We moved from Urbana to Geneva, Illinois in 1994, and during our three years there I worked for the Kane County Cougars (a minor league baseball team) in their group sales office. The staff was young, and refreshingly unimpressed by my blindness. Amy Mason, a recent college grad, was the one who hired me. She figured I could help answer the phone, route calls, and take ticket orders.

On my first day on the job, however, we discovered one small problem: their phone system used lights, rather than sounds, to indicate which line was ringing. Unfazed, Amy had me make outgoing calls instead. The kind of calls they hated making—contacting groups who hadn’t paid up, or trying to interest schools in special promotions. I didn’t much like these calls, either, but I figured it was a fair bargain. Free game tickets weren’t bad either!

That’s Flo throwing out the first pitch at the Cougars game on her 80th birthday. (Photo by Cheryl May.)

I made a lot of friends at the Cougars during my years there, but I felt especially close to Amy. During one summer when our then-rambunctious-now responsible-nephew Robbie was staying with us, Amy took him out of my hair by putting him to work as an intern. She was a talented athlete and had played high school and college sports, and she cheered on my great-niece Anita, who was a toddler then, to become the basketball superstar she is today. Flo turned 80 in 1996, and when we all decided to invite friends and family to join us in celebrating FloFest in a big tent at a Cougars game, Amy was instrumental in making everything go smoothly, including making arrangements for Flo to throw out the first pitch. It rolled right over the plate.

I sold a lot of tickets for the Cougars, and during my time there I helped the group sales office expand their schools program. Working with a minor league team’s energetic, upbeat and goofy staff helped rebuild a lot of the confidence that had slipped away when I lost my sight.

Today Amy Mason is the Director of Ticket Services and Community Relations for the Kane County Cougars, and the Cougars are now the A Team for the Chicago Cubs. The Pitch and Hit Club is honoring Amy with their Woman of the Year Award tomorrow night, and Mike, Whitney and I will be in the audience cheering her on.

Some other notables will be there as well: former White Sox manager Tony La Russa and Hall of Famer Rich “Goose” Gossage are the headliners, and the entertainment will be provided by, who else? My beloved baseball organist Nancy Faust. The biggest star there, of course, will be Amy Mason. She still stands out as a model for how, with a little patience and very little fanfare, hiring someone with a disability can work out well. For everybody.

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.

Flo’s voice rang out from the phone early yesterday morning. “Your friend Jenny Fischer’s picture is on the front page of the Tribune! It’s a really big picture, too!” The photo in the Chicago Tribune accompanied a story about the success of some independent bookstores, and it opened describing the store where my longtime friend Jenny works: The Bookstore in Glen Ellyn, Ill.

The store is one of about 50 independent retail booksellers in the Chicago area. Not too long ago, all of them and the other roughly 4,000 independents across the U.S. were supposed to vaporize. By some estimates, more than 2,000 did.

But about 1,500 survived. And through a mix of obsessive attention to detail, lean inventory, an embrace of technology and resourceful salesmanship, they hang in there.

The photo shows Jenny helping a customer with a book selection, something she has enjoyed doing for years. Long before she even started at The Bookstore, I always knew to go to Jenny for a book recommendation. We met when I was 13 years old. I tagged along with a friend to a slumber party at Jenny’s. She was Jenny Foucre than, and I’ll never forget walking into their house. Her father was a handsome man with an exotic first name: Jacques. Her mother, Suzanne, was a stand-out blonde. I was mesmerized. Books were everywhere. The shelves went from floor to ceiling, packed with so many titles that the books spilled out onto end tables and countertops. “My mom loves to read,” Jenny shrugged.

As years went by I got to know Jenny’s mother and father and all the other colorful members of her family. I became especially close to Jenny’s sister Jill. The two of them stuck with me when I lost my sight. They took a 150-mile drive with their kids to visit after Gus was born – they were worried about me, and with good reason. Over the years they’ve invited me to parties, welcomed me at their kitchen tables for late night talks, and best of all: they’ve always treated me the same way they did before I lost my sight. Our children are all grown now, and when we meet these days we share a bottle of wine, catch up and talk…about books.

That's Jenny with Hanni and me at The Bookstore in Glen Ellyn.

The Tribune article quoted some expert saying bookstores are still the most powerful way to connect a reader with a book. He also predicted that the independent bookstores that have survived the recession will continue to thrive. From the story:

That’s pretty much how Shannon Stevens perceived it one afternoon this week at The Bookstore. She and her daughter, Katherine, 4, were hanging out waiting for Dad to arrive on the train from work.

“They’ve survived because they’re responsive to their customers and the staff knows their books,” Stevens said.

Jenny arranged a book signing at The Bookstore when my memoir, Long Time, No See came out. The line was out the door. Her review of my memoir for Book Sense helped put Long Time, No See on the map. She has lugged books to countless events in Chicago and the suburbs for me to sell and sign. She drove me to Springfield to the Illinois Library Association conference when Hanni and Beth: Safe & Sound debuted. She flew with me to New York City and guided me through the 2007 Book Expo at Javits.

Jenny and her sister Jill have been wonderful friends to me over the years, and I have their parents Suzanne and Jacques to thank for that. Suzanne died unexpectedly in 2009. We all miss her, but her spirit lives on through her daughters — and through their love of books. These days when people ask me if my friend Jenny still works at that little independent bookstore in Glen Ellyn, I just shrug my shoulders and say of course she does. “Jenny loves to read.”

When I first heard that iPhones came with VoiceOver for the blind, I figured Apple must have done this just to get some good PR. I mean, come on. How could a blind person possibly use a touchpad?

Then I went to the Seeing Eye to train with Harper. All the young people (well, all the people under age 35, I guess) there used, you guessed it: iPhones. Their phones murmured text messages to them while we were waiting in the lounge. Carlos regularly updated his Facebook status while he and I commuted in the Seeing Eye van together. He and Marcus would point their phones at their dogs from time to time to take photos, then manipulate their phones to send the photos home to loved ones.

My classmate snapped this photo of Harper on his iPhone and sent it to Mike.

I worked on my knitting while we gathered for Seeing Eye lectures in the evenings. These iPhone kids spent that down time discussing their favorite apps. “Do you guys use Color Identifier?” They showed each other how to point the iPhone’s camera at things to hear it call out colors. The iPhone being the iPhone, of course, the color names were fun – and specific. “Crimson lipstick,” the robot’s voice would say. “Jukebox yellow.” “Moon Mist.“ I was intrigued. I wasn’t sold, however, until one of the students put the phone in my dirty little hands.

Marcus Engel and I were in the student lounge, killing time before it was our turn to do a route with our trainer. “Wanna try my iPhone,” he asked, placing the little gadget in my palm. “I’ll show you how to dial a number. Do you ever use ‘Tell Me’?” I do.

“Tell Me” is a service that yet another blind friend, the wonderful George Abbott, told me about in 2005. The White Sox were gearing up for the World Series back then, and I was having trouble keeping up with all the other teams in the running. You call 800-555-TELL for free and an automatic voice gives you the time, the weather, news and sports updates. Marcus was wise to choose “Tell Me” as a way to start me on the talking iPhone. I am so familiar with “Tell Me” that I felt comfortable giving it a try, and I knew what it should sound like if it worked. It was also reassuring to know that if I made a mistake it wouldn’t cost Marcus any money.

“Tap the screen to see where you are on the number pad,” Marcus said.” Double tap it if it’s the number you want.” I was expecting this to be a frustrating and time-consuming ordeal. To my amazement, I picked it up immediately. All I had to do was run my finger across the screen, and the voice called out “three!'” I moved my finger down. “Nine!” To the left. “Eight!” Tapped twice, and I was on my way. Spatial information. Imagine.

After I enterred all the numbers, Marcus told me to go to the bottom of the screen to push a button. I didn’t have to memorize special key commands to get there. I could just drag my finger to the bottom, and the iPhone called out the button when I found it. Tap twice, and the button was pressed.

Within 30 seconds, I’d connected to “Tell Me” and knew what the weather was supposed to be in Chicago that day. Warmer than in New jersey! Marcus brought up a web site next, explaining how I could swipe three fingers to scroll, hold down one location and tap another. There’s a learning curve to VoiceOver, he said. “But it’s so worth it.”

“There’s this cool rotor you activate by turning your fingers like a dial. You can double triple-finger tap to toggle speech, and a triple triple-finger tap…” Just then our trainer returned. Time to go out with our dogs. I welcomed the interruption. I’d learned enough. I was already sold.

Mike was thrilled to hear I’d finally come around to the iPhone – he’s been trying to get me to “go Mac” for years. The Apple store on Michigan Avenue here in Chicago has a full-time associate (they don’t like to call them salespeople) who is blind, and they offer regular classes to teach VoiceOver applications. Harper and I returned to Chicago on December 15. Best to wait until after the holiday rush before tackling the Apple Store.

The rush is over, and once we find some free time we’ll head to Michigan Avenue to make the big purchase. Only question now is…do I go with Verizon, or AT&T?

An NPR story called Obama: A New Force in Publishing describes how our president is helping authors sell books.

When he’s seen reading a book on a plane or carrying one in his hand during his travels, it can create a stir. When Obama was photographed holding Fred Kaplan’s Lincoln: The Biography of a Writer, the book’s sales bumped immediately, and requests for media interviews with the author surged.

Now, that’s the sort of surge I’d love to experience! So here’s my plan: I’m going to send a copy of Hanni and Beth: Safe & Sound to the schools the Obama kids go to. Both Obama daughters attend Sidwell Friends School, but Sidwell’s lower school is in Bethesda, Maryland — that’s where Sasha attends second grade. Malia is in fifth grade, and that’s part of the middle school, located on the same campus as the high school in Northwest Washington.

I’ll send a letter along with each book, explaining the visits Hanni and I make to schools. I’ll tell them about our dear friends in Alexandria, Virginia. “We visit Pick and Hank a lot,” I’ll write.” Next time we’re in town, Hanni and I would love to come visit your students.” I suppose the Sidwell Friends School gets barraged with offers like this, but am hoping my letter might stand out:

• I live in Chicago, and that’s where the Obama girls are from.
• it’s rumored Melee and Sasha will be getting their new dog as an Easter present tomorrow, so dogs will be all the rage at the school.
• Because I can’t see, I won’t know which of the kids in the school are the Obamas. This means I won’t gawk.

I came up with this great idea (to send a book to Sidwell) months ago, when the Obamas first announced that the girls would be attending that school. But as Thomas Edison liked to say, “Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.” So far I haven’t worked up one bead of sweat composing the letter, much less addressing the envelopes or asking Hanni to guide me to the post office to slide the packets into the mail. Now that I’ve put this idea out to the public in this blog post, though, I have to do it, right?

My fantasy, of course, is that Sidwell asks Hanni & me to come. Malia and Sasha love our presentation so much that they take Safe & Sound home from the school library. Their dad greets them on the White House lawn when they return from school, and they hand the book over to him before receiving their hugs. Snap! Snap! Snap! The cameras start clicking, and next thing you know President Obama is pictured hugging his girls with one arm, the other arm hugging a copy of Hanni and Beth: Safe & Sound. This could be bigger than…well…bigger than Oprah.

From the NPR story:

Perhaps, Seroy (Jeff Seroy, a publicist for the publisher Farrar, Straus and Giroux} likes to say — only half in jest — Obama will have the kind of influence on book sales that his supporter Oprah Winfrey has had.

“I think there’s room for two Oprahs, and I think if there is a new Oprah, Oprah will be happy that Obama is the new Oprah,”