| Filed under blindness Relationships
Full Circle
How much do we know about a person? I consider myself a private person but also a person who believes sharing a personal success or a challenge could help someone else. I am sharing the following audio vignette produced by the Hadley Institute called Insights and Sound Bites and hope it helps you or someone you know struggling with depression or vision loss.
https://hadley.edu/podcasts/insights-sound-bites/i-came-full-circle
| Filed under blogging Guide dogs pets and people
After raising two kids and doing the parent thing with the pediatrician for all those years, I thought my husband might like helping out with our pets once in a while. I am proud to say Jerry has become a wonderful pet parent and takes our pet dog, May to all her appointments. We adopted her in 2020 and love her sweet and sassy personality. She is smart, protective but not territorial, and solves problems quickly and efficiently, just like a good German Shepard should. While she has a bit of Rottweiler , as proven by a DNA test, she’s got a GSD body type and traits and the only part missing is pointy ears. She has derpy ones that flop over and stick out perpendicular to her head. Do not let this fool you.
At first we house trained her, which took a few months. She was already crate trained. It took a while for her bladder to mature. She learned how to unlock the metal safety gate, you know the child-safety ones with the lock cover and the sliding , recessed latch?
My yellow lab guide dog, Bailey and May love one another, play together and love to share space, which is good. She also loves our cats. She does poke and play with them but taps down the chasing and while this took some time, the darned cats like to be chased, so we gave up trying to stop it. A few swats from the kitty pins and she learned to respect them. When we brought in a kitten, May’s mothering instincts blossomed, surprising us. She raised it, groomed it and now they all sleep together. April, my daughter, who convinced us to adopt May and who has been a huge part of caring for May, has been able to help with most of her doggie dislikes, like the ear drops. April is great at relaxing May for a two or three toenail trim. But it does take a few days because May won’t tolerate more than one foot at a time. The groomer must hate it when she comes in for a spa day.
But these aversions are within the normal spectrum for a pet, right? Let me go on to what is challenging . sometimes she reverts into a demon, thus her alternate name, Mazikeen. Anyway, her Shepard came out, she is such a drama queen. First, to tell us her ear hurt she jumped onto the bed, flopped between us and kept us awake by whining and shaking her head all night . Then she hurt her ear more by scratching it and when we tried to look at it she screamed like we were cutting it off. So, off to the Vet to take a look at the ear. Then, Jerry gave her the anti-puke pill because she gets car sick in the truck. Well it didn’t work but we have a blanket for that and an extra seat cover just in case. Then, they can’t take her temp anally because she turns into a whirling dervish in the exam room so they have to do it under her leg. That went okay, so did the ear inspection. But when they wanted to take a blood draw to check basics from taking the allergy pills, they could not do it. She became a manic mess and sprayed blood all over them from jerking away. Three times, even with cheese whiz and three people to help distract her. So next time we have to fast her in the morning, run her until she is exhausted because a tired dog is a good dog in the exam room, give her the anti puke pill two hours prior and maybe Jerry can avoid a mess in the truck and the vet tech can get some blood. Oh, they want a urine sample. Well, that is not going to happen, She won’t let anyone sneak up and put a pan under her ass.
All this is frustrating and I am thankful it is Jerry and April facing the challenges with May. Oh, yes, I almost forgot to mention she punishes herself by running into the dog crate and facing the wall after we discover a chewed slipper or something she’d taken off the kitchen counter, like an oven mitt. How could you not love this dog or be amused when she does this? Talk about operant conditioning, lol.
The best thing about May is the way she lowers her head and leans into you or lap asking for affection, exposing her neck as if to say I trust you so much I want you to scratch me where I can’t reach. What could be more endearing than this?
May the dog on her dog bed with her toysMay the dog on her bed with her bones
| Filed under Guide dogs Relationships
Have you ever had the feeling you were forgetting something as you walked out the door? Well, folks, if you haven’t already gotten the hint, once you are past fifty, the forgetting increases and making a mental list isn’t enough.
Case in point: Yesterday I got the text message from the paratransit provider about my confirmed ten-minute window and pick-up time . I put on my guide dog’s harness, my jacket, slung my bag over my shoulder, and grabbed my support cane and tromped out the door into the pouring rain with the niggling feeling I’d forgotten something.
I soon put it out of my mind as the driver and I talked. We arrived, my dog guiding me from the bus into the office building and into the PT waiting room.
It wasn’t until I was halfway done with my routine that the forgotten thing was exposed.
“Where’s your tooth?” asked the physical therapist.
All I could do was take it as gracefully as I could considering it is a front tooth that is gone.
“I left it at home,” I said.
| Filed under blogging Writing Life
Annie Shares News Volume2 Issue 11.5 November/December 2022
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🌨️ 🎍 🦃
Hello and welcome to the last newsletter of 2022. I hope you all have had a good year and moving toward post pandemic activities once more. The year has been productive, taking a positive direction in terms of writing
The biggest piece of news is adding another resource to share news and writing related happenings. First, if you follow my blog, www.thought-wheel.com, you will receive an email posting my newsletter. I plan to test this new option for sharing the newsletter so don’t be surprised if you receive something from me via Word Press.
Next, . I am happy to announce I am contributing an advice column to National Braille Press’s quarterly Our Special variety magazine which is only available in braille. It feels good to share the years of counseling experience for the benefit of others. Finding writing gigs that fit my lifestyle and help pay the bills is challenging and I hope to find a few more opportunities like it in the coming year.
Thanks to Friends In Art, www.friendsinart.org the monthly Art Parlor podcast has added a few new episodes. Catch my talented colleague and author Chris Kuell in the November 2022 show as well as a collection of other artists from past episodes.
Where else have I been? 🐝 Collaborating with the many other authors of Behind Our Eyes, of course. We now have a solid podcast collection for listening, called the Behind Our Eyes Book Launch program, thanks to the passion and cooperation of our members. Each sixty-minute presentation highlights one author and recently released book recorded on the zoom platform. Go to www.behindoureyes.org to find out more, to join or to listen to recordings of our members reciting their writing and questions from the audience. We already have members scheduled for 2023.
I am writing a new book and this time it is nonfiction and will include the healing process brought about by therapy animals and my experiences working as a clinician.
Here is a fun poem I’ve been working on, I hope you like it.
The Torture of Sonnets
By Ann Chiappetta
I don’t know much of Sonnetry
‘tis with rhyme and meter I fail
Concocting strings of symmetry
Commences with pulling out my hair.
Pluck and twist with fingers and fist
ta-dum, ta-dum, ta-dum,
Clumsy, I trip into the Muse’s grip
vexed by verse, overcome.
A scribble a scrabble — my attempts aren’t pretty
Word smithing Causes my cranium to throb
and I fear my friends shall not withhold their pity
and with pitchforks, chase me like Frankenstein’s mob.
Mayhap soon I shall toss up a poetry salad
Once I imbibe in a few pints of ale
Such an endeavor may result in a ballad
When recited will not result in a rain of rotten kale.
Undaunted I mentally twerk and type
Until the meter, rhyme and poetic measure is ripe.
The Masher’s Last Stand
By Ann Chiappetta
I learned to cook prior to food preparation machines and commercial blenders
We used whisks, hand-crank mixers and potato mashers. I stood on the Romper Room emblazoned stool beside Mom until my little arms tired. I whipped cream, eggs, and sifted flour. I was practicing to be a Suzie Homemaker, don’t you know.
After my parents divorced and we moved into an apartment, the budding skills became necessity. At nine I learned to scramble eggs, boil water for macaroni, and help make
meatloaf and meatballs. The spoon with the little holes and the potato masher made the move with us.
I estimate the utensils are over fifty years old, the spoon is solid stainless riveted to hardwood handle grips. The masher is also riveted and sturdy, not even a bit of rust.
Dad’s carpenter’s measuring stick given to him by his father
was the final tool
Laid in a reverent place among elderly scrapers, hammers and planers.
Bobby, said a friend, your making mistakes, get rid of that thing.
The measuring tape wasn’t as fun to play with
And pinched my tender fingers more than once
Dad would release the stop and we listened to it retract as if by magic and
He would chuckle and say something about
The wonders of modern technology
Then whip out the stubby pencil from behind an ear, mark the wood
clip it back to his waist and return to work with the hand saw.
I pretended the curled papery shavings from planing the wood
that fell like
Dogwood petals onto the shop floor were
Secret messages from fairies or a mouse
I put them to my nose and inhaled the fragrances
Cedar or pine was the best
Pop gardened and gave me the first taste of fresh mint
Strawberries warmed and sweetened by the sun
Pickled cucumbers in jars so big a child’s hands could not
carry or open them
My little fingers squeezed
Lupini beans from their casings as directed
By the little Italian lady visiting
From next-door
and my lips tingled from
a bit of afternoon antipasto
and my confidence was tempered
by losing a few hands of Casino
I tried buying lupini beans and couldn’t find them
Though I remember the card game rules and pulpy fragrant
Refinements Of the shop
And how attached I am to a few outdated implements
The telltale products of my youth.
Annie Shares News Volume II Issue 10 October 2022
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Blog: www.thought-wheel.com
🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃
This is my favorite time of year. I love the seasonal shift, the influence the winter months have upon my writing. I’ve heard the fall and winter are the best times for writing and crafting because we are inside more and the element of hibernation isn’t quite gone from our instincts. So, here’s to all things pumpkin and fleecy and spiritually motivating.
Drop by Plum Tree Tavern for a serving of poetry, including one about my favorite birds:
Blue Jays Aren’t Blue
https://theplumtreetavern.blogspot.com/
I found this sweet little pome written about Fall.:
Autumn Fires
by Robert Louis Stevenson
In the other gardens
And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
See the smoke trail!
Pleasant summer over
And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
The gray smoke towers.
Sing a song of seasons!
Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
Fires in the fall!”
Here is a fairy tale written and read by me:
https://www.dropbox.com/s/du7x58xuievthrk/the%20maiden%20and%20the%20prince.m4a?dl=0
The warmest of wishes from Dreya the book dragon, too.
Dreya the red and green book dragon smiles and floats in the air with her best friends, winged books and musical notes.
| Filed under blindness Guide dogs writing
Second place winner! this essay will be in the December 2022 issue of the National Federation of the Blind’s Writer’s Division Literary magazine, Slate and Style.
One Dog’s Life
2011
Verona and my daughter play in the lake for an hour. the funniest thing is the way Verona blows water from her mouth after dropping the stick. It makes a loud, spitting sound that can be heard from the patio.
When the assorted waterfowl horde realizes she is visiting, it waddles in masse from grass to the lake weeds beside the dock. Labrador nose dilates, a front paw lifts, instincts override even an offer of a cookie. for just a little while she is the retriever, the soft-mouthed hunting companion, not a guide dog.
Each and every year we have together is a blessing, a time for me to feel unfettered. I try to think back on the way life was before training with Verona but my mind veers from those dark moments and I let them go. We are here, being warmed by the late afternoon sun. We are dog and woman, partners for however long time and fate permit.
2013
Four humans and two dogs fill the little red sedan. I sit in front, along with Mom, who is driving. In the back seat, Music’s furry butt crushes my sister, who, until now has suffered in silence.
“Thank God it’s a short ride,” I hear her mumble from somewhere behind us.
We reach our destination, extract ourselves from the little red sedan. Verona’s excitement is palpable. Once inside the gate, loose dogs run up to us, but I make her ignore them and sit until I’m ready. With a word she’s off. We claim a bench in the warm California sun. moments later Verona lopes by us, a pack of dogs giving chase. I listen for the pack to turn back and run past us again, Verona in the lead.
California 2013
Pebbles and shells litter the meandering path to the beach. The air resonates with surf and sea birds. I release Verona and she lopes off, nose to the ground
Music, my sister’s Golden Retriever, chases Verona into the water. As she turns to give chase, a huge wave crashes down and for a moment she is engulfed, Sucked away by green sea and foam. my heart skips a beat in arrested panic; The wave spits her out onto the beach and she runs to me, weaves in-between my legs and soaks my pants. I look like incontinence has gotten the best of me. Thereafter, Verona avoids the waves and prefers a safer splash in the wet sand and tidal pools instead.
It’s important that Verona has the opportunity to be a dog; so much responsibility is put upon her when waring the harness, it seems that this is the best way to let her know. As she digs a hole in the sand and flops down to dry off, my heart is content because she is doing just what she’s supposed to be doing, living a dog’s life.
close up of Black lab with snow on her face
| Filed under writing
Flash Fiction under 200 words
A fortuneteller, skin cream, and a song stuck in someone’s head
The song’s percussion joined with the eerie chanting. The crescendo found her own pain and she wailed with the vocals, higher and higher until her voice broke.
“Baby, are you okay?”
Lorna sat up, another wail stuck in her throat.
“Easy there, Babe,, I think you had a nightmare,”
She tried to calm her racing heart, taking deep breaths.
“No more psychic fortuneteller shows for you before bed,” Jackie said.
Lorna couldn’t tell if she was joking or serious.
Jackie slid over a hand in a reassuring gesture. It was then Lorna noticed the fabric glove on her own hand.
A typically-Jackie style smirk broke across her face.
“You must have been exhausted. I helped you on with the gloves after you put on your skin cream and you fell asleep before your head hit the pillow,”
Lorna looked into her partner’s steady gaze and felt the rush of color on her own cheeks.
Jackie drew her closer, kissing Lorna’s forehead.
“let’s go back to sleep,” she soothed, settling them both back under the covers.
End
| Filed under blindness blogging novel writing
Annie Shares News Volume 2 Issue 9 September 2022
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🌑 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌙
Wonderful Things Afoot
The creative life is often compared to an ebb and flow, like tidal or moon phases. The last two months were a prime example. I barely wrote anything more than email correspondence due to being removed from our home of thirty years no thanks to asbestos contamination in our old floors. During a vacation in temporary housing via an Airbnb to await the asbestos abatement and installation of new floors, no thanks to hurricane Ida, I managed only one poem. I disconnected and it was probably for the best. I read, I soaked in the blessed silence, basked in the sun, brushed Bailey until my arm was tired, took in the evocative smells of country living and scratched my bug bites with complete complacency.
The day prior to our return the stress flared and another two weeks of creative cut-off overtook me, but this time it wasn’t attributed to adjusting to the ambiance of country living and black bears eating the tasty apples from the tree in the yard next to us. It was frustration and disappointment that shut me down. Our home was in chaos. Boxes from floor to ceiling, many of them unmarked. It was beyond dirty, our appliances were unplugged and left to leak all over the kitchen floor. The list goes on but it is behind us now. It was a helpless feeling, for sure.
The lifeline appeared when I attended a few writing-related zoom meetings. The first was the regular Friday afternoon Writing Works Wonders Community Call podcast streamed by the ACB Media Network. It helped me reconnect with my creativity by providing a writing prompt and it resulted in a poem which will be in a sweet little online literary pub called the Plum Tree Tavern. Then, the following week, the WWW hosts Kathy and Cheryl provided a second prompt that resulted in yet another poem, posted below, which was well received by other writers and is looking for a publication home.
Thanks to a fellow author and editor, Robert Kingett, I signed up for an open mic call and I read five of my more recent poems and was thrilled to receive high praise from the listeners. The facilitator followed up with me resulting in an opportunity to record one of my guide dog poems. It will be added to a poetry project for the Chicago Public Library.
While writing is solitary, the sharing of it is not; the sharing is what pushes me to write, to create and keep a productive mindset. Being good at something like writing and hearing others say my writing is good gives me a feeling of belonging and purpose. I’d lost those two aspects of self when I became blind and reclaiming them over the years felt like gluing the jagged pieces of my soul back together.
Opportunities abound, from online writing prompts given by Writing Works Wonders to focused feedback and email lists to connect like in the writer’s group, Behind Our Eyes. One never knows where the opportunities and connections will appear but one thing is sure, striving to produce good writing and sharing it with readers is the goal.
I value you all, it is you, the reader, the listener, the literary compatriots, for whom I write. I will keep writing as long as you keep reading and listening.
Summer’s Book
By Ann Chiappetta ©
August is
A perpetual ending
Of wilting haiku blossoms
Of Heat and drought and rain on wind chimes
Of crisp leaflets capturing autumn’s promise and
open fields of earth’s parchment
awaiting to harvest and scribe
richness into Nature’s book with stories of Winter white.
2022
Dreya sends her fanciful smile your way, what’s better than a book dragon asking her friends to read more books?
Dreya the red and green book dragon smiles and floats in the air with her best friends, winged books and musical notes.