[Critique Group 1] Leonard's comments for group 1 March

[tuchyner5 at aol.com]

# Cleora




 


I think this is the best written chapter yet



. Throughout this tomb, your writing has steadilygotten better and better. 



The only technical question I can think of isabout Sitting’s eyesight. With her blurred vision, how did she manage to buzz thearther’s head so precisely. 



Another question, which makes two questions,  is; if grasshopper and Sitting had telepathiccommunication between them, why didn’



 she try totalk to him when he seemed to be colaborating with the enemy?




 


Sitting backedinto the aisle between the boxes, turned around and ran toward the back wall.At the end, there was another aisle to the right. Turning, She followed it tothe other wall. Here, the boxes formed another passage to the right. At the endshe stopped. She could see the open door ahead. Grasshopper, she thought, canyou hear me?




 


Yes, thoughtGrasshopper.



I don’t recall that they had tellepathiccommunication. I guess I just forgot.




 


Can you seearound the edge of the box? thought Sitting.



Move forward justa little, thought Grasshopper.



Sitting inchedforward until the top of her head was just at the edge of the box.



Grasshopperlowered the windshield and moved out enough to see what the archer was doing,then crawled back into the carrier and raised the windshield.




 


He's laid the bowdown. He's looking into the hole we ran into, thought Grasshopper.



Sitting movedquietly out of the hole, spread her wings. Flapping hard, she lifted them intothe air and flew toward the door.



Hearing thecommotion, the archer looked around. “Door close,” he shouted.



The door began toclose.




 


“Door open,”shouted Sitting.



The door stoppedclosing. She darted through the narrow opening, and turned left thinking shewould go out where the river flowed under the wall.




 


“No!” shoutedGrasshopper. There's a griffin behind the throne.




 


Quickly, sheturned and flew back The way she had come. The archer was standing in thedoorway knocking an arrow. She flew toward his head making him duck. Then,turning She flew with all her might toward the hall to the command center. Shewas almost there when an arrow pierced her right wing.




 


Her momentumcarried her forward as she fell. She landed at the open door of the commandcenter. Behind her, she heard the rush of wings then the click of talons as thegriffin landed in front of her. She twitched, trying to rise. Pain shot throughher wounded wing. Her blurred vision saw what she thought was Grasshopperlaying at the guard wall. He wasn't moving. The hawk head of the griffinlowered to her eye level, and moved toward her. She kicked and struggled to getup, but it was impossible. She heard footsteps running up behind her. She sawthe man reach down, pick up Grasshopper, place him in a box, and put the box inhis satchel. Then, he pulled out a bag. Placing the bag beside her, he said,“You've been hard to catch, but I have you now.”




 


Despair washedover Sitting as she thought about Grasshopper, and all they had been throughtogether. She wondered how her family was doing. She thought about the braveschool of fish, the swarm of bees, the army of locust, and the colony of antsthat had helped her at “The Cristal Pond.” She remembered the sheep, goats, andthe man at the farm that had expressed confidence and hope that she would beable to end the war. She remembered the words of the army commander about howeasy it would be to scare her into surrender. The wonderful gift from DarkMerlin was broken, and she had let people who were counting on her down. Now,she and Grasshopper had come to the end of their ways. She closed her eyes, andslipped into unconsciousness.




 


* * *




 


“I am pleased toreport that I have had good success at diverting the enemy.”




 


Silence.




 


“Yes, I have her,and Watcher as well.”




 


Silence.




 


“I'll take careof it.”




 


Sitting's groggymind struggled to sort out what she was hearing.




 


“Call meGrasshopper,” said a familiar voice.




 


“Of course,”answered someone. “The scrolls seem to be complete. It's unclear why he wouldcollect this information, and then leave.”




 


“Yes, but theredoesn't seem to be any question that he isn't coming back,” said Grasshopper.




 


She heard itemsnear her being shuffled around.




 


“I've filed areport of our findings,” said the stranger. We can take these scrolls with usin case Dread Demon wants to see them.” 




 


“Can we transportany of the supplies?” asked Grasshopper.




 


“I've disabledthe fortifications, and notified the other rulers to get as much of it as theycan before it disappears,” said the stranger.




 


“Good,” saidGrasshopper. “Let's go down to the dining hall, and see if there is anything toeat.”




 


Sitting heardfootsteps moving away from her. Then, the click of a door closing followed bysilence.




 


She waited a fewminutes before opening her eyes. She was lying on a table. There was a bandagewrapped around her aching body pinning her wings. Her feet were under her, andher neck was stretched out straight in front of her. 




 


In the dim light,she could see The carrier and the broken visor laying on the left between herhead, and a crystal ball. She appeared to be in a castle command center. Was itthe same castle? She tried to piece together what she had heard. HadGrasshopper been a spy all this time? Had he gone over to the enemy to save hisown skin? Why had the stranger said he had her at last? I should have eaten thatmiserable insect, she thought Sorrowfully. Then, no surely he isn't a traitor.He's my friend. Or, is he? Why do I feel so tired? She closed her eyes and wentback to sleep.




 


* * *




 


Sometime later…




 


She was awakenedby shouting in the hall. “We've got to get out of here. It's starting tocollapse,”




 


She opened hereyes in time to see the archer that had shot her run into the room. He scoopedher up and roughly shoved her into the bag tail first leaving her head stickingout. He took Grasshopper off his shoulder, and put him and the pieces of thecarrier in a box. Stuffing it into the bag beside her. He synched the bagclosed loosely around her neck, and swung it over his shoulder.




 


He looked aroundthe room briefly; satisfied he had everything, he ran out the door and jumpedon the griffin's back. The griffin spread its powerful wings and lifted theminto the air. They passed through the transparent walls as the castle shimmeredand disappeared.




 


Behind them, allshe could make out was a river curving lazily back and forth through a greenmeadow. There might have been a patch of trees to the right, but there was nosign there had ever been a castle or anything else at that location. She shookher head. I really don't understand any of this, she thought. Her tail waspressed uncomfortably against the bottom of the bag. The box containingGrasshopper pressed against her wounded wing. She wriggled around trying tofind a more comfortable position. Finally, lulled by the rhythmic pumping ofthe griffin’s flight, she laid her head against the back of the bag, and wentback to sleep.




 


To be continued.




 


#DeAnna




 


This chapter enfolded my heart.   



I had a very emotional connection toit.  



Anyone who is not strongly affected bythis chapter must have a heart of stone.




 


Chapter 25



Singing Shepherd Boy



Whenever I am frightened by circumstances orsituations I land myself in because of my blindness, I think of the lyrics of aRogers andHammerstein song.



When you walk through a storm



Keep your chin up high



And don't be afraid of the dark.



At the end of the storm



Is a golden sky



And the sweet silver song of a lark.



 



Walk on through the wind,



Walk on through the rain,



Though' your dreams be tossed and blown. Walkon, walk on



With hope in your heart



And you'll never walk alone,



 



These words probably mean something differentto me, because for all of my adult years, I have shared my journey through lifewith a Seeing Eye guide dog. I haven’t had to face the world alone.



 



Sixteen days after I held Griffin in my lap as he crossedthe rainbow bridge, I moved like a zombie through my days. My heart held a newpaw-print nearly as deep as the first one placed there by living with andloving Tammy. Although each dog added a new impression of his or her own, somewere deeper than others. Tammy was the deepest because she was my first guideand was so quick to learn new tasks that she seemed to read my mind. Phoebe didher job with such joy that she was a pleasure to work. Gentry was hard-headed,but a deep thinker and problem solver. Griffinwas funny, loving and totally devoted to me.



When I arrived in Morristown for the seventhtime, I was not ready to let go and accept a new partner. I was still in thegray desolation of grief. Olsen was also struggling with loss. His trainer hadbeen severely injured on the job about a month earlier. A large Labrador had crashed in to Rick in the play yard causingdamage to his knee. Rick’s string had been divided among the rest of his teamto be finished for class. 



Whatis a string. I can’t know  what is beingdivided to make sense of this sentence.



Olsen had transitioned from hispuppy raiser to a trainer. Then he had suddenly lost the man he had come tocare for and been passed around like a foster child from one trainer toanother. On the first night he was in my care, he kept rising from his matbeside my bed to touch my cheek with a cold nose. He seemed to be trying toreassure himself I was still there and hadn’t abandoned him while he slept.



Olsen was slightly larger than Griffin. He was a solidblack German Shepherd with a tan belly and legs. He had a half moon of tan onhis throat. He was stockier than most German Shepherds with a serious focuseddignified manner. His pace and pull were good matches too. He quicklytransferred his devotion to me and our training went smoothly. He wasespecially sensitive to the feelings of those around him. 



When we went to a nursing homeduring part of our training, he wanted to go toward people who were afraid ofhim. He appeared to want to comfort them, not realizing that his totally blackface and dark brown eyes were intimidating to people. They couldn’t read hisgentle nature and only registered the erect head and upright ears. Griffin weighed about fivepounds less, but his face was appealing and expressive. People often asked ifhe was a puppy. Olsen carried himself with dignity and aloof professionalism.He quickly settled in to my work routine. We smoothly strode the halls of thestate capital. He glided through the crowds at town-hall meetings and rallies.His intimidation factor was a big asset in parting a path in or out ofcongested corridors. Gentry’s size had caused some to ask if he was aRottweiler and Tammy’s protective behavior had sometimes made people wary ofher, but Olsen didn’t have to do anything but stare straight ahead to causepeople to step back. This was sad, because he was a great worker and had agentle soul.



Thecomparative discriptions of your different guides are very good.  Some of them would pass for poetry. 



In the first week we were backfrom training, I had to go to an unfamiliar hotel to give a presentation onvolunteerism. in the center of the lobby of the hotel where my talk was to beheld, was a U-shaped arrangement of furniture. I knew that the room I needed tolocate was in a corridor  leading off the back of the lobby. Olsen walkedstraight ahead and I found my path blocked by a long sofa. Since I didn’t knowthat we had entered a horseshoe and were now at the bottom of it, I told Olsento “Find the Way.” He looked right and left but couldn’t see a logicaldirection to move. He stepped confidently up on the sofa and glanced back as ifto say, “Ok, hoist up your skirt and follow me over this barrier!” Of course,when I pulled him down, he quickly decided to backtrack around the end of theobstructing furniture and line us up to enter the corridor I was seeking.



 Not manyhdogs have that kind of intelligence. I had a black lab that would figure outthat there was a way around almost every barier. Up, under or around.



Olsen’s  true gentlenesswas only displayed when he sensed people needed a warm friendly dog as acomforter. In the fall of 2007, I attended a first meeting of a support groupthat was being organized under the auspices of the Lutheran Church.Another graduate of the Seeing Eye hoped to establish a once a month blindoutreach program to assist people experiencing vision loss. Several LutheranCongregations in Columbiaagreed to prepare and serve lunch on a rotating schedule. Priests fromparticipating churches provided a short devotional and prayer session. I wasasked to give a presentation on new technology, or a technique foraccomplishing a task as a blind person. 



 



During the course of the first meeting ofCircle of Friends Lutheran Blind Outreach, I noticed a young woman across theroom who spoke in a staccato agitated manner.  When the group wasbeginning to disperse, I crossed the room to kneel on the floor at herside.  She had indicated an interest in acquiring a guide dog.  Iasked if she would like to meet my dog. My fear inspiring German Shepherd DogOlsen, laid his head on her lap.  As she began to stroke his head, sheburst into tears.  



 



“When will I stop being afraid?” she sobbed.“When will this get better?”  



She had lost her vision two yearsearlier.  In a matter of three months, she went from twenty-twenty visionto able to see only a small slice of the world out of the corner of oneeye.   She had dropped out of college in her senior year and beganthe long arduous process of adjusting to vision loss.  



 



I gave her my contact information, and tookhers.  I made time to take her to several events and invited her to myhome.  I tried to be receptive, nonjudgmental and to involve her withothers.  Slowly she overcame some of her fears and began going out of herapartment on her own.  She joined a couple of disability activism groups.She took part in public speaking on behalf of the disability community. She started writing again and got a poem published in the anthology, BlindnessIsn’t Black produced by VSA Arts of Missouri. The title was chosen from oneof the lines of a poem I also got accepted in to the book.   Shemoved into a larger more convenient apartment in preparation for training witha guide dog.  Perhaps she was still afraid sometimes, and discouraged ather slow acquisition of adaptive skills, but she began to understand thatanything worth achieving takes the time it takes.  She became moreconfident and began to spread her wings.  She went to train with her ownguide dog.  I gained too by our friendship. If this is a success story,then it is more hers than mine. She overcame crippling fears more disablingthan her blindness.   She returned in equal measure anything I wasable to give. Olsen paved the way by sensing her fear and pain and offering hisaffection and sympathy. I think it would have been harder to establish trustand open honest communication if Olsen’s natural gifts as a therapy dog hadn’tencouraged my young friend to open up to us.



I love this parragraph.  



One thing I notice often in your writing,though is an excessive use of  the thirdperson personal pronoun. 



In parts of this parragraph, ‘she is usedtoo often and too close together. 



It doesn’t cut back on thecommunication  clarity, but you couldmake some of the sentences more varied.




 


Following is my poem that appeared in the VSAanthology:



 



Blindness From theInside Looking Out



(First published in 2009 in the VSA of Missouri anthologyBlindness Isn’t Black, an Anthology of Work By Missouri Writers and Artists Who HaveDisabilities)



  



My blindness isn't black.



I don't wander the world in darkness.



Sometimes it is silver,  



Intense shimmer makes my eyes water.



It is motion in mist,



Swirling indeterminate movement.



Something lurches at me,



Then slides away in stealthy retreat.



Colors are in my mind,



The motion only an illusion.



Someone stands before me



And I know where walls and doorways are.



This is facial vision.



The day came when the pain was too much.



They took away blind eyes,



I wondered if I would still know things.



Would I now be blinder?



Would I lose my sense of surroundings?



After the pain was gone,



The vision of the mind still remained.



Now I walk through my world, 



Beautiful big brown eyes looking out,



Non seeing prosthetics.



I know where you and the doorway are, 



The room is long and narrow.



I don't live in darkness.



I don't require eyes to see you



My blindness isn't black.



My eyes still tear up at the brightness.



They don't see like plastic.



They still watch the dancing color show.



 Love this.  



Eventhough I am not completely blind, I still have the color show and  sense of motion. 



When I wake up in the middle of the night, my dreams often go with me and Ican see people in clarity. 



I can’t see the side of the road, but I usually know where it is. 



It’s great to have these phenomena described in your poem. 



It gives a sense of kindridship. 



When the mechanics of eyesight are removed, there is still sight. 



 



The Company WeKeep



During the 2008 election campaign, I attended a town hallmeeting staged in Columbia Missouri. The event was for vicepresidential nominee Joe Biden.  I was able to take along three
co-workers from my office because my husband went to the ticket distributioncenter
in our small town of Fulton. Tickets had all been distributed in Columbiaon Sunday
night.  Only one politician spoke before the senator, Judy Baker who wasrunning for
the 9th congressional district.



A woman who had jokingly remarked to a friend afterseeing Barak Obama speak at the
democratic convention in 2004, that if that man ever runs for president,"I
will have to get actively involved in getting him elected."  Fouryears later, she
was leading the introductions.  After a short speech and a question andanswer session, it was time to work the rope line.  Olsen, in his usualmanner, 
slithered through the crowd until we were up against the barrier.  SenatorBiden
moved up and down greeting and listening to people.  When he reached thespot where
I was standing, my dog was wedged between us against the curtains. Senator Biden
took my right hand in his and greeted me warmly, I wished him a blessing on hisjourney
and safe travels.  He stepped close, leaned across the barrier to kiss mycheek and
give me a hug.  He leaned down to stroke Olsen on the top of his satinyhead
and commented that he once owned a Belgian shepherd and that my dog wasbeautiful.
On the local news that evening, the camera caught Olsen and I moving throughthe
crowd. Once again my Seeing Eye trained dog got me where I wanted to gowith grace
and security. What's more, because of my handsome escort, we got noticed. Mom was
right when she exhorted me to choose the company I keep wisely.
No, I didn't tell the senator not to pet my dog; I figured they both deservedthe privilege.



Politically, the chasm between conservativesand liberals was beginning to open up. All civility was rapidly disappearing. Iattended town-hall meetings arranged by the democratic senator representing Missouri. Loudaggressive conservatives attempted to shout her down. I was deeply impressed byher courage and grace under fire by hecklers. Olsen stayed quietly under myfeet until I rose to depart. Then his focused steady guide work allowed me toleave the venue quickly and safely.



As our bond grew stronger, he began to give asingle loud bark to let me know when someone was standing in the doorway to myoffice. He also announced to me that someone was approaching me or had calledout my name. This quirk caused some distress among those who were alreadyafraid of his solemn focused demeanor. I asked for help from my school and theysent trainers out to work with us, but nothing we tried could convince Olsenthat I didn’t need his (waiter alert) bark.



In the fall of 2009, things came to a crisiswhen the receptionist at the agency where I worked dashed up to my open officedoor as I arrived for work. I had put up a large dog crate in the corner of myoffice in which Olsen remained shut away while I worked at my desk. Since wehad just arrived, I hadn’t removed his harness and enclosed him yet. I let goof his leash to put away my purse, briefcase and lunch bag. When Donna steppedinto the doorway, Olsen gave his bark and took a couple of steps toward her. Igrabbed his leash and began removing his harness and put him in the crate.Later that day, the executive director of the center asked me to come to heroffice. She said that three of the staff had filed a complaint that my dog wascausing a hostile work environment for them and that the receptionist hadstated that if she had not removed her hand from the doorframe, Olsen wouldhave bitten her. The director said she was banning him from the office. I wasshocked and distressed. My salary was necessary if I was going to be able tocontribute to the expenses of our three generational family. I was employed ina state that allowed employers to terminate employees without having to explainwhy. I had no choice but to retire Olsen



I can tellyou that my blood is boiling..



He was only four years old and an excellentworker. 



I contacted the Seeing Eye, but they didn’thave anyone in mind that could use him as a guide. My friend Elizabeth offeredto take him. She was employed as a hospice worker. Her Quaker Churchhad no problem with having him attend services with her. She accepted assignmentswhere Olsen could accompany her. His excellent manners and gentle soul made himan exceptional pet therapist. He gently comforted people in pain. 



Two years in to their teaming up, Olsensuffered a medical issue that left him paralyzed for a time. Elizabeth carried him out to relieve him andas he recovered, helped him to learn to walk again. He returned to work withher and lived another four years. She shared with me many of their adventures.For example, she was visiting someone in the hospital and glanced down when sheheard a woman gasp from the doorway of the room. Olsen was sitting patientlywhile a little girl counted his teeth. She proudly told her mother how many hehad. Obviously, no one at my place of work was in any danger from my big blackshepherd.



  



ToOlsen



 



WhenI wake, my mind probes the space where you are not. Time and again throughoutthe day I seek you and find only emptiness. I push the lever on the icemakerand there is no scramble of paws racing to demand a frozen treat. I turn toleave only to retrace my steps in search of that stolid stick, which lurksunconcerned in a corner. I know you are well and with someone who loves you.You haven't been forced from my side by old age or illness. When the time isright, I will see you again. Our paths have divided and there is loneliness inmy heart where you dwelt for a time. You made me smile when I was weary. Youmoved with grace through crowded halls. You raced to bring me your toys withsuch joyful abandon, Dropping them gently in to my waiting hands. You dancedwith delight at sight of your harness, eager to take me wherever I wished. Whycouldn't I make you understand that your job did not include loud announcementsthat someone else was seeking my attention? Sometimes, communication across thespecies barrier proves impossible. Take care of my friend, fill her heart withjoy and as always, be you, a dear sweet shepherd boy.



 



Olsen taught me to keepmy courage up and to accept the things I can’t change -



and continue to soldier on even when life getstough.



 #DeAnna




 


This chapter enfolded my heart.   



I had a very emotional connection toit.  



Anyone who is not strongly affected bythis chapter must have a heart of stone.




 


Chapter 25



Singing Shepherd Boy



Whenever I am frightened by circumstances orsituations I land myself in because of my blindness, I think of the lyrics of aRogers andHammerstein song.



When you walk through a storm



Keep your chin up high



And don't be afraid of the dark.



At the end of the storm



Is a golden sky



And the sweet silver song of a lark.



 



Walk on through the wind,



Walk on through the rain,



Though' your dreams be tossed and blown. Walkon, walk on



With hope in your heart



And you'll never walk alone,



 



These words probably mean something differentto me, because for all of my adult years, I have shared my journey through lifewith a Seeing Eye guide dog. I haven’t had to face the world alone.



 



Sixteen days after I held Griffin in my lap as hecrossed the rainbow bridge, I moved like a zombie through my days. My heartheld a new paw-print nearly as deep as the first one placed there by livingwith and loving Tammy. Although each dog added a new impression of his or herown, some were deeper than others. Tammy was the deepest because she was myfirst guide and was so quick to learn new tasks that she seemed to read mymind. Phoebe did her job with such joy that she was a pleasure to work. Gentrywas hard-headed, but a deep thinker and problem solver. Griffin was funny, loving and totally devotedto me.



When I arrived in Morristown for the seventhtime, I was not ready to let go and accept a new partner. I was still in thegray desolation of grief. Olsen was also struggling with loss. His trainer hadbeen severely injured on the job about a month earlier. A large Labrador had crashed in to Rick in the play yard causingdamage to his knee. Rick’s string had been divided among the rest of his teamto be finished for class. 



Whatis a string. I can’t know  what is beingdivided to make sense of this sentence.



Olsen had transitioned from hispuppy raiser to a trainer. Then he had suddenly lost the man he had come tocare for and been passed around like a foster child from one trainer toanother. On the first night he was in my care, he kept rising from his mat besidemy bed to touch my cheek with a cold nose. He seemed to be trying to reassurehimself I was still there and hadn’t abandoned him while he slept.



Olsen was slightly larger than Griffin. He was a solidblack German Shepherd with a tan belly and legs. He had a half moon of tan onhis throat. He was stockier than most German Shepherds with a serious focuseddignified manner. His pace and pull were good matches too. He quicklytransferred his devotion to me and our training went smoothly. He was especiallysensitive to the feelings of those around him. 



When we went to a nursing homeduring part of our training, he wanted to go toward people who were afraid ofhim. He appeared to want to comfort them, not realizing that his totally blackface and dark brown eyes were intimidating to people. They couldn’t read hisgentle nature and only registered the erect head and upright ears. Griffin weighed about fivepounds less, but his face was appealing and expressive. People often asked ifhe was a puppy. Olsen carried himself with dignity and aloof professionalism.He quickly settled in to my work routine. We smoothly strode the halls of thestate capital. He glided through the crowds at town-hall meetings and rallies.His intimidation factor was a big asset in parting a path in or out ofcongested corridors. Gentry’s size had caused some to ask if he was aRottweiler and Tammy’s protective behavior had sometimes made people wary ofher, but Olsen didn’t have to do anything but stare straight ahead to causepeople to step back. This was sad, because he was a great worker and had agentle soul.



Thecomparative discriptions of your different guides are very good.  Some of them would pass for poetry. 



In the first week we were backfrom training, I had to go to an unfamiliar hotel to give a presentation onvolunteerism. in the center of the lobby of the hotel where my talk was to beheld, was a U-shaped arrangement of furniture. I knew that the room I needed tolocate was in a corridor  leading off the back of the lobby. Olsen walkedstraight ahead and I found my path blocked by a long sofa. Since I didn’t knowthat we had entered a horseshoe and were now at the bottom of it, I told Olsento “Find the Way.” He looked right and left but couldn’t see a logicaldirection to move. He stepped confidently up on the sofa and glanced back as ifto say, “Ok, hoist up your skirt and follow me over this barrier!” Of course,when I pulled him down, he quickly decided to backtrack around the end of theobstructing furniture and line us up to enter the corridor I was seeking.



 Not manyhdogs have that kind of intelligence. I had a black lab that would figure outthat there was a way around almost every barier. Up, under or around.



Olsen’s  true gentlenesswas only displayed when he sensed people needed a warm friendly dog as acomforter. In the fall of 2007, I attended a first meeting of a support groupthat was being organized under the auspices of the Lutheran Church.Another graduate of the Seeing Eye hoped to establish a once a month blindoutreach program to assist people experiencing vision loss. Several LutheranCongregations in Columbiaagreed to prepare and serve lunch on a rotating schedule. Priests fromparticipating churches provided a short devotional and prayer session. I was askedto give a presentation on new technology, or a technique for accomplishing atask as a blind person. 



 



During the course of the first meeting ofCircle of Friends Lutheran Blind Outreach, I noticed a young woman across theroom who spoke in a staccato agitated manner.  When the group wasbeginning to disperse, I crossed the room to kneel on the floor at herside.  She had indicated an interest in acquiring a guide dog.  Iasked if she would like to meet my dog. My fear inspiring German Shepherd Dog Olsen,laid his head on her lap.  As she began to stroke his head, she burst intotears.  



 



“When will I stop being afraid?” she sobbed.“When will this get better?”  



She had lost her vision two yearsearlier.  In a matter of three months, she went from twenty-twenty visionto able to see only a small slice of the world out of the corner of oneeye.   She had dropped out of college in her senior year and beganthe long arduous process of adjusting to vision loss.  



 



I gave her my contact information, and tookhers.  I made time to take her to several events and invited her to myhome.  I tried to be receptive, nonjudgmental and to involve her withothers.  Slowly she overcame some of her fears and began going out of herapartment on her own.  She joined a couple of disability activism groups.She took part in public speaking on behalf of the disability community. She started writing again and got a poem published in the anthology, BlindnessIsn’t Black produced by VSA Arts of Missouri. The title was chosen from oneof the lines of a poem I also got accepted in to the book.   Shemoved into a larger more convenient apartment in preparation for training witha guide dog.  Perhaps she was still afraid sometimes, and discouraged ather slow acquisition of adaptive skills, but she began to understand thatanything worth achieving takes the time it takes.  She became moreconfident and began to spread her wings.  She went to train with her ownguide dog.  I gained too by our friendship. If this is a success story,then it is more hers than mine. She overcame crippling fears more disablingthan her blindness.   She returned in equal measure anything I wasable to give. Olsen paved the way by sensing her fear and pain and offering hisaffection and sympathy. I think it would have been harder to establish trustand open honest communication if Olsen’s natural gifts as a therapy dog hadn’tencouraged my young friend to open up to us.



I love this parragraph.  



One thing I notice often in your writing,though is an excessive use of  the thirdperson personal pronoun. 



In parts of this parragraph, ‘she is usedtoo often and too close together. 



It doesn’t cut back on thecommunication  clarity, but you couldmake some of the sentences more varied.




 


Following is my poem that appeared in the VSAanthology:



 



Blindness From theInside Looking Out



(First published in 2009 in the VSA of Missouri anthologyBlindness Isn’t Black, an Anthology of Work By Missouri Writers and Artists Who HaveDisabilities)



  



My blindness isn't black.



I don't wander the world in darkness.



Sometimes it is silver,  



Intense shimmer makes my eyes water.



It is motion in mist,



Swirling indeterminate movement.



Something lurches at me,



Then slides away in stealthy retreat.



Colors are in my mind,



The motion only an illusion.



Someone stands before me



And I know where walls and doorways are.



This is facial vision.



The day came when the pain was too much.



They took away blind eyes,



I wondered if I would still know things.



Would I now be blinder?



Would I lose my sense of surroundings?



After the pain was gone,



The vision of the mind still remained.



Now I walk through my world, 



Beautiful big brown eyes looking out,



Non seeing prosthetics.



I know where you and the doorway are, 



The room is long and narrow.



I don't live in darkness.



I don't require eyes to see you



My blindness isn't black.



My eyes still tear up at the brightness.



They don't see like plastic.



They still watch the dancing color show.



 Love this.  



Eventhough I am not completely blind, I still have the color show and  sense of motion. 



When I wake up in the middle of the night, my dreams often go with me and Ican see people in clarity. 



I can’t see the side of the road, but I usually know where it is. 



It’s great to have these phenomena described in your poem. 



It gives a sense of kindridship. 



When the mechanics of eyesight are removed, there is still sight. 



 



The Company WeKeep



During the 2008 election campaign, I attended a town hallmeeting staged in Columbia Missouri. The event was for vice presidentialnominee Joe Biden.  I was able to take along three
co-workers from my office because my husband went to the ticket distributioncenter
in our small town of Fulton. Tickets had all been distributed in Columbiaon Sunday
night.  Only one politician spoke before the senator, Judy Baker who wasrunning for
the 9th congressional district.



A woman who had jokingly remarked to a friend afterseeing Barak Obama speak at the
democratic convention in 2004, that if that man ever runs for president,"I
will have to get actively involved in getting him elected."  Fouryears later, she
was leading the introductions.  After a short speech and a question andanswer session, it was time to work the rope line.  Olsen, in his usualmanner, 
slithered through the crowd until we were up against the barrier.  SenatorBiden
moved up and down greeting and listening to people.  When he reached thespot where
I was standing, my dog was wedged between us against the curtains. Senator Biden
took my right hand in his and greeted me warmly, I wished him a blessing on hisjourney
and safe travels.  He stepped close, leaned across the barrier to kiss mycheek and
give me a hug.  He leaned down to stroke Olsen on the top of his satinyhead
and commented that he once owned a Belgian shepherd and that my dog wasbeautiful.
On the local news that evening, the camera caught Olsen and I moving throughthe
crowd. Once again my Seeing Eye trained dog got me where I wanted to gowith grace
and security. What's more, because of my handsome escort, we got noticed. Mom was
right when she exhorted me to choose the company I keep wisely.
No, I didn't tell the senator not to pet my dog; I figured they both deservedthe privilege.



Politically, the chasm between conservativesand liberals was beginning to open up. All civility was rapidly disappearing. Iattended town-hall meetings arranged by the democratic senator representing Missouri. Loudaggressive conservatives attempted to shout her down. I was deeply impressed byher courage and grace under fire by hecklers. Olsen stayed quietly under myfeet until I rose to depart. Then his focused steady guide work allowed me toleave the venue quickly and safely.



As our bond grew stronger, he began to give asingle loud bark to let me know when someone was standing in the doorway to myoffice. He also announced to me that someone was approaching me or had calledout my name. This quirk caused some distress among those who were alreadyafraid of his solemn focused demeanor. I asked for help from my school and theysent trainers out to work with us, but nothing we tried could convince Olsenthat I didn’t need his (waiter alert) bark.



In the fall of 2009, things came to a crisiswhen the receptionist at the agency where I worked dashed up to my open officedoor as I arrived for work. I had put up a large dog crate in the corner of myoffice in which Olsen remained shut away while I worked at my desk. Since wehad just arrived, I hadn’t removed his harness and enclosed him yet. I let goof his leash to put away my purse, briefcase and lunch bag. When Donna steppedinto the doorway, Olsen gave his bark and took a couple of steps toward her. Igrabbed his leash and began removing his harness and put him in the crate.Later that day, the executive director of the center asked me to come to heroffice. She said that three of the staff had filed a complaint that my dog wascausing a hostile work environment for them and that the receptionist hadstated that if she had not removed her hand from the doorframe, Olsen would havebitten her. The director said she was banning him from the office. I wasshocked and distressed. My salary was necessary if I was going to be able tocontribute to the expenses of our three generational family. I was employed ina state that allowed employers to terminate employees without having to explainwhy. I had no choice but to retire Olsen



I can tellyou that my blood is boiling..



He was only four years old and an excellentworker. 



I contacted the Seeing Eye, but they didn’thave anyone in mind that could use him as a guide. My friend Elizabeth offeredto take him. She was employed as a hospice worker. Her Quaker Churchhad no problem with having him attend services with her. She acceptedassignments where Olsen could accompany her. His excellent manners and gentlesoul made him an exceptional pet therapist. He gently comforted people in pain.



Two years in to their teaming up, Olsensuffered a medical issue that left him paralyzed for a time. Elizabeth carried him out to relieve him andas he recovered, helped him to learn to walk again. He returned to work withher and lived another four years. She shared with me many of their adventures.For example, she was visiting someone in the hospital and glanced down when sheheard a woman gasp from the doorway of the room. Olsen was sitting patientlywhile a little girl counted his teeth. She proudly told her mother how many hehad. Obviously, no one at my place of work was in any danger from my big blackshepherd.



  



ToOlsen



 



WhenI wake, my mind probes the space where you are not. Time and again throughoutthe day I seek you and find only emptiness. I push the lever on the icemakerand there is no scramble of paws racing to demand a frozen treat. I turn toleave only to retrace my steps in search of that stolid stick, which lurksunconcerned in a corner. I know you are well and with someone who loves you.You haven't been forced from my side by old age or illness. When the time isright, I will see you again. Our paths have divided and there is loneliness inmy heart where you dwelt for a time. You made me smile when I was weary. Youmoved with grace through crowded halls. You raced to bring me your toys withsuch joyful abandon, Dropping them gently in to my waiting hands. You dancedwith delight at sight of your harness, eager to take me wherever I wished. Whycouldn't I make you understand that your job did not include loud announcementsthat someone else was seeking my attention? Sometimes, communication across thespecies barrier proves impossible. Take care of my friend, fill her heart withjoy and as always, be you, a dear sweet shepherd boy.



 



Olsen taught me to keepmy courage up and to accept the things I can’t change -------



and continue to soldier on even when life getstough.



 



#Martia




 


What a story. 



The fact that you are able to talk withher  adult to adult at this point saysthat on balance you probably made the best descisions anyone could have.  



The story is well told. 



Despite the fact that there are twodifferent opinions  being described here,I got the feeeling that you portrayed the situations in a non-defensiveway.   



There was the feeling of explaining ratherthan  defending. 



You don’t use emotional adjectives todescribe what you were going through, but the reader cannot escape putting heror himself in your shoes and feeling what you must have felt.  



As usuall, great writing.



OpposingRealities



MarciaJ. Wick, The Write Sisters



 



 Ibegan pressing little blue pills onto my daughter’s tongue at the age of six tocontrol her behavior.  Two decades later, I squirm as she accuses me ofturning her into a science experiment as a child. Seated across the table frommy grown daughter, it pains me to swallow the bitter pill she now feeds me,although it is deserved. After all, I threw her onto the Ritalin roller coasterwhen she weighed less than 50 pounds. The drug was popular in the 1990s fortreating children with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). 



I was there in private practice whenRitalin, the miracle drug, became popular. 



It really did seem to have miracle effecson certain clients, though I never was a pill practitioner. 



It’s scary, but the health profession goesthrough fads just like everything else and panaceas  take over . 



It sometimes takes a long time to see theoften horrible side effects.  



 



Whatmight have been the outcome had I not medicated my difficult daughter for morethan a decade? We can’t know. She admits to me that many of her strugglingfriends ended up on the streets or in jail because their parents gave up onthem. She knows in her heart that I love her and never intended to harm her.Still, she yearns for memories of a “normal” childhood which she feels wasstolen from her.



That’s part of the problem. We just don’tknow  where the alternatives would haveled. 



You may indeed have saved her life. 



 



Atage 27, she suffers gaps in her memory. She doesn’t know if what she rememberswas real, drug dreams, or hallucinations; she suffers physical issues with hergut, migraines, muscle aches, and frequent illnesses that could be attributedto damage all those chemicals did to her immune system and organs. 



 



Despitethe uncomfortable conversation, I am grateful we can now share a glass of wineand talk civilly about our painful journey through the mental health maze,attempting to reconcile our opposing realities. Without question, I acknowledgemy daughter is entitled to blame me for many of her current challenges, while Iattempt to defend the decisions I made at the time. I believed, of course, thatI was helping my daughter. Her speech was delayed, she was hyperactive andimpulsive, often reckless. She tended toward aggressive and destructive play,and she struggled to fit in with friends.



Actually, given the pressures you wereprobably under from teachers and child care  personnel, I doubt that youhad much choice but to follow doctors’ orders.



Atage four, my active child was staffed into a Headstart preschool where shereceived speech and play therapy. Coupled with private therapy, her speech normalizedby the end of kindergarten, but she already had been tagged as a troublemakerby teachers at the elementary school because of her active behavior. For twoyears, I networked with other parents, consulted with counselors, and defendedmy daughter.



 



“She’snot hyperactive, she’s only five.” 



 



“Shedid her homework, but she lost it.”



There are all kinds of reasons whychildren loose their homework.



 



“She’snot stupid. Find another way to test her,” I insisted. 



 



Thefirst grade teacher claimed my daughter was choosing to disrupt the classroom.Although I believed that no child would intentionally look for trouble oralienation from the other children, I also knew by then that neitherconsequences nor rewards seemed to influence my daughter’s choices. 



 



Iwas desperate to find help, so I turned to a medical doctor the summer afterour difficult first grade experience. Now I know I sound like I’m justifying myactions, but I truly thought I was doing right by my daughter.  Truth wasI was drowning. I was a single mom with a disability. I wasn’t receiving childsupport, and I wasn’t driving or working due to my progressive vision loss. Tome, it seemed an answer to prayer when the pediatrician pronounced a diagnosisof ADHD and prescribed a “magic” pill. I thought it could be that easy, thatthe stimulant would stimulate the “thinking” part of my daughter’s brain tokick in before the “impulsive” part. At least, that’s how it was explained tome.



Explanations right out of the medicalscriptures at the time. It may still be that way. 



Mygirls’ daddy also had struggled in school, ultimately landing in vocationalclasses where the schools used to dump the “dummies;” he never believed hewasn’t stupid, and he suffered from alcoholism and homelessness later in lifeas a result. I didn’t want my daughter’s teachers to typecast my child or giveup on her that way.



 



Isimply wanted my “Energizer Bunny” to be able to sit still, focus on theteacher, and learn instead of being sent out of class. Many days at the end ofschool, I found my girl sitting in the “den” (the office), or at a desk outsidethe class door in the hallway. Other days, the children parading out of theroom passed me tattling, “She got in trouble again today.” They were eager cubreporters.



 



Istarted my daughter on Ritalin before she began second grade. Fortunately, herteacher was a precious gem, patient, Warm,  and kind. She approached mychild calmly and gave her space to move about the room. We were lucky to workwith this special teacher through two school years. 



 



Itseemed my daughter only had behavior issues in class on days we laterdiscovered that a dose of medication had been missed. That seem evidence to theteacher and me that the medication was effective. When I mentioned the observationto her doctor, he blithely changed her prescription from three daily doses ofRitalin to a single slow-release, long-lasting Adderall capsule. This freed mydaughter from making her mid-day trip to the office for a pill, but thepractice had already stigmatized her amongst fellow students. 



Today, kids will buy the stuff  to get high on. 



Iwas disappointed the doctor hadn’t informed me sooner that a long-lastingalternative was available. If I hadn’t inquired, we could have remained on theRitalin wagon for years. However, in hindsight, I became my own worst enemywhen I decided to research the treatment of ADHD for myself. I ordered tapesand books and videos. I also learned to surf the web, the latest-greatestresearch tool. What I read was staggering 



 



Accordingto the current edition of the DSM (Diagnostic Statistical Manual) and trendingpsychology articles, ADHD commonly co-existed with a long list of otherdisorders such as Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD), Conduct Disorder (CD),Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Anxiety, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), andother personality and social disorders.



Soon,it seemed each visit to a psychologist or psychiatrist resulted in a newdiagnosis and, along with it, a new pill. When the diagnosis of bipolardisorder was added to ADHD, a mood stabilizer was combined with the stimulant;when another psychiatrist decided that the correct disorder was Asperger’s, theclass of meds changed completely; when my daughter began self-harming in middleschool, the drugs the doctors prescribed turned her into a zombie. As my girlreach puberty, gaining in weight and height, the mix of meds would seem tocease working effectively. The psychiatrist (whichever one we were consultingat the time) would simply increase the dosage or add another pill to theregimen. By age 13, my blurry-eyed child was consuming a daily cocktail of fiveheavy-duty psychiatric medications.



 



Despiteall the drugs, she fought to find her voice. In defiance, she began cheekingand later stuffing the pills between couch cushions. She demanded the attentionof her doctors and mother with an attempt at suicide. She was repeatedlysuspended, and at risk of expulsion and legal trouble. None of this justifiesdrugging my daughter; “I sought to temper her while she was screaming out to mefor help, she makes clear to me now.



Does she ever try to put herself in yourplace?  



Byage 12, my daughter was in and out of the acute care unit at the local mentalhealth hospital after she began experiencing audible, tactile, and visualhallucinations. In the middle of the night, when she begged me to take her tothe hospital because ghosts were telling her to hurt me or burn the house down,I obliged.



 



Atthe hospital, the doctors threw drugs at her like darts. 



I love that metaphor.



 Ultimately,no one could say if the pharmaceuticals were helping or harming my child. Werethe pills controlling or causing psychosis? I finally put on the brakes whenthey suggested I consider a clinical trial of an “experimental” medicationbecause they didn’t know what else to try. By then, the only way to step mydaughter back to the baseline safely and “find” her again was to admit her forlong-term residential treatment.



 



Withthe help of my parents, we made a “field trip” to Denver to visit the available facilities. Weselected “The Children’s Home,” a former orphanage with a homier feel than theother mental health institutions. It felt odd when we posed on the front stepsfor a photograph, all smiles, as if we were sending my daughter off to summercamp or college. She seemed anxious at that time to tell us “goodbye.”



 



I’lladmit to my own sense of relief at my respite from daily drama, frantic phonecalls, and school suspensions. I slept well at night knowing my daughter wassecure in a place where she would receive therapy along with academicinstruction, supervised living, and a safe way to descend from the pillmountain I had forced her to climb…



You could say rather, that she forced youto climb. 



I don’t see how you could have been anymore responsible in your decisions. 



You certainly did a lot more to help herand to be informed than most good parents would have. 



I think you deserve several medals. 



----------- 



Tobe continued.




 



 


# Sally




 


This is a powerful, honest  poem   



It holds so much of conflicting emotions. 



It holds generations of stories in the waythat only a poem can do. 



I’ve messed around with details.




 


SOLACE



 



Inmemory of Kathleen Bennett, 1916 – 2008



 



 



Ibrought my mother a dog to polish



If you used ‘pooch’ instead of dog, youwould have ‘p’ alliterations.



Thedullness of a nursing home routine



Andmake it sparkle with Labrador enthusiasm.



Use ‘spirit’ instead of ‘enthusiasm.’ 



That way you cut down on beats to beconsistent with the previous 2 lines. 




 


 Ibrought my mother a dog to remind her



Thatshe was the same person  whose ninety-one years



Try using ‘soul’ instead of person.  It gets rid of one beat and you get ‘s’alliteration.



Hadbeen blessed by canine devotion – from  the fox terrier



End this line with ‘devotion’.



Ofher native Englandwho, disliking being groomed,



I don’t think you need , “from her Native England.”  



The information of your mother’s originsis important to you, but it is too much information for one line. So it wouldread:



>From the fox terrier, disliking beinggroomed, 



( I also left out ‘who’.O



Buriedhis brush in a neighbor’s garden, 



fromthe gentle mastiffs bred and shown



Byher late sister at Crufts,  from the family mutts



‘’Who always found canineChristmas presents under the tree, to the yellow Labrador



Who always found presents under the tree 



(you don’t need all those extra words. 



The reader knows you are talking aboutdogs and Christmas. 



It flows a lot better with out all thosewords.



Who,with my hand on her harness, guided me



Throughthe institutional halls



Andgreeted her with a kiss when we visited.



Use ‘met’ rather than ‘greeted’.  



You cut down on beats and get a half rhyme.



 



Ibrought my mother a dog to salve



Myconscience for the care I could not provide



leave out ‘the’.



Andto assuage my guilt for the luxuries I had at home 



Leave out ‘to’. 



Leave out ‘the’. 



Leave out ‘my.’  



Say, “For my luxuries at home.”



Ofmeals of my own choosing, hot cups of tea, and quiet privacy.



Break this into 2 lines, 



adding an adjective of 2 to 3 syllablesbefore ‘meals’. 



The first line  ending with ‘choosing.’



 



Ibrought my mother a dog a few hours



Beforeshe died. As I held her waif-like hand



Listeningto her changing breath and bidding her safe travel,



I listened to her changing breath and bid her safe travel



Iprayed that the woman in the nursing home bed



Thatheld no hint of home realized



Move ‘realized’ to the next sentence.



Ihad brought us both a dog.



 




 



 



 


 




 



 



 

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