Matilda Ziegler Magazine for the Blind the source for blindness news and information since 1907

Recently many people who use accessible software like myself have had to upgrade to the Windows 7 platform. Personally, I use Jaws from Freedom Scientific and currently plan to continue using it. When I made the change from Windows XP to Windows Vista, I immediately retreated to XP and stayed there. But wanting to enter the job market, I found that the only way I could take the job I wanted was with a computer that used either the Vista or 7 operating system. So I set about learning just how I would do this.

When I first learned XP, I set it to classical view like the older Windows 98–that later became a hindrance to me learning 7. But I was fortunate enough to get the opportunity to take a class offered by the state of Illinois that helped me learn where everything is. When first getting to the Start menu, Jaws offers a search window. The easiest way to find a program or file on the system is to simply start typing the first few letters of the program or file. Then if it does not say the one you want, just arrow down. Usually it will be right there. Another way is to up arrow once and then right arrow. This will put you in your programs list. Then you can arrow down. (Note: with Jaws it says “opened” or “closed.” This meaning the folder has sub folders within it. By using the right arrow you can open the list and then arrow down). To close the folder submenu, you must up arrow to the top of the list and then left arrow until it says closed. This is a major change from the XP system where you simply entered into the file and then the subfolders opened. Attempting this with 7 results in you starting the defaulted folder in the program. Also, if the program is one you use often, you may find it in the quick links menu which you can quickly access by down arrowing from the initial search box.

To access your folders, the easiest way I have found is to simply press tab once from the initial search box in the start menu. This will land you on a file which usually will have the computer name on it. You can press enter here and in it will be folders to which most windows users will easily recognize. Or you may down arrow and will find document, pictures, and music–the big three folders for most of us–then, continuing down, you’ll find games, computer, control panel, and printers and other devices, default programs, and help and support. Of these most are just like the XP version, or at least similar enough an experienced Windows user should be able to navigate them. But the control panel is completely different and set up much like the XP version if you don’t change it to classical view.

Floyd, Glenwood Romelle, 60, of Richmond, departed this life on December 29, 2011. He was preceded in death by his parents, Carl Washington and Ethel Jearlean Floyd.

Our friend Glen was a wonderful guy who was larger than life. He was so giving and loved around the world. His word was his bond. I have known Glen 3 decades. He was an intellectual genius who earned a Masters in Computer Science and was an exceptional computer programmer.

His passion was advocating for the rights of people who were blind/disadvantaged. He was a long time devoted member of The American Council of the Blind, working diligently within the ACB organization. Glen served as Presidents of ACB’s Virginia affiliate and of the local Richmond chapter. He received many prestigious awards and accolades, and was the recipient of a letter from Governor L. Douglas Wilder of Virginia, commending him for outstanding services rendered.

Rosetta Brown

I met Glenwood Floyd in the summer of 1974. Glen was always ready, willing, and able to assist me with problems I had with my studies. He was so mild-mannered, clear-thinking, and patient with me, that we became very best friends.

We often discussed our jobs, families, and issues in the blindness community. Glen was absolutely one of the most intelligent, level-headed, and compassionate people that I’ve ever had the privilege to know, and this world will definitely be a much poorer and sadder place without him. So long, my good friend, I certainly hope to see you again in that celestial place where we will never grow old: where sickness will have no power to cause suffering, and death no dominion.”

Herbert Brown

Do any of you feel your inspiration and energy slipping? The new year is a time to count or to find blessings.

A quote from January’s Guideposts started me thinking: “There is satisfaction in wisdom, in having loved people and accomplished things, in having not wasted all our time with caution and escape.”

People often believe that blind folks sit around with no purpose. We can come to believe this too. So let me tell you about one little end-of-year week full of clues about what to do and not do. I’ll skip necessary things–cleaning, bill paying, exercising. I’ll skip my struggle balancing desire, mythology, and practicality–they are ongoing and revised more slowly with repeated “guidance.”

I began the week listening to Karen lament her cut in work hours and how she has never had a raise. “Some residents,” she said, “were very generous with Christmas presents this year.” Generosity, being listened to, and being valued keep us caring about what we do.

So I checked in with several other friends who need someone to carefully listen or at least someone to think about them, including a 93-year-old who asked to call me to test her new cell phone because she didn’t know who else to call.

I record NASA information for voice-mail. Marcia commented, “I haven’t heard a launch and docking for years. I used to be so involved with this and I got all the old feelings again.” Esther also thanked me for sending the early morning Soyuz launch.

On Monday night the heat was off in my apartment row. I’m usually the first person to notice such things. I told Maintenance at 9:00 that “It’s probably better than people calling at 3 a.m.”

Bev is my computer wizard. On Wednesday I was about to call her concerning e-mailing a bio to clinch a publication when she called me. (Synchronicity?)

The switch in NASA TV’s satellite was something I warned my cable company about, over a month ago. For the first time in such situations, there was no local interruption in NASA programming. And, yes, I called back to compliment then. (I always report NASA issues, and they trust me now.)

We must beware of that “we don’t matter” syndrome. Maybe no one is there at midnight or when we feel particularly frail. But I, for one, have a lifestyle of all-hours NASA events or reading whenever I wake up. Or writing a rough draft on New Year’s Eve. I mustn’t take the luxury of moldable time for granted.

And Bev is nudging me toward a new project. Besides being very purposeful herself, Bev is a voice teacher. “Did you do any Christmas singing?” she asked. “No,” I said, “my voice is shot.” “That’s not true. I can hear that your voice isn’t gone.” Because of catching too many colds, I had to give up music-therapy volunteer work. But the CDs are still here–I could perform Karaoke. I could help carol next Christmas. I could enjoy the process, and perhaps inspire others. And I just met a new tenant on my floor who practices soprano opera an hour a day, which is surely a sign.

I am not ashamed to admit that I am a die-hard music fan and often become ecstatic when one of my favorite musicians or groups has a new CD coming out. But, remember the days before the internet? Securing one of these gems wasn’t easy at times. So it was in August of 1987 when The Monkees released their first new album in almost 20 years.

I’d been a fan of their weekly sit-com since its debut in 1966 and my husband and six year old daughter had joined the ranks of Monkee-maniacs in 1986 when they made a successful comeback. On the wave of positivity, their first comeback album, “Pool It,” was out then and I’d spent that summer looking for it with no success. On this hot weekday afternoon, daughter Mary and I were at the local supermarket to purchase the perfect lunchbox for her first grade semester.

It took 30 minutes to find a bright Care Bears box. Taking a shortcut down the miscellaneous aisle to the express counter, Mary grabbed my arm suddenly.
“Mom!” she yelled. “The Monkees!”
“What?” I said, confused. “Where?”
“The records!” she squealed, jumping up and down, pulling me over to the rack. There it was, the new album right up front. Seizing it as if it would vanish, we ran to the check-out, talking over each other.

Grinning, I set the lunchbox and album down, reaching in my purse for my wallet. I felt the blood shoot to my shoes as I realized the wallet was back at the house.

“Hello, ladies,” the chipper girl said at the register as she greeted us and priced the Care Bears box.

“Mommy,” Mary said beside me as I franticly rummaged in my purse. “You look sick!”

My fingers touched a stray bill. It was a $5 bill, enough for the lunchbox. “Excuse me,” I said as the girl reached for the record. “I changed my mind–just the lunchbox, please.”

Confusion and horror filled Mary’s face. “But, it’s The Monkees!” Her incredulity made the people behind us snicker.

“I know, Mare, but we have to put it back. My wallet’s home.”

New Jersey’s youngest Monkee fan burst in to tears. She cried the entire walk home until I was grabbing my wallet from the kitchen table. “We’re going back!” I declared as if we were heading for a pack of lions. “Nobody’s getting that one copy, baby doll, but us!”

In our hurry, we tramped back to the store without setting the lunchbox down. In my mind, I could see Davy, Peter and Micky smiling on that album cover!

We got it, yes, we did–and walking home again, I took a grand tumble on some rocks. Sitting on my backside on the grass as Mary was shrieking with laughter, I wondered why this day was getting a bit too annoying.

At home, Mary ran to the stereo as I inspected the lunchbox for damage. It and the Monkee LP were intact, which was more than I could say for my aching hind area.

Irony of this little tale, then? At lunch time on Mary’s first day of school, her Care Bears thermos had leaked milk all over her tuna sandwich and cookies. Seems there was a crack in it. Whether from my glorious fall or poor production, we’ll never know, but she said it was OK, since we did get “Pool It,” didn’t we?

(Provided with assistance from Marilyn Brandt Smith)

It didn’t look like the trees I sometimes touched in the park or walked beneath. The leaves didn’t rustle or crackle. They weren’t really leaves at all, but more like brushes–soft yet prickly beneath my nine-year-old hands.

“What’s this, a nice Jewish boy like you getting so much pleasure from a Christmas tree?” Aunt Ruthie asked without a hint of understanding.

My mother was the “rebellious disloyal Goya (non-Jewish) mom” according to my uncle Kal Rubin. She bought her blind son a Christmas tree and decorated it with glittery glass ornaments, lacey tinsel, and a light which gave off warmth and probably a nice color too. It made our Brooklyn apartment smell like I imagined a forest would smell, fresh and alive.

Children at school, mostly a Christian group, talked and sang about their holidays. I knew about sledding and loved to play in the snow.

We celebrated Hanukkah; ate our traditional “latkes” (potato pancakes); and I loved to spin the dreidel and receive my presents. We lit the menorah, but we were not a totally observant family.

The idea of an indoor tree fascinated me, and my mother had the courage to get one for me when I kept asking questions. After all, I couldn’t see one on TV or in books, and it was too risky to show me one in public. She walked a thin line with neighbors, some of whom were holocaust survivors, who tended to tie Christianity to the bad things Germans had done in World War II. Acknowledging Christmas was defying our cultural tradition. My grandmother used a very uncomplimentary term in Yiddish when she chose to say something about Christmas.

I could listen to Christmas carols on the radio occasionally, but we couldn’t buy a record of them. I loved the sound of “Silent Night,” although I didn’t learn what the words actually meant for Christians until I was much older. There was a little girl at school named Mary. She taught me the “Hail Mary” Catholic prayer. My parents were shocked when I proudly recited it at home. They didn’t tell me not to talk to or play with Mary any more, they just told me not to say the prayer. They realized that acceptance did not come easily for a blind child in public school.

In our building the adults clicked their tongues, “sis a shandah” (What a shame) they said about the curse of blindness on this nice family. Their children followed the parents’ lead and left me alone most of the time. I learned quickly to judge people according to their willingness to be my friend, and not because they were Jewish, family, or neighbors.

It’s been fun to tell my Jewish and non-Jewish friends that I had a Christmas tree the year I was nine. We didn’t treat December 25th like a special day, but about a week beforehand my mother took me to a store to meet Santa Claus. My curiosity was satisfied when I sat on his lap and felt his beard.

“And what do you want Santa Claus to bring you for Christmas, Robert?” he asked. That reference didn’t bother me at all.

“I want a big top that spins and makes musical sounds for my present.”

Of course we didn’t tell the Goldbergs and the Cohens or my aunts and uncles about that trip, but on one of the Hanukkah nights I received my big spinning top.

Through the years I have held fast to my conviction that the way people treat a person says more about their value than any cultural, geographical, or social group ties. When I was studying in France as a young man, I formed a close friendship with a young German named Peter. We took walks together and talked. He could understand the Yiddish I had learned from my mother and aunts gossiping “calacutchka.” My neighbors from childhood would have thought me a traitor.

My mother’s courage that Christmas of my childhood, was a testament to me that true loyalty and love toward another human being sometimes requires taking chances, and not always being understood. When a person is kind to me, accepts me for who I am, I let them know that it means a lot to me. I know there’s a famous book and movie about a tree that grew in Brooklyn, but in my mind, that tree I came home to on one chilly December afternoon in Brooklyn was, as they would say in Yiddish if they dared, “michiah,” a really special pleasure.

Kathy is very observant. We’ve had numerous shopping adventures. They all go the same way: Kathy would say “We’ll just get the book, or lamp, or batteries, or whatever, and then we’ll go.” But two feet inside any store Kathy would say, “Oh Nan, you’ve got to see this” and we’d be off.

Today I was sure I could resist, even though Kathy could pick the softest fur with her eyes and she had great taste in angels, hearts, and stars (my favorite tchotchkes).

I had been to Tchotchke-store with someone else and I didn’t find anything worth buying, though the someone else and I spent an hour exploring.

Kathy and I checked out the expensive but interesting wicker furniture, the huge giraffe statue, and the smaller, wooden lion. Then we wandered into the Christmas section where, it being close to Christmas, everything was on sale.

“I never buy Christmas tchotchkes,” I proclaimed confidently.

There was a short pause while eagle-eyes looked. “Wanna bet?” Kathy said back.

Kathy presented me with a high-heeled-shoe-shaped mesh bag with real fur trim filled with rose-scented potpourri. “Five bucks but fifty percent off,” she quipped.

“Oh, I have to have that.” Don’t ask me why or how she knew.

Next came the very odd but, Kathy assured me, visually interesting candle holders that resembled little nylon purses. Kathy explained that the candle would shine through the colored mesh for an unusual effect. We each bought a red one, at fifty percent off again. I could put a gift certificate inside for Christmas giving.

The glass heart-shaped paperweights with iridescent mosaic squares weren’t even on sale, but I bought four. They’d make great gifts.

And had that vase with the crystals around the sides been a little cheaper it would have come home with me too.

Tell us about your holiday shopping stories in the Reader’s Forum.

Nobody wanted him.

When our local Search and Rescue found him abandoned in a store parking area, he had to be scraped off the frozen ground. A few months old, he was a cat in trouble–respiratory and eye infections stacked the odds against him, but he survived, though the eye infection left him with detached retinas. JJ was totally blind.

I found out about this beautiful Russian Blue from my daughter’s neighbor, who knew Caroline, a wonderful lady with foster cats. “Your mom would be perfect for JJ,” Rich told my daughter. “She’s blind and would know how to understand him.”

Connections were made and I met JJ and Caroline on November 3. The moment I touched the puffy-soft fur, I was lost to love. He was adopted and came to live with me the next day.

I was beside myself the morning of JJ’s arrival. Would he like me–or want another “cat mom”? How would both of us being blind impact the circumstances of getting to know each other? As soon as Caroline let JJ out of his carrier in the apartment, off he went to explore every shelf
and corner! Using a paw to trail along walls and gage heights, he learned the layout within a day. Hearing and scent are extraordinary in this courageous boy. I talked to him and sang and he knew my voice quickly. After putting his nose on my cheek one time, he seemed to know I was going to take care of him. He wasn’t happy with the bell collar, but stopped taking it off after I explained, “The bell will keep you from being stepped on.”

JJ’s being here has given me strength and confidence. In researching blind cats, I found that often they are “put down” because people assume they cannot have quality life without sight. As JJ and walk this path together of joy, adjustment and discovery, my hope is that our double vision of love and acceptance will encourage someone else to look beyond what seems hopeless and find true vision.

Founded in 1945 by WWII veterans, the BVA was created to help blinded veterans become more independent, receive the requisite benefits and services to which they are entitled and to advocate for those benefits and services. Steve’s priority is to ensure that the mission on which the organization was founded is carried out. He would also like to see the BVA get more involved in education and employment issues, working with corporations and government so that blinded veterans have better access to information to compete with their sighted peers.
On Veterans Day, Steve will help The Hadley School for the Blind launch a new initiative aimed at supporting blinded veterans and their families and the unique challenges they face. For Steve, this initiative couldn’t come at a better time. “The Iraq and Afghanistan wars have caused the most vision loss among veterans of any previous United States conflict since the Civil War. An estimated 17 percent of all injuries incurred in the Iraq and Afghanistan wars are vision-related.” In addition to vision loss that can be diagnosed directly due to penetrating eye injuries, many veterans experience traumatic head injuries that leave them functionally blind, because their brain can no longer process what they actually “see.” The impact of combat-related blindness has been reclassified by the Veterans Administration as “catastrophic” disability in similarity to other life-altering combat related injuries. According to the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, there are an estimated 158,300 legally blind veterans and 700,000 veterans with low vision. In addition, approximately 7,000 veterans become newly blind or visually impaired each year from non-combat related causes.

With its expertise in providing distance education to people who are blind or visually impaired and their support networks in fully accessible formats, Steve notes that Hadley is in a unique position to serve this population. He says that many blinded veterans coming home from the frontlines have terrific leadership skills that Hadley, in particular, knows how to support. “Hadley offers an array of courses that focus on leadership and management skills and how to put them into practice in school, work and in daily life. It’s these types of courses from which all blinded veterans can benefit.” Steve also appreciates that Hadley courses are free, without time restrictions, and can be done at home. “That is important for veterans, who may have young children at home, whose spouses become caretakers and who may not be mentally or physically ready for rehab and to continue their education, which usually requires them being away from their families,” he notes.

So what’s his advice to young blinded veterans? “You have to be your own best advocate because no matter how much we try to change society, there is always going to be that stereotype of being blind or visually impaired.” Steve also says they need to be tenacious and not give up. “Let’s get real. There are going to be additional challenges in your life. But you cannot let them get you down. Just keep pushing forward. The sky’s the limit once you get the education, training and rehab you need.”

Steve has embodied his own advice. At age 46, he is married with four children, ranging in age from 3 to 21. He keeps himself active and loves the outdoors – kayaking, rafting, skiing, even throwing himself out of airplanes. He loves his country and is proud to be a veteran. “All Veterans are heroes, whether in peacetime or in war, whether they come back whole or injured. They are no different than anyone else. They have the same hopes and dreams as you and I. As I tell people whenever I can, I may have lost my sight, but I never lost my vision.”

Deborah Bloom is the vice president of Development and Communications for The Hadley School for the Blind based in Winnetka, Illinois (www.hadley.edu).

Not a big challenge, but a small never-ending one: navigating public restrooms.

Being unable to read signs that would direct me to wear I want to go, I must ask some stranger in a quiet voice which I hope others don’t hear, “Where is the Women’s restroom?” I reveal such private information, “Hey, I gotta go.”

I enter this barren tiled vault filled with walls and turns; every public rest room has its own unique layout with distinctive and perplexing organization.

Where is the stall? Is it immediately to the right or left, or is it sequestered behind a partition? Does the door pull out or push in, and will it lock securely?

Once inside, I continue to explore. Is there a hook for my purse? Is there a little pull-down stand? Must I set my handbag on the rather grungy floor or keep it over my shoulder? Where are the seat covers, or are there any?

When I’m done, I face the biggest mystery of all–where is the flusher? Is it a lever on the side of the pipe (it always used to be there)? Is it a pedal on the floor and on which side of the facility? Is it a tiny button or rope on the wall? In airplane bathrooms, that button is virtually impossible to find. What if I can’t locate the darn thing? I can’t just leave! Oh, I’m in luck; I hear a swirl of water; this one flushes itself. In fact, it does so every time I move.

Next, I’m back in that barren room looking for the sink. It’s not that hard to find, only one turn around a wall and to the right. Fortunately, its faucet is in a standard location, above the water spout. But where is the soap; as usual I leave wet fingerprints on the mirror–which needed to be cleaned anyway. There is the dispenser, one foot above the sink two feet to the right. And then the paper towels; is the holder to the right or to the left? No the metal case is on the wall behind me. Well, at last I’m ready to return to the real world with its not so ordinary challenges.

Once after my sister handed me a paper towel in an airport restroom, she said, “You’d really like the old-fashioned public bathrooms that had an attendant to hand you things, but you’d have to tip her.” I’d gladly pay a pleasant lady who directed me to a sink, guided me to the soap, and offered me several paper towels.

And now where’s the exit to this maze? Oh, it’s where I came in.

Have you ever pondered the messages of the unique present you’ve given or received? As we move toward a gifting season, here are my thoughts about the most unique gift I ever got. It sits on my -bedroom dresser and still defies exact explanation.

The gift was a stuffed parrot (about six inches tall) with a tiny pirate on its shoulder. I knew it was a pirate because he (surely he) had the obligatory patch over one eye. You will doubtless know that this is the opposite of the fictional pirate-and-parrot pairing.

I received him (or them) around the time I turned 40. (And I assume the parrot is a he too.)

But why did my friend David create this plushy paradox? From the moment I touched this gift, I knew
David was trying to tell me something.

Was the parrot unable or unwilling to put the pirate down or force him off? Did the pirate like holding the parrot back? Did the pirate just need someone who could see better? Do they need each other? Do they like being different?

Does the parrot need to shoulder his burden and stay put? Can the parrot fly carrying his extra cargo? Does the pirate need to take a big step? Are they afraid? Are they content?

How do we balance caution and creativity? Or imagination and the seemingly impossible? Or independence and interdependence?

I’ve heard it said that teddy bears are mystics in disguise. But these two characters were sewn together for magical purpose. Or maybe magical difference.

Will I find the courage to soar and to sit? Will I mind not always seeing my way? Are there always squawkings and risks and boredoms to shoulder or leave behind?

Maybe this is what David had in mind. Maybe I will just ask him. After eighteen years of wondering, I think it’s time.

Have you given or received great cleverness? Let us know in Reader’s Forum. Maybe some of us will be inspired by your experiences.