This past Saturday Beth and I took the Amtrak to Champaign, Illinois to attend a memorial service for our very dear friend, Jim Spencer. Jim came from a big family, all of whom are well known around Champaign-Urbana—Beth and I have always joked that if you live in Champaign-Urbana, you’re either a Spencer, related to one, or know one. Plus, though “pillar of the community” is kind of a shopworn phrase, Jim truly was.

Judy Ciambotti and Jim Spencer. Taken at their daughter Sunny’s wedding.

And indeed, a throng of people turned out at the Virginia Theatre, one of those classic, downtown palaces that opened in 1921 and eventually deteriorated until 2000 when the Champaign Park District bought it. Today it dazzles like the day it opened—thanks in large part to the work of Jim Spencer. Jim was the head of the Champaign Park District department that oversaw facilities and maintenance. He led the years-long restoration of the Virginia, which is now thriving with local and touring acts, and is the home of the Ebertfest annual film festival (originally called “Roger Ebert’s Overlooked Film Festival.”) The Virginia was his crowning achievement, and a lasting legacy.

That’s a statue of Roger Ebert just outside the Virginia Theatre.

As such, the Virginia was exactly right for the occasion.

It was, like these things are, bittersweet. On one hand, we got to see Jim’s wife Judy, their children, the veritable Champaign-Urbana Spencer nation. It was great to be with them all, but the reason we were together hung in the air.

Members of the family got the service rolling. Jim and Judy’s daughter Gia Ciambotti sang (an it was not your typical, say, hymn—Gia is a professional backup singer and has toured with the likes of Bruce Springsteen; she included a song she’d written).

At one point, members of the audience were asked whether they wanted to tell their own stories. I wanted to say something. I’m usually not at a loss for words, as readers know. I don’t much like public speaking, though—I get a little white knuckled. And, to be honest, I wasn’t exactly sure what to say. Jim and Judy were long-time neighbors and friends, back in the days when Beth and Gus and I lived in our vintage house on tree-lined California Street in Urbana. And the truth was, as I sat there, I didn’t know how to do him justice.

And so what I did instead was think about those years on California. How, after a mutual friend introduced us to those cool people across the street, we’d wander over to sit on their wraparound front porch, or for dinner, or for no reason. We always rolled Gus to the Fourth of July Parade route, and then afterward gather at Jim and Judy’s, with their vast family, kids, friends of kids, and talk about how freakin’ hot it is in Champaign every Fourth of July.

We always felt welcome and enjoyed Jim and Judy’s little backyard nation, but we did, jealously, sometimes want them for ourselves. On those infrequent happenings, the four of us would talk about everything, especially music, politics, and baseball. And they’d regale us with stories of how they met when they both lived in San Francisco in the Janis Joplin days (Judy knew Joplin!), and the bands they’d played in back in the day Jim played bass and Judy was up front singing.

But those opportunities were rare. Even those times that we thought it’d be just the four of us, we’d find someone new at the Jim and Judy house. It became kind of a running joke between us all. It might be one of their kids visiting, or a boomerang kid needing a little shelter from some tough times. Or a friend of one of their kids who needed a place to stay for awhile. Or someone going back to school. Or an adult grandchild finding his way who just needed a base of operations for awhile.

We met a lot of people visiting with Jim and Judy.

And you know, we saw every single one of them last Saturday. The only one missing was Jim.

A week ago today my sisters accompanied me to Peach Plains Elementary School in Grand Haven, Michigan—my Seeing Eye dog Whitney and I were giving a presentation to Brenda Wittkopp’s fourth-grade class there.

That’s Bryce and me in front of his class.

Since Hanni and Beth: Safe & Sound is a picture book, some schools figure the older kids won’t be interested in what we can show them. But guess what? Older kids are as curious about what it’s like to be blind as the younger ones are. That’s especially true when the blind lady doing the presentation is related to someone in their class: my sister Bev’s grandson Bryce is a fourth grader at Peach Plains, and he joined Whitney and me up front to help during the Q&A portion of our presentation (without being able to see, I can’t tell which kids have their hands up). Watching our great-nephew in action made Sister’s Weekend last week even more special. Some of the questions:

• Did you have Whitney when she was a little puppy?
• What day is her birthday?
• Did Hanni die of age?
• I was wondering when you started writing – was it before you were blind, or after?
• How did you meet your illustrator?
• Do you remember colors?
• Why do Seeing Eye dogs wear harnesses instead of just using the leash?
• How long do they have to train the dogs?
• What is your favorite color?
• What type of dog food does she eat, and who helps you find it?
• Do you think your picture on the cover looks like you?
• I think this might be a sort of dumb question, but is there Braille for colors?
• How do you go grocery shopping?
• How do you make your bread?
• What type of dog was Hanni?
• When you write, is there a certain thing that you do?
• On your computer, is there Braille on the keyboard?
• How old is your dog now?
• Do you know how old she is in human years?

“Older than me,” was my answer to that last one, and then two boys came up front after the presentation, each with a question I’d never been asked by a schoolkid before. “What’s your favorite NFL team?” was one of them. My sisters had to explain later that the kids were heading out for recess, and that boy had a Detroit Lions football in his hands. The question from the other boy left me leaving the presentation with a smile: “Can you tell me your bread recipe?” I do know it by heart, I told him, but it would take too long to recite. “How about I send it to Ms. Wittkopp for you?” Which is what I’m going to do right now, after I hit the “publish” button on this blog post.

If you follow the Safe & Sound blog, you probably recognize my sister Marilee’s name. She and her family have lived in Florida nearly 25 years now, but she made it up here for our annual Finke sisters weekend and is here with a guest post to tell you all about it.

by Marilee Amodt

This past weekend I traveled by planes, trains and automobiles to sisters weekend. Every year we plan a getaway with our sisters — we’ve been to Anacortes, Washington, the Outer Banks of North Carolina, Louisville, Atlanta, Orlando, and Chicago. This year we were in Michigan. Our sister Bev lives near the coast of Lake Michigan and arranged for us to stay for a chilly weekend in a condo near the center of downtown Grand Haven. And as our mom Flo would say–we had a ball!

At 6 a.m. Sunday morning, Bev drove her three very tired sisters to the Amtrak Station in Holland, Michigan. When we arrived in Chicago, Beth and I kissed Cheryl goodbye at Union Station. She took a commuter train back to her home in the suburbs, and I spent one more day in Chicago with Beth and Mike before returning to Orlando…and warmer weather.

Mary Ann Thebus, who plays Sister Aloysius. Photo by Claire Demos

On Sunday afternoon Beth had arranged for the two of us to see the play Doubt: A Parable, presented by the Gift Theatre Ensemble at the Steppenwolf Theater. Set in a Catholic school in the Bronx in 1964, the drama is about a nun who is the school principal and suspects a young priest of having improper relations with one of the male students.

Beth had made plans to attend the touch tour before the play (expressly for people who are visually impaired), and when we arrived we were warmly greeted by the Director of Audience Experience at Steppenwolf  Theatre Company, Evan Hatfield. Evan developed the accessibility programming and services at Steppenwolf, and during the touch tour he introduced us to the four actors in the ensemble so we could hear their voices and learn a little bit about the character each one plays in Doubt. Next, audio describer Bridget Melton described the very small stage and some of the props. After a few questions, it was time for the show.

Evan came by to give Beth an ear piece device so that she could hear the audio description during the play. She told me she doesn’t always use it, but she does appreciate having it available. One example: the audio describer reads the program before the play begins, so while we were waiting Beth put the earpiece in. By chance, she caught the part where Bridget was reading a description of Mary Ann Thebus, who plays Sister Aloysius. She took out the ear piece then to poke me and whisper, “It says she’ll be reading from the script some of the time.”

Hmm…Mary Ann Thebus did say she was 86 years old during the Audio tour, but there was no mention of problems memorizing her lines. I had neglected to pick up the Playbill on my way in, so all I had was the information I’d heard at the Touch Tour, and what Beth had heard during the audio description.

The lights go out and soon we see Sister Aloysius flipping through some papers on her desk. So I am thinking, “Oh, she has the script there in case she needs it — that’s what Beth was telling me.” But Mary Ann Thebus carried the script in every scene. A lot of the time she was standing, reading directly from the page. I even caught a glance of a page (that’s how close we were to the stage) with her lines highlighted. I found it a bit distracting.

After the play, I picked up a Playbill. On our cab ride home I found an insert and read it to Beth:

At The Gift, we believe in ensemble and in always striving for the impossible. When it became clear that our ensemble member Mary Ann Thebus’ consistent retention of the script was challenging due to side-effects from medication, we chose to see it as an opportunity to remind ourselves and Chicago what makes us who we are. At The School at Steppenwolf in 2001, Mary Ann first taught many of us who would go on to form The Gift what it means to be brave, to unabashedly own our truth, to fight, to slaughter vanity in pursuit of helping humanity through our art; with her performance in ‘Doubt’—assisted by the aid of a script—her master class continues. As her character Sister Aloysius says: “I will do what needs to be done.” May we all be so brave.

Back home at Mike and Beth’s I read a Chicago Tribune review where theater critic Chris Jones said he found the on-stage-script-reading distracting, too. So distracting, in fact, that he had trouble deciding what he was going to say about it in his review. He compliments the actress for her long successful career teaching and acting in Chicago Theater, and then it seems like a light bulb goes on over his head. “This is what I am going to say,” he ends up writing. “Gift was right: this was indeed an act of remarkable bravery from one of the great artists of the Chicago theater, carrying on through doubt as we all must do at times.” He credits Mary Ann Thebus for doing her job to the very best of her current abilities, “no doubt at considerable cost to herself. She is a working actor of the Chicago Theater.”

The performance was a perfect finale to my weekend in Grand Haven and Chicago. I am grateful for the time I spend with my talented and brave sisters. And I am grateful to have met Sister Aloysius a.k.a Mary Ann Thebus.

The Gift Theatre’s production of Doubt: A Parable
Continues this week at Steppenwolf’s 1700 Theatre, 1700 N. Halsted. Thursdays, Fridays at 8pm; Saturdays at 4pm and 8pm thru March 31, 2019. Link here to purchase tickets now — the Sunday matinee is already sold out. But hey, here’s a way you’ll never miss a Gift show: Link here to subscribe for the entire season.

Every other Wednesday, I head down around the corner for something that’s become a neighborhood ritual.

Bingo.

Seriously, BINGO!

It all started weeks ago when a favorite barkeep at our favorite local (Half Sour) pleaded with us to come in on an upcoming Wednesday evening. Half Sour has big second bar used for special events. That’s where Half Sour’s very first edition of Bingo with Betty would be, he’d be there bartending, and he was afraid that bingo wouldn’t draw any customers.

Well, I couldn’t let him down. It wasn’t mobbed but it wasn’t empty, either. And it was a hoot. One of Half Sour’s owners adopts her alter-ego, Betty, and calls the numbers with flair. “B12,” “my favorite vitamin.” Over time the regular players have absorbed these little tidbits, and they call out with Betty like the people in the audience recite lines during “Rocky Horror Picture Show.” (But none of us throws toast.)

Not even the polar vortex could stop Bingo with Betty. In fact, the place was absolutely packed—I think everyone in the ‘hood had cabin fever.

The prizes are spectacular. Er, unique’s a better word. Our friend Brad donated some exotic, imported-from-Europe…pocket Kleenex packages. There’s lots of things like the leg lamp in “Christmas Story.” But, a bottle of nice wine or liquor always makes the prize roster, as do Half Sour gift certificates (which cannot be used on the same night).

Mind you, it’s not a bingo crowd of blue hairs. No, this is a bingo crowd that looks like America looks! Young, old, straight, gay, black white, well, you get it. It’s rainbow bingo, I guess you could say.

My friend Patrick and I did have a moment early in our bingo careers, though. We’re about the same age. We were sitting and tending to our cards when Pat looked up and said to me, “Michael. Look what’s happened to us!”

I could only laugh.

If you’re in my neighborhood Wednesday, come by, it starts at 7:30.

Ali Krage’s last guest post was Part One of her two-part series on how a blind couple (Ali and her boyfriend Joe) arrange and enjoy a hotel stay on their own. Here’s Part Two.

by Alicia Krage

I was up at 6 a.m. the day we’d be heading to the hotel. I’d gone to sleep early the night before and was too excited to sleep anymore. I used VoiceOver, the speech synthesizer app on my iPhone, to text Joe shortly upon waking up in the morning, as per usual. “The day has finally arrived!” I texted, followed by a countdown until he would arrive at my house.

Joe arrived at 10 a.m., and we departed at about 11:45 for our Italian lunch. I used Voiceover to text the Uber driver that I am blind and to please come get me upon their arrival. The ride to lunch was short, and it was timed perfectly: it was almost 2 p.m. when we left the restaurant and headed to the hotel.

When we arrived at the hotel, I knew exactly where the front desk was. With my purse over my shoulder, my duffle bag in my left hand, my cane in my right and Joe holding my right arm, I proudly walked in and went to the front desk to check in. When I requested assistance to our room, an employee seemed happy to help us to the third floor.

Once we got to our room, our helper asked if we needed any more assistance. Not wanting to answer on behalf of both of us, I asked Joe if he needed anything. He said no. We both wanted to explore the room ourselves first. Before the employee left, though, I did ask, “Is there a special button on the phone to reach the front desk, or do I just press 0?” She confirmed what I had already suspected: I would just press 0.

We spent a couple hours exploring the room, chatting, and relaxing, since we knew we had some time to kill before my parents would be picking us up for dinner. When the time came,the walk from the room to the elevator was simple enough. The walk from the elevator to the front door went well, too. People who saw us passing offered assistance. It was nice knowing friendly people were around and willing to help out, but we were okay on our own: we had this.

When we got back to the hotel, we changed into our swim suits and made our way to the front desk. “Anything I can assist you with?” The receptionist asked. I said we were going to the pool area. “We’ll need some towels, and someone to escort us there.” I heard a friendly smile in her voice when she said she’d be happy to help.

“Do you want to hold my arm?” she asked me as she approached my left side. I smiled, knowing that she might already be familiar with the sighted guide technique. She led us to some chairs in the pool area, and I asked if it would be okay if we moved the chairs close to the railing so we could find our things. She said yes. She led us to the steps leading into the hot tub, and we moved the chairs close to the railing.

We enjoyed the pool and hot tub for about an hour and a half., and finding our stuff afterwards was as simple as I had expected. We climbed out, following the rail around to the right until the two chairs were there. After we were dry and ready to go, I used my cane and walked carefully to avoid slipping on the wet floors (or falling into the pool). It took us a little while to find the doors, but when we did, I proudly announced, “Here it is!”

The rest of the night and following morning were relaxing. I was only a few miles from home, and this felt like a mini vacation. It was definitely worth the wait. We had a 12 p.m. check out time, but we checked out a little early because we were meeting a friend for lunch.

We neared the front desk and were met with the usual, “Do you two need assistance?” I informed them that we were checking out and proceeded to hand over my room key. Joe did the same, and the receptionist led us to the front door. As we stood waiting for our Uber to arrive, holding hands and smiling,
I turned to Joe and said, “We need to take trips more often!”