The day before Whit and I were in Highland Park, kids got to test out wheelchairs in the gym.

I’ve written about Patty O’Machel here before. A writer, special needs advocate and the mother of a teenager who has cerebral palsy, Patty has started her own business to encourage other schools to use the disability awareness curriculum she developed years ago for her daughter’s elementary school. Educating Outside the Lines launched last year, and already many Chicago suburban school districts have added the program to their curriculum. Prosthetic legs, wheelchairs and white canes can be scary to kids, so Patty developed her Educating Outside the Lines program to allow children to experience these “helping tools” hands-on and meet some people who use them. Example: before Whitney and I arrived in Highland Park for our school visits Tuesday, the third graders had used a Braille typewriter to write in Braille. Patty’s program serves to demystify differences, erase isolation, combat bullying.

It’s a great program for the kids who participate, and it’s been great for me, too — Patty has asked my Seeing Eye dog Whitney and me to visit schools we’ve never been to before! And that, in turn, is good news for you Safe & Sound blog readers who enjoy hearing questions kids ask during my school presentations. Here’s a sampling from the third-graders Whitney and I met at Braeside and Ravinia elementary schools in Highland Park, Illinois this past Tuesday:

• How do you get into a car?
• Do you remember what things looked like when you were a little kid and could still see?
• Do you have lots of friends who are blind?
• How do you swim if you can’t see where you’re going?
• Can you play sports if you’re blind?
• Did you ever drown?
• So after you get in the car, how do you drive, I mean, like, there are all those buttons so how can you tell those buttons and how can you know which one to push?
• How old are you?
• How do you get on the plane if pets aren’t allowed on planes?
• So if a friend comes to pick you up, how do you know if they’re there and it’s the right car?

Right then a boy named Alistair raised his hand. “I have an idea for you, Beth!” he exclaimed. “How about if you teach your dog to bark just once if its a friend? And then two barks would mean it’s a taxi, and three barks…”. What a sweet little guy. I hated to cut him off, but hey, we had to get going — there was still another school to visit. “Alistair! You’re a genius!” I gushed, making a point to thank him before breaking the bad news. “One problem, though,” I said with a sigh. “Seeing Eye dogs aren’t allowed to bark.”

Whitney and I are visiting two more elementary schools in Highland Park this Wednesday, so look for more questions in an upcoming post. In the meantime, you can check out this short video to see the positive impact Educating Outside the Lines has on the kids who participate, and Link to the Educating Outside the Lines web site for more information on ways to bring ability programs to schools.

My first recollections of the TV quiz show Jeopardy! date back to watching TV with my mom, who was an avid watcher when she could catch it—there was no Tivo then. I faintly remember that perhaps it came on late in the afternoon? Well, Esther was pretty damn good at it (she worked crosswords during commercial breaks) and I remember being pretty damn frustrated that I couldn’t hold a candle. Until I could—barely—and that was something of a rite of passage.

Jeopardy! and I drifted apart for many years, until the days when Beth and I and Gus were lucky in the late 90s to live on the Outer Banks of North Carolina and had the time to turn it on pretty regularly. I got pretty big britches competing against myself in the living room, and went so far as signing up for a test and audition to be held the nearest site—Washington, D.C. held that distinction.

That’s the Jeopardy Terminator.

I put on a sport jacket and tried to adopt my smartest looking facial expression—and soon gave up on that. I made the four-hour drive to a hotel I can’t remember in the least. More than 100 of us would-be contestants were herded into a banquet hall to be briefed on the process.

First, we took a test en masse—all of us got a written test. Then, we all waited while Jeopardy! staff graded our exams. Afterward, one by one, the names of people who had passed were called, and each was led to another room. I was one of them.

The audition room was just another hotel meeting room with makeshift contestant stands. We were given clickers, and a staff member read the clues out loud, just as Alex Trebek would if we made it to the show. I did get in a couple answers, but heck if I remember what they were. We also went through a mock get-to-know-you interview of the kind Trebek does.

In the end I made the cut. Which only meant that I’d go into a pool of others from around the country who’d also made the cut. After that, it was pretty much a lottery. I was active for about 18 months, but I never got the call.

Again, Alex and I drifted apart until recently. Because I’ve been working from home more, I sometimes get to turn it on (I still don’t Tivo). And, I got the bug, so last year I signed up to be notified for the next online test.

I’ve felt that the quality of contestants and difficulty of the questions has gone up since I qualified decades ago. Beth says, as diplomatically as she can (which is not very), that it might have more to do with my decline. OK, it’s probably a little of both, but I’m pretty sure that making an online test available results in a whole lot more people passing that first hurdle—or, if they grade on a curve, that means the overall quality of the pool probably increases. (So just shut it, Beth.)

Well, last week, I took the online test. Fifty questions, 15 seconds to answer each—it flies by. So much so that, you really couldn’t cheat with internet searches. By the time you read and comprehended the question, there just isn’t time. (It would not preclude, however, having someone look over your shoulder and help.)

I have no idea how I did—except there were two easy ones that I somehow had a brain cramp on, thinking of the answer too late. Of course, those are the only two I remember.

Anyone who passes will be invited to the next rehearsal/interview in their preferred city.

As many of you probably know, Jeopardy! has been in the news lately: the current contestant has been tearing up the records—he’s already over $400,000 in just over a week. And he’s not just winning—he’s burying people. (Did I mention he and I both went to the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign?)

I’ve gotten to watch him a few times—it’s at once spectacular and sort of sad. Spectacular because the guy is a phenom. A freak. And sad because he’s mowing through people who went through all that trouble to get on the show just to get completely destroyed. Smart, nice people who earn decent scores and don’t have a chance.

Meantime, I don’t know whether I passed the new online or not. I figure if I don’t hear soon, that it’s like not hearing from an employer after submitting a resume. Still, I think it would be a blast to get on the show.

But not until that Jeopardy! destroyer is long gone.

Has it only been a week since last Monday? Well, yes, of course. But it feels like a lot’s happened.

The mayor-elect throws out the ceremonial first pitch.

For one, here in Chicago we’re going to have a new mayor. Lori Lightfoot, who was a long shot of a long shot when she announced her candidacy—won the election hands down. It was a landslide, and to me, a referendum on business as usual. I supported Lightfoot not because I’m certain she’s going to make everything right, but because for the first time, I had the chance to vote for someone completely unconnected to any of the usual Cook County/Chicago suspects. I felt I had to take that chance, and apparently, a lot of my fellow Chicagoans felt the same way.

Because Beth knows people (thanks Regan Burke and Evan Hatfield) we found ourselves at Lightfoot’s election night event at the Hilton, just a couple blocks away from our place.

It was a hoot. And a great crowd of what would’ve been, a few decades ago, a bunch of strange bedfellows. Chicago socialites, LGBT activists, black, white, and the best of all—a bunch of plumbers’ union members. Trust me, back in the day, that didn’t happen. The crowd mix was a reminder that for all the tumult, all that is wrong that needs to be set right, some things—by my lights—have gotten a lot better in my lifetime.

In all it was a happy, triumphant scene that bred optimism. It’s the best I’ve felt about things in Chicago in memory. Now, the work starts.

It’s kind of like opening day, when hope springs eternal, and the cold hard facts haven’t piled up to indicate otherwise. Speaking of which, thanks to the weather, our friends Don and Juli ended up with tickets to the White Sox home opener—the friends with whom they share season tickets couldn’t attend the rescheduled game.

Mike and Beth win, thanks to Don and Julie’s generosity.

And guess what?

The weather was great.

Lori Lightfoot threw out the first pitch, and did a fine job.

The White Sox won.

I’m sticking with the hope thing.

Know how actors prepare to do fight scenes on stage? I do!

Mike joined me for Goodman Theatre’s presentation of the Pulitzer Prize-winning Sweat yesterday — my Seeing Eye dog Whitney led me to the theater early to participate in the audio touch tour before the show.

Still time to see “Sweat” at Goodman Theatre.

Other touch tours I’ve been to in Chicago have introduced me to actors, directors, set designers, stage managers and costume designers, but this is the first touch tour I’ve been to where a stage combat director took the time to show us how a fight scene would play out on stage.

Fight choreographer Matt Hawkins came on stage after we’d been introduced to the Sweat actors. Matt explained how fight choreographers (sometimes called stage combat instructors) minimize the possibility of an actor hurting themselves or their fellow actors while doing stage combat. “It’s my job to make sure the actors understand they never have to make a move in a fight scene that makes them feel unsafe, we actually want them to speak up if they feel unsure or unsafe about a move.”

And with that, he turned around to the actors and asked if they’d feel comfortable going through the play’s fight scene and describing their actions out loud as they performed them for us. “We’ll do it very slowly,” he said. “You’ll take your places, and when I say go you’ll say your character’s name, describe the action you’re doing as you perform it, and react just as you will during the performance,” he said. “You all comfortable with this?” Sounded to me like they all said yes, but just to make sure, Matt called the name of each actor one by one to ask if they were comfortable. Each said yes, and then Matt said “Go!”

”Jason pushing Oscar in the chest!” the actor playing Jason says, and we hear Oscar let out a painful “Oomph!” We hear Chris on the side yelling for them to stop, and then Jason pipes up. “Jason picks up baseball bat!” Then the actor playing Stan says, “Stan  grabs hold of Jason’s arm to pull him back!” Jason says,” Jason shoves Stan’s arm backward,” and Stan says, “Stan falls to his knees!” we hear a thump. Jason actor says “Jason picks up baseball bat, pulls it backward and swings it at Oscar’s stomach!” we hear Oscar moan. “Oscar falls on Stan,” the actor playing Oscar says, and then we hear another actor moaning. Must be Stan…

It continued from there. Before this sample scene started, Matt told us TV and film have convinced viewers that there’s a certain sound that accompanies each blow, but in real life, punches do not make much sound. Spoiler alert here: A woman on stage who is not in the midst of the brawl supplies the sound effect. “Audiences expect a sound,” Matt said with a shrug. “So Jessie times each blow and claps with every punch.”

My description here cannot do this all justice. I fear I may leave readers thinking Steam is a violent play. It is not. The entire fight scene probably took 8 seconds, and it’s the only physical violence in the entire play.

But it is an extremely important scene.

I’ve been to plays with fight scenes before, but at those, all I could do when the fight started was close my eyes, sit back, and wait until the scene was over. I’d have to wait until after the play to ask the sighted friend with me to explain what wwent down.

The touch tour yesterday showed me, an audience member who can’t see, how the scene was choreographed. It also explained how much actors in a fight scene on stage have to do to stay safe. It was fascinating.

Seems to me that playwrights who write fight scenes into their plays must do so for a reason. Maybe a fight scene helps tell the story when words are not enough? Thanks to the audio touch tour sneak preview I got for Sweat yesterday, I was able to take in the message of the entire play. Thank you, touch tour. Thank you, brave actors. Thank you, fighting instructor. Thank you, Goodman Theater Accessibility Services.

Sweat has been extended to April 21, 2019, and Chicago Tribune theater critic Chris Jones says the Chicago performance was better than the one he saw on Broadway years ago. Get more information and buy tickets here.

Whitney and I were getting ready for our presentation to the second-graders at Chicago’s Francis Xavier Warde school cafeteria Monday morning when the first 25 arrived. “Sit real close,” their teacher told them. “We need to make room for the others.” The kids in front were close enough to strike up a conversation with me as we waited for the rest of the second-graders to arrive.

Watch Whitney lead me out of class.

“We read your book!” one exclaimed. Another piped up. “It was good!” Don’t ask me why, but their compliments made me think of that question a fourth-grader had asked me the week before, during a school visit in Michigan. “That picture on the cover,” I asked the Chicago second-graders. “Does it look like us?” After a chorus of yeses and yeas, one little eight-year-old pipsqueak spoke up on her own. “I’ve gotta be honest with you,” she said. “You look a little older.”

Ouch.

The other second-graders started streaming in then — there were 100 in all — and I gave my short presentation before getting to the best part: the questions from the kids. Some examples:

• How can you write books if you can’t see?
• How do you know what you’re wearing?
• How do you drive?
• Do you walk everywhere?
• If you can’t see red or green, how do you know when it’s time to cross the street?
• How long did it take you to get here from your house?
• How do you bake bread if you can’t see?
• What breed was Hanni?
• What breed is this one?
• How far do you like to walk with your dog every day?
• If you were somewhere with your dog where you could use the stairs or take an elevator, which one would you pick?
• What is your favorite breed?
• What if there was an escalator?
• Do you get to name your dogs yourself?
• Does your husband help you cook?
• What made you go blind?
• How do you know what you’re wearing?
• What is your favorite thing to bake?
• How far away is your house from our school?
• Can you get dressed by yourself?
• How do you swim if you can’t see?
• When you’re baking, how do you, like, measure stuff if you can’t see?
• Do doctors have a way so you won’t be blind anymore?

I answered that last question with two words. “not yet,” I said, following up by assuring the thoughtful little girl that even though I can’t see, my life is pretty colorful: I am part of a huge loving family, my husband is crazy smart and always there for me when I need help, I read and write books, teach writing classes, swim laps, bake bread, play piano, go to plays, meet with friends, take long walks.

That last bit, about taking walks, gave me an idea. Maybe it was time to lift the harness on Whitney’s back,demonstrate how a Seeing Eye dog works.

And so, for our grand finale, I commanded “Whitney, outside!” The kids watched in awe as my magnificent nine-year-old Seeing Eye dog led me safely around chairs, bookshelves and children sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor to the door out of the room. I turned around to wave goodbye, and we left to thunderous applause from the kids. Out in the hall, I got down on the floor to give my dog a hug. “Good girl, Whitney!” I whispered. “We still got it.”