward R. Murrow. My mother idolized Veeck, who owned three baseball teams in his life (including the White Sox and the last Cleveland Indians outfit to win the World Series—he also helped plant Wrigley Field’s vines). I grew to idolize him, too. You don’t have to be a baseball fan to appreciate Veeck, and I hope you’ll give it a watch.

Awhile back, we went to a screening of her documentary about Art Paul. (That’s the trailer—the full version is available on Amazon.) Paul was the art director for Playboy Magazine back in the day. Whatever you think about Playboy, it was a beautiful magazine—and I’m not talking about the women.

Her subjects range far and wide, including Merle Haggard.

And she’s a great driver.

This past Friday my friend Jamie drove WhitneyLuna and me to the western suburbs of Chicago to visit six groups of third graders at four different schools. we were in Glen Ellyn and Wheaton as part of Educating Outside The Lines, a disability awareness program that uses a hands-on approach to help kids discover how things like wheelchairs, sign language, service dogs and Braille books are just tools we use to help do the things we do.

During some of our visits I read a bit of my children’s book, Hanni and Beth: Safe & Sound in Braille. At others I unfolded my collapsible white cane to show how it works. Some of the third graders were interested in listening to my iPhone read texts out loud. Another class laughed when I mimicked the robotic voice of the talking computer I use at home to compose email messages.

The nine and ten year-old students displayed such a keen interest in retinopathy (the condition that caused my sight loss) and the methods ophthalmologists used years ago to try to save my eyesight that it worried me. Why were they so interested? Was one of the children in their school facing major eye surgery?

Teachers reassured me none of them were. “They’re really an empathetic group,” one said with a shrug. They sure were! Questions asked during the Q&A part of the presentation sparked some very thoughtful conversation:

• Is there a reason you became blind?
• If you had to go to the doctor every Friday for those laser things, did you start not liking Fridays? I’m asking because Fridays are my favorite day.,
• Can you control the muscels in your eyes?
• How did you get that cast on your arm?
• How can you open a door if you can’t see it?
• When your dogs retired, did you ever get to see them again
• Does Luna like to sleep when you’re talking to classes? Because I can see her sleeping now.
• Did surgery on your eyes hurt a lot?
• Was your neck really sore because you had to look down all the time?
• Was it shocking when the doctors told you you’d be blind the rest of your life?
• Does Luna recognize your friends?
• How do you know where your friends live?
• When the surgery didn’t work how did that affect your feelings about your eyesight after that?
• Did any of your dogs have a disability?
• Do you get sad sometimes?
• Was it hard to have surgeries?
• What would your husband do when you were having your surgeries?
• How long did it take for you to have all of the surgeries?
• Was it hard to read Braille when you were first blind?
• Is it sometimes annoying when you’re blind?
• Have you ever not been allowed in somewhere because of your dog?
• Does Luna go in the water with you when you swim?
• What was one of the big things that effected your life when you lost your eyesight?
• When it’s winter and snowy, is it hard to get around?
• How long have you been blind?
• Are you permanently blind, or is it just temporary?
• Do you have any friends who are blind?
• Is it hard to get dressed in the morning if you are blind?
• Can you still do equations, you know, like multiplication, division, addition and subtraction?
• Can you see your dog? If not, do you know what she looks like?

Whew? With kids asking questions like that (and hanging on my every word when I answered), who needs a therapist?! It was hard to leave, but with that last question we got to do so on a high note. I showed the kids how I love to feel Luna’s soft ears, how much she loves to have her chest rubbed, how soft her fur is and how she bounces when she’s guiding me down the sidewalk “She sure feels cute,” I said. They responded with a resounding, Yes!!!!”

Thanks to Ali and other guest bloggers for stepping in for me as this broken wrist of mine heals. If you haven’t done so already, be sure to check out Part 1 and Part 2 of Alicia’s story.

Freepik

by Alicia Krage

The week I spent in Houston was one I won’t soon forget – I met new friends, visited new places, and got to experience a different perspective on the blind community. The drive back to William P. Hobby airport one week later didn’t make me nervous at all. I’d been through this before, and I knew what to expect this time. Juan’s dad was the one who took me to the Houston airport, and the walk from the parking lot to the entrance of the airport was long, and that wasn’t all: we had to walk even further inside to get to the ticket counter.

Once again, I requested assistance, but this time I didn’t have to sit there by myself waiting for the skycap to get there. Juan and his dad waited with me at the designated waiting area.

So I’d be flying on my own again, but this time everything felt different. The wait felt different because I was less anxious. I knew they wouldn’t forget me. The prospect of flying alone again felt different because I wasn’t nervous. I felt more confident, this sense of freedom and independence, and happy that Juan and his family made it possible.

When the airline assistant arrived, he was a bit confused to see Juan and me standing together. “Oh, am I helping both of you?” he asked – not in a patronizing way, but just for clarification. “I can get someone else to come and assist too,” he added.

“Oh, no, it’s just her traveling,” Juan clarified. His dad looked my way and added, “We’d like to walk with you just to make sure you make it to security, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” I replied, and we all four chatted as we walked – Juan’s dad, Juan, the assistant and me. This assistant wasn’t as energetic and talkative as the one I’d had in Chicago, but he was still nice and I was impressed to have learned that they were prepared to help both of us if need be.

I did not take the wheelchair ride on the way back, deciding to walk instead. The walk was long, and we stopped at the security line to say goodbye. I thanked both Juan and his dad for having me, and they both said they hope I visit soon. “I’m glad you finally got to fly yourself,” Juan said.

Having known me for quite some time, he’d heard me talk about how much I’d wanted to fly all by myself and I finally did. But hearing it – hearing someone say they were happy I finally accomplished this – made me smile. “Text me when you land,” he added.

The security line was not long, and after we were done at TSA I did the same things I’d done at Midway Airport in Chicago – I stopped at the family style restroom, I filled up my water bottle, and I got assisted to the gate.

The only thing that made me nervous this time was when the airline assistant informed me that the gate agent wasn’t currently present. “Okay, but…but someone needs to know that I’m doing pre-boarding and need assistance,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. When I get too nervous and anxious, my tone tends to come off more forceful than I intend, and I wanted to prevent that.

“They will,” he assured me. “And I’m going to put you in this wheelchair, because they’re more likely to notice you, and they’ll know you need help.” He did just that, and five minutes later, he approached me again to tell me that he spoke with the gate agent who would be coming to talk to me shortly.

The agent approached me a few minutes later just to check on me. He asked how I was doing and assured me that he knew I needed assistance. When it was time to pre-board, I held the agent’s arm as he guided me down the jetway and on to the plane. From there the flight attendant took over and led me to my seat.

The flight home felt short. Maybe that’s because I slept through more than half of it! When we landed, I sent a text to my parents to let them know. My mom texted back to let me know she was at baggage claim. I was the last one off the plane, and the “meet and assist” (what they call the person helping you at the gate) was chatty and full of energy, even for the late hour of 11pm.

We talked about the weather, my trip, and my first solo flight. All the chatter made the walk from the gate seem shorter than it was, and my mom was there at baggage claim waiting for me with a cheery, “Hey! We missed you!”

I am publishing this having been home over a month already , and the feeling of liberation still hasn’t left me. Flying alone has always been a goal of mine, and at the very start of 2020, I checked it off my list. I hope that means things can only go up from here, and I’m in for a good rest of the year.

Back in the 1980s, between Beth’s eyes and Gus’ genetic predicament, our little family used a lot of health care. We had insurance, thank goodness, but we still ended up with substantial debt that took years to resolve. In our 20s then, we’d learned early what it’s like to structure our lives around the top priority: Remaining insured.

So I was a big single-payer advocate back then. On moral grounds, yes, because I think everyone should have confidence that they’ll receive decent health care, and they shouldn’t live in fear of not having insurance. But from a capitalist’s point of view, I also think the case for single payer is also strong. Because, while some folks are calling it socialist, you don’t have to be an economist to see we are wasting enormous sums of money on inefficiencies inherent in our splintered mess. That’s a lot of money that could be used differently. Like, oh, infrastructure, private investment, you know, all that stuff. (A recent study supports the argument of prospective overall savings, though, like all such things, there are doubters.)

But then, there’s the rub. No matter how I feel about it, the insurance industry and the health care industry are enormous. That’s reality, however we got here. And they employ a lot of people. Even if the political will materializes, the task of managing and coordinating the switchover is fraught.

And that’s why I no longer support single-payer, at least in the short run. I do support universal coverage. And those are two different things.

Most countries that offer universal coverage do not rely on single payer. They rely on fairly heavily regulated insurance industries. I’m talking about the cool-cat European joints that American liberals regularly point to as good examples.

We have an enormous and inefficient health care machine that includes a giant private insurance industry. To me, that points to moving toward a West European model—Switzerland, Germany, etc.—choosing what works from all of them. To me, that looks doable. It wouldn’t upend an enormous industry, at least not in the short run—and if it includes a public option, it could also be an avenue for gradual and orderly transition to single payer without economic calamity. People could gradually migrate on their own to the public option, and not be yanked out of whatever they have now.

On the other hand, flipping a switch and shazaam! Single payer! That seems impractical, a potential nightmare. (Anyone remember the Obamacare web markets rollout?) This isn’t like Medicare, where it was a from-scratch deal. It was new, not “instead of.”

Which brings me to Bernie Sanders and at least some of his followers. To that contingent, I’m a centrist sellout. To them, there is only ONE WAY, which reeks of a sort of progressive fundamentalism. And at times, an air of moral superiority. There is no acknowledgment that we both want universal coverage, and that’s a very large common ground. There is no acknowledgement of my experience — with the health care systems but also in various workplaces — informing my view.

As for Bernie, he seems to bristle when asked for mechanical details. And he doesn’t have any proxies out there supplying those details either. At least in a way that gives me confidence. He does have true belief—and as I said, in theory, I agree. If he exhibited some awareness of the practicalities of his plan, and how to address them, I might get on board.

In practice, that certitude he exhibits scares me. I suppose it’s exactly what appeals to some of his supporters. To me that certitude is, in itself, a disqualification. Because it seems to be his standard operating procedure.

But I have other bones to pick with him, and for want of another term, Bernieism. One is the long-running bull about the Democratic party sabotaging him. Ask yourself this: Why, when he eschewed the Democratic Party his entire career, regularly dumped on it, did he decide to run as a Democrat? Why put up with all those people you say are hacks? Why not a new party?

Because, well, he gets a ton of benefits. Like mailing lists and infrastructure and all that, you know, practical stuff. Infrastructure that all those people he and his supporters revile so much worked hard to build and maintain. Welcome Bernie! We’re glad to have someone who likes to urinate on us!

And don’t get me started on his hypocrisy regarding delegates and superdelegates. He’s completely flipped from his 2016 position. (Thanks, Elizabeth Warren, for calling that out.)

Will I vote for him if he’s the nominee? As early and often as I am able.

But I’ll have to hold my nose. And if you are a Sanders supporter, and it doesn’t turn out the way you’d like, I hope you’ll do the same.

Meanwhile, how’s Whitney? Loyal blog readers know we delivered my retired Seeing Eye dog to her retirement home this past December. Her new/old owner Elisse (she and her family were the volunteers who raised Whitney as a puppy) has been keeping us up to date with the retiree’s adventures in her new home in green, hilly and quiet rural Pennsylvania and generously agreed to let us share her most recent update here as a guest blog.

by Elisse Pfeiffer

Good morning Beth.

Whitney’s living large.

Last night, I decided to read through your blogs, only to find out that you broke your wrist – ouch! I’m so sorry that happened to you and wish you a speedy recovery! I was also quite happy to hear that your time with Luna is going well. It must be a bit of a challenge to adjust to a new puppy, but at this point, you’re probably a pro. She looks like a sweet dog.

As for your old “puppy,” well, she is just fine and loving life. She follows me everywhere, but I’m okay with that. She is a very happy and loving dog, and as always, I’m amazed at her level of intelligence. We’ve been to a variety of parks here, and she’s doing well off-leash (as long as there is no water in which to swim, that is). When she is leashed, she is learning my stride, which is probably slower than yours and definitely slower than hers, but I’m in no rush. Actually, I think walking with Whitney has increased my pace which isn’t a bad thing! This coming week, I’ll be bringing her to the Jersey Shore. It’ll be a little cold still, but I’m anxious to see how she reacts to the sand and the surf and the seagulls. She’s become my little sidekick/companion and I love it! I will never be able to thank you enough for giving her back to me.

My older daughter is staying with us for a few months until she leaves for the Air Force in May, so Whitney has not only another human, but also a new cat in the house. At first, the cat was afraid of Whitney, and poor Whitney didn’t know what to do with the furry creature, but now, they are oblivious towards each other. I guess we’ll have this cat until my daughter gets a permanent location, but he’s a good cat so I don’t mind, and apparently, neither does Whitney.

I’ll close here for now. I just wanted to keep in touch and let you know that Whitney is doing well. Again, good luck with your recovery, and regards to Mike!

Hugs,

Elisse