It's all about always knowing where things
are.’
Jessica Watts
The
saying may warn that familiarity breeds
contempt but let me assure you, any blind or vision-impaired person will
advise, familiarity breeds contentment!
You see,
the need to have our homes and work place with some sort of order is not the
sign of a control freak or bossy-boots (although my family may place me in one
of these categories), it is a matter of survival. When a person lacks the sense
of sight, it is a natural characteristic for the blind person to keep their
belongings in order because it minimises deep stress on a daily basis.
Familiarity
is everything for me as a vision-impaired person because it not only helps me
to function calmly, knowing that nothing has moved from where I last put it,
but it also gives me the confidence to maintain a good sense of independence.
Everything in its place
OK, so
keeping my things in order is relatively simple for me to achieve, having my
own ‘filing’ system for hundreds of items placed in their exact spot in every
single room of our house. Yes, I really do mean exactly, to the very inch. But
what must it be like for my sighted family who have to learn my filing system?
Not
easy. Maybe annoying, but I say ‘character building’! From a very early age, my
children had to put their toys away or mummy would simply crush them
accidentally under foot – a pretty good reason to keep things in place.
These
days, I live in a home that is also a recording studio. So, when musicians book
into our studio for a session, most of the living areas become taken up with
drums, large bass guitars, valuable violins, microphones galore and masses of
leads strewn over the floor, connected to the recording booth.
Suddenly,
everyone becomes very aware. Aware of where they are putting their things – ah,
I love it. Welcome to my world!
Confidence can vanish in a flash
Yet life
is not always so predictable – and people are not perfect: someone has
forgotten to close a cupboard drawer, left a chair out from the table, parked
their bike in my way on the veranda, left a glass of water on the piano, hidden
the TV remote, shifted the back door key, moved the gas lighter or given the
peeler a new place to reside – until I find it again after searching for ages,
crippled with tears, and bang the drawer shut in frustration.
My
happiness and strength to function with sighted people depends on order and the
consideration of others, because if I allow chaos to creep into my system, not
only do I accumulate a collection of physical bruises but confidence can vanish
in a flash.
I have
good and bad days, like anyone else. On a good day, I can take the knocks and
frustrations in good humour, laugh it off, be generous to my family for
forgetting my filing system but on those bad days, when it just feels too hard,
when life hurts because of not being able to see, when all you want is to live
a normal life with vision to see the current task, on those
‘being-hard-on-yourself-days’ is when I need a sense of familiarity more than
ever.
Frustration brings insight
I would
like to share the following story by Jeff Flodin, a cyberspace-friend from USA
who writes a blog ‘JalapeƱos in the oatmeal, digesting vision loss’.
Jeff’s honest accounts of his experiences make me cry, cringe or break into a
broad smile – as in the case of this next story: as Jeff’s wife says, ‘Go get
’em, Tiger’.
***
Springtime means gardening. My wife
prunes her peony bush. I plant pansies.
‘Oh, dear,’ says my wife, ‘you’re planting the
pansies upside-down.’
I throw down my trowel. ‘That’s it! I can’t take
this blindness anymore! I’m outta here.’
‘Where are you going?’ asks my wife.
‘To the garage. To find that wood handle I broke
off the push broom. To carry it into the alley and smash it to smithereens.’
‘Go get ’em, tiger,’ says my wife.
It takes me a while but I find the broom handle.
I tap my way to the alley. I’m just about to bash it against the asphalt when I
think, What if a splinter flies up and
sticks in my eye?
I storm through the back yard. My wife asks me
where I’m headed this time.
‘To get my sunglasses,’ I say.
She tells me it’s overcast.
I tell her it’s not the sun I need to protect my
eyes from.
Upstairs, I fish around my dresser drawer. I
find my Swiss Army knife and my baseball cap. Finally, I find my sunglasses. I
storm across the back yard again.
‘Go get ‘em, Mr Cub!’ calls my wife.
Back in the alley, I can’t find where I left
that broom handle. ‘All right, who stole my stick?’ I holler to no one in
particular. And no one answers. I grope here and there but come up
empty-handed. Then I think maybe I’ll go ask my wife to help me find the stick
so I can smash it – and then I ask myself, How
ridiculous am I willing to appear here?
Besides, I’ve pretty much simmered down. The
urge to kill has been removed.
I mosey into the back yard.
My wife says, ‘I didn’t hear the crack of the
bat out there, Slugger.’
‘I’m back,’ says I.
‘I want to plant pansies. The ones that say ‘Plant Other end.’
Jeff was
diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa at age 35. His vision loss did not
prevent him from moving around the country; he has lived in Rockford, Tempe,
Philadelphia and Chicago.
His
book, Jalapenos in the Oatmeal and
Other Recipes for Digesting Vision Loss, will be published this year by
Aquitaine Media Group of Chicago.
Jeff’s blog:
http://jalapenosintheoatmeal.wordpress.com/
Next
post: Do I really see colour or is my brain scanning childhood memories for
logical deductions ?
© Maribel Steel 2013
4 comments:
I am honored to be part of the art of being blind series. The topics are so compelling, I look forward to listening to each chapter. Keep up the great writing. Jeff.
I have posted the previous comment on Jeff's behalf as our frustrating software for the blind does not allow us into form fields very easily...so thanks Jeff for emailing me with your comment and thanks for your support! Maribel
Hi Maribel! My thanks to you and Jeff for the insight into what is involved with navigating daily existence with vision impairment. Having grown up in a volatile home with a lot of chaos, a sense of order gives me a great deal of comfort...your essay validated that tendency and at the same time gave me some perspective. Love both your and Jeff's honesty and humor. So grateful we crossed paths! xoxo, Meg
Welcome as my new follower Meg - thanks for visiting and I am so glad you found a resonating chord from our stories to yours...Maribel xx
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