<div style="font-size:10pt;font-family:arial,helvetica,sans-serif;color:black;">Hi Group 1,<br><br>Heere are my comments.<br><br>Leonard<br>-----<br><br><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>Deanna </u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>One of the most flattering things I could say
about a piece is that it is so engaging that I have a hard time keeping my mind
alert to somethingabout it that needs changing. I certainly say that about this
writing. In the second half there were a number of anecdotes that I thoroughly
enjoyed, but there were so many of them I thought you might be missing an
opportunity to play out each example and incident further. Every one of these
could, and should, be made into a piece of its own.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">This is an experiment. I have placed one of my poems
in the chapter as an illustration if you will. I decided to do this as a result
of Leonard’s question about my poem, Loving Amber Eyes. If you think it works,.
I may choose other poems toad where I feel they would fit.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Add where they fit.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%">Chapter 9.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%">Girls Just Want To Have Fun</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I know white cane users who view taking off
into the unknown as an adventure. They love exploring and meeting the
challenge of finding their way back. I like to try new things, but don’t
enjoy getting lost or feeling vulnerable. Tammy walking beside me granted
me the freedom to go boldly where I would never have attempted to go without
her. I knew she would keep me out from under the wheels of the car
unexpectedly turning right on red. She would guide me safely around the
open manhole. I could approach other pedestrians to ask directions,
secure that my guide would serve as a deterrent to them viewing me as a
potential victim. We could quickly move away from anyone trying to engage
us in conversation if they made either of us feel uneasy. Of course, a
dog guide is not taught to protect. In fact, a dog that shows signs of
aggression during training is eliminated from the program. Tammy had her
own opinions on this matter. Once a panhandler approached us. When
he asked if I had any spare change, her only reaction was to lick his
hand. She obviously decided he posed no threat and perhaps needed a
little affection from a friendly dog to brighten his day. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">One day, I arranged to meet Annie in Hayward to attend a
powwow. She was supposed to meet me at the Greyhound bus station, when I
arrived. Tammy and I boarded the bus, I asked her to find a seat.
She moved down the aisle and stopped to put her head on an empty one. An
older man scrambled to his feet. He spit tobacco juice on the floor in the
aisle. He moved away declaring that he wasn’t going to sit next to no
hippie girl and her hippie dog. In his mind, my long braids long Navajo
style skirt and moccasins and Tammy’s blue peace symbol had tagged us
counter-culture types! </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">When we got off the bus, Annie hadn’t
arrived to meet us. Tammy and I went outside and she located a bench for
us to wait. I placed my over-night case on the ground at my feet and
Tammy curled behind it under the seat. After a few minutes had passed, a
man sat down beside me. He moved to put an arm around my waist and
murmured a crude proposition. I angrily pulled free and stood jerking on
Tammy’s leash. As she scrambled to stand beside me I ordered
fiercely. “Tammy! Kill!” Of course, that wasn’t one of her
commands, so she stood quietly waiting to discover what I wanted. The man
took off running down the street. An older lady chuckled and reported,
“Honey, he’s about two blocks down and still running. He hasn’t looked
back to see if she’s behind him.”</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">At the powwow, Tammy got carried away with
the drums and the chanting. She hung her head over the railing of the
bleachers and wailed along with the singers. A little boy performing the
hoop dance was distracted and his eyes got bigger and bigger as he watched her
doing her coyote imitations above him. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">It’s a funny thing, but if you carry
yourself with head erect, turn to look in people’s direction when speaking to
them and move with confidence, a lot of people don’t seem to believe you are
blind. Annie told me about an overheard conversation she observed while
working at the student bookstore. One student declared that if that girl
brings her big dog to class one more time, he intended to bring his horse.
His companion tried to explain that I brought Tammy because she was my dog
guide. The first fellow refused to believe it because he said that he had
seen me run down a hall leading Tammy. I probably did run a few steps to
catch a friend whose voice I recognized without using Tammy. In a
straight hall with no obstructions, I wouldn’t have felt the need to use her
eyes. Although I hadn’t even light perception left after that final surgery
when I was 8 years old, many people expected me to shffle my feet, walk with my
eyes closed and my head down as many born blind children may do. Some of the
people I know who are low vision, may look just like anyone else. They may have
lost vision later in life, have such a narrow field of vision that they can
read regular print, but only see a couple of letters at a time. They may be
able to use peripheral vision or only their central vision, depending on the
eye disease they have. These conditions may be insufficient vision to travel
safely without using a mobility cane or a guide dog. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">On another occasion, Annie, Tammy and I
decided to jump on the bus to San
Francisco. We planned to do some shopping and
celebrate Annie’s birthday by having dinner in China town. As we waited on a
street corner for the light to change in our favor, two sailors came whistling
and walking in step behind us. Tammy was sitting on the curb waiting for
me to reach down and pick up her harness handle. The two sailors split up
as they reached us and the light changed. A sailor took me by each elbow
and continued across the intersection with me suspended above the ground
between them. When they lifted me clear of the curb, I was so startled, I
dropped Tammy’s leash. The two young men set me down on the up curb and
continued on their way still whistling and walking in step. Annie and
Tammy were on the other side of the street. All I could think to do was
yell come to my dog and my two friends raced across to join me before the light
changed again. My good girl had remained sitting until my call released
her. Annie exclaimed, “DEE, I have heard
of allowing yourself to be picked up by sailors, but do you have to be so
literal about it?” Annie was sure everyone was staring at her. It wasn’t
until she took her dark sunglasses off that she realized that her habit of
resting her hand on Tammy’s back and walking on her left side had confused
people into thinking she was the blind girl. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Later that day, it started to sprinkle, so
Annie Tammy and I dashed to board a city bus. A female passenger became
hysterical as we walked toward her down the aisle. Tammy showed me a seat
and I hurriedly sat down. The lady continued to scream that she was
afraid of dogs. Tammy became frightened by her hysteria and crawled half
onto my lap trembling and trying to hide her face in my arms. The driver
stood up and roared, “Sit down and shut up lady. You’re scaring the guide
dog!”</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I never stopped learning new things about
Tammy as we went about our routines together. Occasionally, she twitched
or gave a start in harness. Her head swiveled</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"><u>There is a confusion of tense here. I
think “Swiveling’ would be a better choice.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">. It took me awhile to realize she was
watching the antics of a housefly or other insect on the wing. If she was
out of harness, she felt free to go in hot pursuit. Imagine a
ninety-pound dog leaping five feet into the air to snatch an aerial offender on
the wing with the snap of her jaws. She was really quite a good
flycatcher. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">When we went to a black spiritual music
concert on campus. The usher thought we should sit in the front row next
to the stage. Tammy had more room and people could reach their seats
without climbing over her. As the choir broke into a rousing rendition of
Rock My Soul In The Bosom of Abraham, Tammy began to sing along. I
grabbed her and tried to quiet her but it was too late. The choir
director stopped the performance and leaned down from the stage to pat Tammy on
the head. He proclaimed her “A soul sister!” I guess she took her designation
as a black Labrador/German shepherd dog to mean she was a person of
color. She obviously thought she could claim to be both an Indian dog and
celebrate that black is beautiful too. After that I avoided taking her to
events that included music, particularly singing. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Tammy’s house manners were excellent.
Although she had missed out on being raised in a 4H home, she didn’t climb on
furniture or forage in trash cans. Every so often though, her lack of
experience led to her making an error of judgment. For example, she tried
to sniff a hot iron when I was hurriedly pressing a skirt on the floor without
an ironing board. Only my quick response saved her from being
burned. Another time, she tried to lick someone’s hand while the person
was smoking. She burned her tongue on the lit cigarette and became afraid
of that individual’s right hand. Tammy only allowed her to pet if she
used her left hand. She seemed to think the right one would hurt her.
Little incidents like these made it clear to me that being raised in a kennel
had left gaps in Tammy’s education. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Scottie Hagedorn and I met during our
sophomore year. She was a petite green-eyed blonde girl who was in both
my beginning piano and French classes. One day she offered Tammy and me a
lift home because it was raining. I asked her up for a cup of tea before
she headed back out to her family farm. Although she got that tea, she
had to crawl through a kitchen window because I had forgotten my keys.
Sometimes, you are fortunate to meet someone who you seem to recognize as a
kindred spirit. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%"><u>There
is an extra space after<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“spirit.”</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Practically from our first exchange of words,
we could finish each other’s sentences and talk in fragments and understand
what was meant perfectly. Scottie’s mom decided that she couldn’t tell us apart
on the phone. She took us shopping for shoes one day. When the
sales clerk got too friendly with us, she announced that she wanted us to have
sturdy no nonsense shoes as we were twins and were going into the eighth grade.
That definitely put paid </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"><u>Are you sure you want to use the word “Paid” here. I don’t
know what it means.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">to his flirtatious manner when dealing with
us. She insisted on referring to me as her other daughter.
She liked to call us Snow White and Rose Red because we didn’t really look
anything like each other. Like sisters, we often exchanged clothes and
talked late into the night. We both loved dogs. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Her dog was a foolish funny little beagle
dachshund cross. Her name was Dippy, short for diploma because she had
been one of Scottie’s graduation gifts from her mother. Dippy was a
bottomless pit and managed to get into everything. She had a figure not
unlike her namesake, long and round. Our two dogs seemed to like each
other even though Tammy was a dainty eater who preferred to nibble one kibble
at a time. Sometimes she took twenty-four hours to finish her food.
</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Having Scottie and her mom adopt me made up
a little for having my family so far away. I could only make brief visits
to see them each summer between summer school and the fall term </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">These visits showed me that family life was
going on without me. Instead of being an important member, I was becoming
a visitor. My baby sister was growing rapidly from toddler to
pre-schooler. She made mom laugh when she imitated my habit of touching
the frame of a door as I passed through it. I found her serious old-maid
manners hysterical. If I dropped my sweater across the foot of a bed, she
was sure to pipe, “Aren’t you going to hang that UP?” Donny was changing
into a teenager and Rob and Ruben were developing more interest in their
heritage. They spent a lot of time with tribal elders learning to dance
and take part in ceremonies. They were rapidly becoming young men.
It was hard being so far from all these changes. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Rob was dating his first serious girl
friend, Kerri. They met at a roller rink. Both were excellent
skaters and were asked to represent the rink at competitions for dance
skaters. Her family didn’t approve of the friendship. Her father in
particular held a prejudice against Indians. It was pretty flagrantly
accepted dogma, among the people living near the reservation, that all Indian
men drank and beat their wives. When Rob wanted my help convincing
Kerri’s family that we were not the stereotypic dysfunctional Indian family, I
agreed to go over to Kerri’s house to play cards with her sisters. It was
strange being paraded before her family as Rob’s big sister who is in college
in California.
Mom did her bit by joining the same bowling team as Kerri’s mother.
Although I knew that my family loved having me with them, it was clear that
where they lived was no longer my home. Home was now the place where
Tammy and I lived among our possessions. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">My college was located just outside a small
farming town. When I got a lift from Scottie into Turlock to pick up a few necessities, I had
to work my way around a large farm tractor parked in front of the J. C.
Pennies. Inside the store the manager followed us up and down the
aisles. I wasn’t sure if he was suspicious of college students or just
curious about how a guide dog worked. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">When we stopped for a Frosty Freeze ice
cream cone, I discovered another of my girl’s foibles. She adored ice
cream. When we went to get into Scottie’s car, she jumped up on the seat,
turned around and licked my cone as I tried to follow her into the car.
She never got on car seats unless I had an ice cream cone in my hand. She
knew that with one hand busy holding the cone and the other used to judge the
height of the car, I couldn’t defend my cone! She never tried to eat
anything not in her dish except ice cream. Woe to the toddler strolling
innocently by minding his own business and eating ice cream. She was an
expert at the quick swipe of the tongue as we sailed past. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Tammy’s desire to keep me always in sight
caused her to fall in the pool while I was swimming laps. She had slipped
her collar and escaped from where I had tied her to race back and forth keeping
pace with my swim. Some girls objected to having a dog in the pool to the
manager. Of course I had gotten her to the steps and out immediately, but
they thought that her landing in the water was unsanitary. Mr. O’Neil,
the apartment manager brought out a gallon jug of chlorine and poured a couple
of cups of the solution into the water to appease them. He and his wife
were very kind to us.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">In my sophomore year, my roommate and I were
not getting along well. She brought a male friend to the apartment who
was suffering from some sort of drug reaction. She kept giving him
sleeping pills and tranquilizers and trying to get him to eat. Finally I
insisted she get another friend of theirs to take him to the hospital.
She was angry because she knew that the hospital staff would report him to the
police, but I didn’t want him to hurt himself or have an adverse response to
the counter-measures she was taking. Since my name was on the lease, I
didn’t want her to use or keep drugs in the apartment. I wanted to buy a
small piano to practice at home, and she complained the noise would disturb her
studies. I came home one afternoon between classes to find her in the
process of moving out. I didn’t have enough money to pay the rent
alone. Mr. And Mrs. O'Neil arranged for me to trade my one bedroom
apartment with two girls who were sharing a studio apartment in the same
complex. So Tammy and I were completely on our own. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%"><u>In the
above paragraph, there are too many consecutive “I’s”.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">One day, they were resurfacing the road we
crossed to the apartment and Tammy and I ended up with black tar on my shoes
and her paws. I took off my shoes and changed them and tried to keep
Tammy on the tile kitchen floor until I had retrieved what I had come home to
get. I went and explained my problem and Mr. O'Neil helped me clean the
tar off Tammy’s paws. When I came home that evening, he had cleaned my
shoes and the marks her paws had left on the floor too. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">One day I was bouncing a ball to entertain
Tammy. In her pursuit of the ball, she knocked my record player to the
floor, breaking my favorite record album. I threw myself into a kitchen
chair in dismay over the loss and it collapsed when Tammy jumped into my lap to
apologize. When I told Mr. O’Neil about the breakage, he brought me a
replacement without charge, exclaiming that the broken chair was obviously
defective. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Tammy felt she should vet any one who came
home with me. She decided if they should be allowed inside our
apartment. One young man, who walked me home from a dance, did not meet
her approval. She made him sit in a chair and growled each time he stood
up. She kept herself stationed between our unwelcome guest and me until
he finished the cup of coffee he had requested. Tammy saw him to the door
with relief. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">I had to publish my phone number each term
to hire readers. I began having some trouble with obscene phone
calls. This meant that I had to change my phone number frequently, to
avoid them. The first time it happened, the caller sounded so friendly
that I kept thinking he had a wrong number. Annie came over to study and
I warned her about the problem. She confidently expressed the opinion
that she could handle such a nuisance by telling the caller that she had a
venereal disease. We kept at the books until we were both ready to
drop. I asked her to make some tea while I took a cold shower to wake
up. As I was toweling off, she knocked on the bathroom door in a
panic. She had answered the phone and started to take down a message for
me before she realized what the caller was saying. I grabbed my robe and
went to hang up the phone. Despite this, I felt comfortable living on my
own with my furry roommate. There was simply no way my girl would permit anyone
to cause me harm. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">When Curt came to give me a lift to the market,
I put Tammy in the back seat of his car, but she insisted on pushing her head
and shoulders between the bucket seats to supervise his driving and be sure I
was still safe. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">During classes, Tammy often fell fast
asleep. In an Introduction to classical music course, our professor got
frustrated trying to catch the student who dared to snore during his
lectures. This class was a large one held in the theater. The
instructor was a former conductor of the San
Francisco Symphony orchestra. He was very
dramatic. The first day of class, he appeared dressed in full tuxedo and
tails. He strode out on the stage and declaimed, “Music is God! And I am
his prophet!”</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">During his class, we suffered a power
failure. The theater was located in the middle of the classroom building
with no exterior walls with windows. The room was thrown into total
blackness. The only light came from the glow from the professor’s pipe.
His rich baritone boomed out “Is the little wood nymph and her dog in the
room?” When I answered that we were present, he asked, “Would you kindly
proceed to the door and open it so we may see to find our way out?” He
continued to refer to me as the little wood nymph the rest of my time at
school. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">One of the tricks Tammy occasionally played
on me involved her location of seats in a classroom. Anywhere else, she
showed me an empty chair by putting her nose on the seat. In classes, she
located a chair and dove under it. This was fine, except about once or
twice a term she chose to dive under an occupied chair. I ended up
sitting down on startled classmates’ laps a few times before I caught on to her
tactics. She never chose chairs with girls sitting in them, only those
occupied by male students. I apologized and turned bright red while explaining
that my furry friend thought I needed to improve my social life. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Of course, she didn’t approve of any social
activities that didn’t include her. I liked to dance, and from time to
time went out with girl friends to some place to enjoy this activity. The
first time I left Tammy tied to a table, she followed me towing the small table
out on to the dance floor. After this incident, I left her home.
She hated being left and wailed piteously. One time I returned to a friend’s
house to find Tammy curled in my suitcase fast asleep. She had made
herself a nest in my clothes. After that, I learned to bring along a
familiar sweater or other object of mine for her to curl up on to be able to go
off with friends. The presence of my scent seemed to reassure her that I would
return.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%">Tammy injured a forepaw when someone giving
us a lift pushed the seat back before I had gotten her properly settled.
The paw was badly bruised and her gait was too uneven for her to guide.
My rehabilitation counselor thought I should have some cane lessons. This
was the first time I had ever used a white cane. I knew my way around
campus and only needed the basic techniques. I found though that I tended
to walk too fast and caught that dratted stick on things. I ended up
doing a lot of pole-vaulting with the cane, putting a permanent bend in
it. Tammy strenuously objected to being left alone while I went out with
that stick. During my first lesson, she howled so loud that Mr. O’Neil
came up to the apartment to be sure I wasn’t hurt. It was such a relief
for us both when she was able to return to guiding. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> The fluid grace that a good
team can achieve is like dancing. Each of the partners responds to subtle
almost imperceptible body movements and reacts to those cues almost without
thought. It doesn’t happen instantly, but over the first year, the teammates
develop an understanding of each other’s reactions. Communication becomes as
natural as breathing. Perhaps the following poem I wrote about a 16 block to a
dentist appointment will give you a sense of what I mean:</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Dancers</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">By DeAnna Quietwater Noriega</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">We are cloud dancers,</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">You lead and I follow.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Our steps synchronized</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Our bodies swaying to the same rhythm.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Swept along in the current of the jet stream.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Floating lightly on the swell of an updraft,</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Swooping into a glide down the slope of a down draft.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Side slipping around a gaggle of migrating geese.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Pausing a few beats to let a thunderhead rumble past.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Through fog and mist through falling snow we whirl,</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Our movements in perfect unison.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Where your paws lead, </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">My feet follow.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">What does it matter,</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">If only we two hear the music.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">We move together as one being.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">We are Cloud dancers, you and I. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="margin-left:.5in;text-align:justify;
text-indent:.5in;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%"><u>I love
this poem and like the way it fits into the story. The title<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>is good, but somehow I like “Cloud Dancers”
even better, just on the basis of the sound.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes">
</span>To a Jewish boy from New
Jersey, it</u> <u>has a poetic Indian sound.</u></p>
<div style="mso-element:para-border-div;border:none;border-bottom:solid windowtext 1.0pt;
mso-border-bottom-alt:solid windowtext .75pt;padding:0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;
margin-left:.5in;margin-right:0in">
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:justify;text-indent:.5in;
line-height:200%;border:none;mso-border-bottom-alt:solid windowtext .75pt;
padding:0in;mso-padding-alt:0in 0in 1.0pt 0in">There is also an emotional bond
that makes a dog guide very responsive to its handler's moods and state of
well-being. Tammy always knew my true feelings even when other friends
were fooled by my efforts to project a smiling exterior. When I was
actually frightened or unsure, she was never deceived by my pretenses of
composure or confidence. She could always make me laugh or relax. One way
she did this was to give air kisses. Someone had tried to break her of
licking faces. She brought her face close to mine and flipped her tongue
in and out rapidly without actually touching me with it. This never failed
to make me smile. </p>
</div>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%">Cleora</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>Good mix of dialogue and description. The story line was
laid out in a clear, understandable way. You’ve spent a lot of time on the
development of the relationship between these 2 guys. I assume it will be an
important part of the story at large. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Be
careful not to get myred down in unnecessary details. </u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">motorcycle. As he placed his helmet on his head, and reached
for the chin strap, his eyes fell on his old bicycle hanging on the garage
wall. Pausing, he stared at the bike. Could that be the answer? He knew there
was no way he could approach D'Jonna's community with his motorcycle. He
dismounted and walked over to the bicycle. The tires were soft, but the rubber
felt ok. A few rust spots dotted the frame, but the chain and peddles looked as
good as when he had hung it there. Finding the air pump he aired up the tires </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>:Aired up,” must be a colloquialism.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We would say, “pumped up.”</u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">and lifted the bike down. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>This must be another<span style="mso-spacerun:yes">
</span>colloquialism. How can you lift something down. To lift is to raise. In
this case, the bike was lowered.</u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Taking some oil and a cleaning rag, he carefully and
lovingly went over the entire bike inspecting every part especially the wheels,
steering, and breaking; making sure everything was in tip top shape. The sun
was just going down as he finished up. Straddling the bike, he finished
fastening his chin strap and headed down the driveway. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>One would not use a otorcycle helmet to ride a bike.</u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Turning right, he peddled hard; the gears were a little
stiff at first, but they shifted all the way up to the tenth gear and back
down. A little use and they would be working as good as new. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>I know this is another time, perhaps a parallel universe <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>However, no one rides 10 speeds anymore. The
gears are up in the twenties these days.</u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u><span style="text-decoration:none"> </span></u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He brought the bicycle back to the garage and hung it back
on the wall. In his room, he lay on his back in bed with his hands clasped
behind his head. Now, how was he going to get it out to D'Jonna's community. He
was on the track team, but he didn't relish riding all the way out there on a
bicycle, then all the way back. If he could get it out there, he could leave it
in the old building, but how would he get back. If he borrowed his dad's
pickup, he would want to know what for, and he would insist on going with him.
He needed someone who wouldn't ask questions and wouldn't care what he was
doing. Maybe ol' Hack at the gym. He was usually too stoned to care what was
going on, and for a few bucks, he would forget anything. In the morning, John
purposely waited until he heard his dad leave for work before going down for
breakfast. His mother was just cleaning up. "If you want to make yourself
some breakfast, make sure you clean up," she said. This new independence
kick of his parents was a real drag. A few weeks ago they informed him that he
would be going out on his own soon and it was high time he got used to fending
for himself. If he got himself down too late for breakfast, it was up to him to
fix his own and then clean up any mess he made. "no prob," he said.
"I'm going to head out to the gym. I'll get something from the vending
there." She looked at him disapprovingly for a few seconds, then shrugged,
"Okay," she said, "suit yourself." He went out to the
garage, took the bicycle down, strapped on his helmet, and straddling the bike
as he went down the driveway, headed for the gym. With luck, he would get Hack
to help him take his bicycle out to the old coliseum and bring him back home.
The coliseum was a few miles from the building where he had met D'Jonna. It had
a track, so It would be easy to convince Hack that he wanted to use the old
track inside the coliseum to build up his leg muscles. There really wasn't
anywhere else that he could just let go and push until he was too tired to
continue. He would ride his motor cycle out to the coliseum, ride the bike out
to see D'Jonna, then ride his motor cycle back home. The place hadn't been used
in years. No one would be out there to see what he was really doing, and the
bike would be safe in one of the dressing rooms. He smiled to himself. It was
the perfect plan. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>Thee is something about this plan that bothers me. I was
an avid bike rider for most of my life. No one I ever knew would choose to ride
around a track. People ride bikes all over the world in all kinds of environments.
The only bike riding I’m aware of in which a track is used is where the track
is especially built for that with very steeply banked curves<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>because the bikes reach extremely high
speeds. the gear s are made to advantage speed over mechanical advantage.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They are not not made for the riding any
other place than the specially built tracks. I’m not sure whether this sport
still exists.</u></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<div style="mso-element:para-border-div;border:none;border-bottom:solid windowtext 1.0pt;
mso-border-bottom-alt:solid windowtext .75pt;padding:0in 0in 1.0pt 0in">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border:none;mso-border-bottom-alt:solid windowtext .75pt;
padding:0in;mso-padding-alt:0in 0in 1.0pt 0in">At the gym, John got on one of
the treadmills and set it for moderate hill climb. After a few minutes he saw
Hack, the custodian, come in from one of the locker room doors. "Hey,
Hack," he greeted the gem custodian cheerfully. "Hey, John,"
said Hack. His speech was a little thick this morning. John shut off the
treadmill and stepped down off the machine. Taking the towel from around his
neck, he wiped his face and neck as he walked toward Hack. "I didn't see
your motorcycle out front. Did your dad drop you off?" "No, I rode my
bike. I'm trying to build up for the track meet coming up. You know, I really
wish there was a track I could practice on." "What about the school
track?" offered Hack. "I hate to use that. I spend half my life at
school as it is. I really wish they had a track here. It would be so much more
convenient than the school track." "I suppose," said Hack.
"Of course, there's that track out at the old coliseum," he offered.
"Hum...," said John thinking for a minute. "If I could get my
bike out there, I could ride my motorcycle out, work out on the track with my
bike, then ride my motorcycle back home." "Yeh, that would work.
Well, see ya," Hack turn and waved as he left. Well, that didn't work,
thought John. I suppose I could ride the bike out there and then walk back
home. I wonder how far out the public tran goes. Still it would be a long walk
back. It would take most of a day to do it that way, and if I came in hot and
sweaty, Mom and Dad would be sure to ask questions. He was still working over
possibilities in his mind when he heard, "Hey." John looked up to see
a tall well-built young man with curly black hair standing in front of him.
"Hey," he said back. "I thought they would have some stationary
bikes here. What kind of gym doesn't have stationary bikes?"
"Yeh," John said. "It's a long story, Something about pollution."
"Pollution?" The man stared at John incredulously. "Never
mind," said John with a chuckle. "It's a sort of private joke between
me and my dad." "By the way, I’m Jake." "Nice to meet you,
I'm John." "Is there a track around here somewhere? I don't like to
run on the streets." "I know what you mean, there's an old abandoned
coliseum at the edge of town. The track is still in pretty decent shape. You
could probably run there. I was actually looking for a way to get my bike out
there. I could ride it out but I don't want to have to ride it back home after
working out, and I can't carry it back and forth on my motorcycle" "I
can help you get it out there," Jake offered. Together they loaded John's
bike in Jakes truck and headed out to the old coliseum. Briefly, John remembered
his parent's warnings about stranger danger, but Jake seemed like an ok guy. He
hoped. What's the worst that could happen? He might steal his bicycle? The
coliseum was dirty and a bit run down, but the track was still in good shape.
There were a few weeds and some grass growing up between the cracks, but it was
passable. They took turns making a few laps around the track. They found a
secure place to leave John's bike, and decided there wasn't really any need to
lock it up. "As soon as I get my own bike, we can ride around
together," said Jake. "You don’t know anyone that has an old one they
would sell do you?" "The Harris Bike Shop down town may have some
refurbished ones," said John. "Meanwhile, you can use mine in the
mornings and I'll use it in the afternoon." "Great. I'll check it
out." He dropped John off at home and went on his way. John grabbed a
snack on his way to the garage to get his motorcycle and hid for the coliseum.
He figured he had just enough time to ride his bicycle over to the area where
D'Jonna's people were and explore a little. But, when he got to the coliseum,
his bike wasn't in the room where they had left it. He looked all around, but
it wasn't there. Maybe he had been mistaken about where they left it. After
all, they looked at several of the rooms in the area before deciding on one. He
spent an hour looking in every single possible place. It wasn't there.
"Idiot!" he shouted to the crumbling roof overhead. Clearly, Jake had
headed back here immediately and taken it. Why buy one when this one was here
for the taking? Thinking about it, it was Jake's idea that it didn’t need to be
locked up. He swore and jerked the handle of the door hard enough for the door
to slam back and bounce off the wall and almost knock him over. "Well,
that was smart," he said. "Now, the ceiling will probably fall on me.
I deserve it for being so stupid." He slammed the door back against the
wall again, but this time he was on the other side when it came bouncing back.
Kicking trash out of his way as he went, he made his way back to where he
parked his motor cycle. His luck, Jake probably came back to see what else he
could find and took that too. "Hey," said Jake. John whirled around
to see Jake rolling his bicycle back into the room they had decided on.
"Sorry," he continued. "Harry's place was closed when I got
there and so I decided to come out and take another ride. I wouldn't have if
I'd known you were coming back." John felt his face heating up to the
bright red of Christmas paper. "Oh, yeh," he stammered. "I
decided to come back and take a ride myself. When I didn't find it I
thought..." He let his voice trail off. "I know. I mean, you only met
me this morning. You thought I had come back and taken it. I understand. I am
so sorry. You did say I could use it in the morning and you would use it in the
afternoon until I could get one of my own. I am so sorry. I feel so bad."
"It's ok," said John. "No harm. I'll just use it tomorrow. Say
around one o'clock on?" "Sure," said Jake. "I'll be sure
it's here for you. And, I'll see Harry first thing and see about getting one of
my own. Maybe sometimes we can ride together. It will make the time go
faster." "Sure," said John. Terrific, now the guy is going to
want to be a buddy. He was going to have to be careful. "By the way, how
come I didn't see your truck when I rode up?" "I parked on the wrong
side," said Jake. "I am terrible with directions. It's a wonder I
didn't have to come get you to find the place again." "You
know," said John. "We should exchange phone numbers. That way we can
contact each other and coordinate." "Sure," said Jake.
"What's your number?" John gave him his number and Jake called him.
"Got it," said John holding his phone up to show he had the number.
"Well, I'm parked out front. I better get home. It's getting late."
"See ya," said Jake and went toward the other exit. John blew air out
of the corners of his mouth as he got on and started his motor cycle. This was
getting complicated. He should have just ridden the bike out here and walked
back. Fewer complications. Then he chuckled to himself. The one place he didn't
look was on the track inside the coliseum. He could have saved himself a lot of
frustration, high blood pressure, and evil thoughts if he'd just checked the
track.</p>
</div>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>The piece captures the mood and color of the
times.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I was transported backwards in
time. It was a bit of a jolty ride, and I had to get re-aclimated. I was
confused by the ending, until I drew the conclusion that this was just the
beginning of a larger piece of work. In that case, it’s a good beginning.
Otherwise, it leaves me standing on a staircase fishing around with my foot for
a step that is missing.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">The Reporter</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Marcia J. Wick, The Write Sisters</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Copyright January 2018</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Word Count: 1140</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Through thick glasses, I squinted at my first boss,
the editor of a small town weekly. Mr. Conway’s fat fingers danced like popcorn
on the round typewriter keys, clickety-clack, pressing words onto the page. His
burning cigarette rested neglected in the ashtray as he churned out copy. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>The ashtray is a good device; especially since it
comes up later.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>Great beginning paragraph.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">I was his cub reporter. New on the job, fresh out of
college. I turned to my notes from the town hall meeting as he banged out
highlights of Homecoming week at the local high school. Football, I was
learning, was the only big news in this little town. He hit the return,
advancing the page to the next line with a “ding.”</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Mr. Conway’s overflowing ashtray was perched on the
edge of his oversize wooden desk, which was backed up to mine. It was 1976, and
it was common to light up indoors. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>It took me several readings of this last line to
realize<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>that it was talking about
cigarettes.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>When I did figure it out, I wondered
who was doing the smoking.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Through a continuous curl of smoke, I peered as
he lifted a corner of the sheet for a quick scan. Seeming satisfied, he whipped
the coarse paper out of the roller and pinned it to the desk blotter with his
left elbow. Dwarfing a #2 pencil in his right hand, he circled the headline,
marked up a typo, and indicated the end with a “30” before into the “out”
basket the story flew. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>The order of words here, coupled with the mystical
use of the number ‘30’ was confusing.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">A police scanner perched on a tall table across the
room squealed and squawked , alerting us that emergency vehicles were
being dispatched to an accident on the two-lane highway heading out of town. I
blinked as the big newsman’s chair scraped across the wood floor. He shrugged
on a jacket and crushed a pack of cigarettes into the breast pocket of his
button-down shirt. Grabbing a 35 mm camera and a film canister, he grinned at
me. I remained rooted to my wooden swivel chair.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>Is a 35 millimeter<span style="mso-spacerun:yes">
</span>camera a motion picture camera?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes">
</span>If not, why the need of a film canister?</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">“You coming?” </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">I had been on the job only one month. Until then, my
boss had assigned me to cover the desk while he chased the more urgent news. I
leapt up, grabbing a notebook and my coat. Mr. Conway’s unsmoked cigarette,
cold ashes end-to-end, still rested perfectly shaped in the tray.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>Nice touch. Also, I now know that it was his
cigarette that was making all the smoke.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">I followed my editor out of the back room, the “news
room,” through the front office, the “sales room,” heads lifting and turning as
we flew out the front door. We jaywalked across Main Street to the parking lot opposite
the office. The newspaper boasted a prominent two-story storefront near the end
of the mile-long business district. The paper’s name, the Express Breeze, was
emblazoned bright white like a masthead across the barn red building
façade. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>I know what a mast<span style="mso-spacerun:yes">
</span>and a boom are, but I don’t know what a mast head is.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Hopping into Mr. Conway’s old Buick that day, I asked
him about the paper’s unusual name.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">“The family had two rags,” he said. “The Express was
a weekly and The Breeze came out once a month. When we were bought out by the
Freedom Newspaper chain, they were merged.” </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>Who made the decision to merge them? was it the
new owners or the old family owners?</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">At that time, many family-owned papers were being
taken over by syndicates, but </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Express/Breeze? I wondered if they had thought about
changing the name when they had the chance, but I kept quiet. Still the new
girl on the job, I didn’t want to be rude. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>Why would this have been considered rude?</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">My fellow grads wouldn’t be too impressed, I
lamented. They had landed jobs on solid papers called “The herald” or “The
Tribune” or “The Times.” </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Prior to graduating that summer with a Journalism
degree, I had mailed out 100 mimeographed copies of my inaugural resume, but I
had received only standard rejection letters. Ultimately, I landed my first job
by word of mouth; the editor of my college paper met Mr. Conway at a conference
and learned firsthand that the small town weekly was looking to hire a
reporter. I jumped on the job. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Not calculating culture shock, I moved 3,000 miles
from my high country Colorado home to the
rolling hills of western New York.
Without considering, I traded in a campus swelling with 11,000 radical bodies,
most in their 20s, for a little town of 7,000 sedate souls ranging in age from
one day to one hundred plus years. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">I thought I was worldly and ready for adulthood after
sampling the freedom of college life, but sex, drugs and rock and roll in
between cramming and churning out term papers couldn’t have prepared me for
rural life in small town America.
I would soon learn that I wasn’t in Kansas
anymore.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">In Dansville, like Mayberry RFD on television,
families were rooted, extended, crossed, and co-mingled for generations.
Everybody knew everyone; they were all cousins or in-laws, or so it seemed to
me. Mr. Conway’s brother was the mayor, and their wives were sisters. Extended
family members – aunts, uncles, children, and their childrens’ children -
worked at the bank, owned the men’s clothing store, coached at the high school,
sold real estate, taught music, and cut hair.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">As Mr. Conway steered his sedan out of town on the
tree-lined road, I recalled driving my purple boat-of-a-car into Dansville for
the first time the month before. Cresting a hill, I had glimpsed a picturesque
village cradled in brilliant fall color. I couldn’t have predicted that my move
to this scenic valley would prove nearly fatal.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">New in town, I felt invisible, although hidden eyes
watched warily as I drove around. Scouting for a place to live, I picked up a
PennySaver and scoured the classifieds for rentals. It was easy in the tiny
town to locate most addresses. Still, there were some apartments for rent on
streets that I couldn’t find. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Turning a corner, I spied the quaint Town Hall and
decided to stop in and ask for a map of the area. Walking into the dimly lit
lobby from the bright outdoors, I heard someone say, “You’re the new reporter.”</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">It wasn’t a question, so I replied with one.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>Very clever<span style="mso-spacerun:yes">
</span>line.</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">“Yes?”</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">“You’re looking for a place to live.”</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Again, this shadowy man appeared to know me. So, I
asked, “How do you know?”</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">“Sue is my sister.”</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">I stood, hands in the pockets of my khaki pants,
still puzzled. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">He continued. “She works in the sales room at the
paper. She said you should call Betty Fox. She’s looking to rent the top part
of her house on Franklin Street.”</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">It was like I had been transported into an episode of
The Twilight Zone. I wasn’t comfortable with this strange man knowing my
business. I was used to coming and going without anyone caring or knowing my
whereabouts. I had deliberately moved far away from the prying eyes of my
parents, and I had envisioned anonymity in my new life. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Light drifted into the lobby from an opening door,
and the silhouette of a holstered gun took shape. The man, I now realized, was
a cop. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">He led me into an office, pointed to a village map
taped to a countertop, winked at me, and walked out.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"><u>I am wondering here how the chief<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>character almost lost his life.</u></p>
<div style="mso-element:para-border-div;border:none;border-bottom:solid windowtext 1.0pt;
mso-border-bottom-alt:solid windowtext .75pt;padding:0in 0in 1.0pt 0in">
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="border:none;mso-border-bottom-alt:solid windowtext .75pt;
padding:0in;mso-padding-alt:0in 0in 1.0pt 0in"> </p>
</div>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:justify;line-height:200%">Sally</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:center" align="center"><u>This is a
warm story about and during a season that needs warmth. I like the way you
describe your immediate defensive reactions to the act of kindness. I have the
same reactions. I would bet this is very common for people with handicaps that
do not want to<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>be perceived as
handicapped people, but just as people.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes">
</span>The story has a moral.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“Keep your
heart open to genuine acts of graciousness.” </u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:center" align="center"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:center" align="center">A Random Act
Of Pasta</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal" style="text-align:center" align="center"><u>Good title.
the ‘o’ in the title should not be capitalized</u></p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">It was, in truth, a dark and stormy night in a dark
and stormy season. Temperatures had plummeted to just above zero, and
several inches of snow had fallen in the post-holiday gloom. My husband
was facing cataract surgery in the coming week, and this day marked the tenth
anniversary of my mother’s death. Short of taking a Caribbean
vacation that was beyond our budget and abilities, we realized there was only
one sensible, easy pick-me-up. So, my husband Sandy and I put their
working attire on our guide and service dogs and headed to a nearby Italian
restaurant for dinner.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">I am of the firm belief that most of life’s problems
can be, if not solved, temporarily vanquished by a glass of wine and
pasta. As we entered the restaurant and caught the aroma of garlic and
seafood, we were enveloped by a warmth that touched body and soul.
Nothing could change the weather, medical concerns, or the longing I still felt
for my mother, but a few hours in a cheerful atmosphere and a meal I didn’t
have to prepare or clean up lifted my spirits as the hostess led us to our
table.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Entering a dining room and getting seated always took
a little maneuvering for Sandy
in his power wheelchair while working his service dog Pumpkin. Following
with my guide dog Laurence, I waited while the hostess moved chairs, pulled out
the table, and ascertained we had enough room for our dogs. I also heard
the murmurs of other diners about the beauty and intelligence of Laurence and
Pumpkin and how well-behaved these two Labrador
retrievers were as they settled under the table.</p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">A glass of merlot and a brimming plate of shrimp
scampi later, I had reached a mellow state and was enjoying an espresso while Sandy did justice to a
piece of toffee cheesecake and a latte. </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">All good things, however, must come to an end.
Placing the check on our table, our waiter told us that the people at the next
table who had just left traded bills with us because they loved our dogs.
Our bill was considerably higher, and, for a moment, I was indignant. Did
they think that a blind woman and a man in a power wheelchair were objects of
pity who might welcome some financial help? </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal"> </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">Perhaps it was the wine or the fact that I had
mellowed with age, but I calmed down and gave our benefactors the benefit of my
doubt. After all, I had recently helped a good friend financially when
she needed home care following surgery, and Sandy and I often donated to animal-related
charities as well as shopping regularly for our church’s food cupboard.
Who was I, then, to question our fellow diners’ random act of kindness?
In the depths of an incredibly cold winter, a random act of kindness broke the
real and metaphorical chills of life and warmed everyone’s souls.
Besides, I reasoned, who wouldn’t love our dogs? </p>
<p class="aolmailmsonormal">-----</p>
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