BRAIN NATTER

making progress?

2012-01-22T16:49:00.000-08:00

Advocacy update: I am consulting with an attorney who specializes in testing accommodation denials. I have to compile all the documentation, including all correspondence to anyone about the subject, current eye report, and history of past testing accommodations, if any, and a reason as to why my needs have changed so dramatically since graduating from college.

I've told these people at the testing center that my needs have changed because I'm going blind, I use a guide dog, and I can't see printed material anymore. I have to constantly be reminded of my disability in order to push for the testing accommodations. I am already drained emotionally and if I survive this, get my license, it will be the hardest thing I've ever done in my life thus far. I have to somehow convey to others how impossible this will be, how absolutely excruciating any progress in this fight to just be given equal access to a test my whole career depends upon will extract from me It makes me angry, frustrated, and the feelings are so powerful I often give in to crying just to let it go, if only for the moment.
. I hope I don't become a husk, a burnt-out, angry and bitter blinkie who got shafted by the "system".
I want to rise above it, stay strong, but, half the time I'm at a loss as to how to keep it going. I really think I have to start seeing a therapist again, just to stay grounded.
***
Anyway, just want to share some of what I'm dealing with, for those of you who read this blog, thanks for listening.

Here's the letter to the people who have made my life hell so far:
AAMFT National Headquarters
Dr. Linda S. Metcalf, President
American Association for Marriage and Family Therapy
112 South Alfred Street
Alexandria, VA 22314-3061

Professional Examination Service/Prometrics
475 Riverside Drive
New York, NY 10115

American Association for Marriage and Family Therapy (AAMFT)
Regulatory Board, New York State
New York State Board for Mental Health Practitioners
NYS Education Department Office of the Professions
89 Washington Avenue
2nd Floor
Albany, NY 12234-1000

January 20, 2012

Dear Dr. Metcalf:

My name is Ann Chiappetta. I am a permitted licensing candidate practicing as a family therapist for the Department of Veterans Affairs in New York State who happens to be blind and uses a guide dog. I am currently experiencing barriers regarding equal access to the National MFT membership application and exam process.

The first barrier is the lack of accessibility for individuals with print disabilities who use screen reading software and wish to access electronic information from the AAMFT website, www.aamft.org, the regulatory Board’s site, http://www.amftrb.org/, or the testing site for N.Y. State, Prometrics: http://www.prometric.com/SA/default1.htm.

I cannot independently obtain essential information related to my profession as a practicing marriage and family therapist from any of the websites; it is, therefore, a form of discrimination based on my disability and a violation under the Federal Americans with Disabilities Act.

I have spent countless hours trying to independently apply for AAMFT membership and register for my exam and have been unable to do so due to a number of barriers, all of which could be easily resolved with updates to the websites reflecting wc3 web accessibility standards and adherence to Federal 508 compliance. If the websites were updated to reflect these regulations, I would not be writing this letter and be well on my way to paying for a membership and taking my exam.
Unfortunately, this is not the case. I am writing to inform you, that as the National association responsible for creating, and overseeing the compliance of the websites and the administering of the National exam, that my rights to equal access are being violated. I am not being afforded equal and reasonable accommodations by either the AAMFT or the testing facility, which puts me at a serious disadvantage over my peers. I have been trying to secure a reasonable testing accommodation for the N.Y. State licensing examination for Marriage and Family Therapists, to wit, to take the licensing exam using JAWS, an assistive screen-reader program that happens to be the one I use routinely in my work and daily life. While various testing accommodations may exist, a best practice standard is to offer the accommodation that would best ensure an accurate depiction of my knowledge and demonstrate my true abilities, and I believe I am being denied this level of accommodation.

As for the barrier encountered with the examination process, my disability does not allow me to read print. I rely on a text-to-speech screen reader called JAWS and I rely on this synthesized type of speech for everything from my smart phone to reading soup cans. I have trained my brain and hearing to this fast and clear reading aid, and I require it for taking the 200 question exam. I was denied the request by the New York State’s Division of Licensing Board and instead told that if I could not use screen magnification, a human reader would be provided. I do not now, nor have I ever, used a human person to read or record information for me. As I cannot read printed material, magnifying the text is not suitable. A human reader would put me at a significant disadvantage, downgrading my ability to perform optimally during the examination, like my sighted peers. It is a well known fact that a human person cannot read as fast or respond as quickly to directions like a computer generated speech synthesizer and keyboard commands.

The sighted test takers are offered a computer-generated exam. Test takers with low vision can be accommodated with screen magnification for the exam, so why can’t I also be granted the assistive technology I require to take the exam on a computer, too? This is the question that no one wants to answer and all I’ve gotten is silence and excuses. I related all of this to Ms. Naccarato but she declined to help me. I wish to emphasize that I already have the equipment needed on a preloaded disk, thus the program I use routinely would simply need to be down-loaded onto the testing computer. The Commission for the Blind and Visually Handicapped is also willing to purchase this program for the testers, Prometrics and the AAMFT. As the technology is available, and would be at no cost to the tester, why can’t the computer I get assigned to me for the test get outfitted for my specific use? I could even bring my own laptop if they preferred. There is a cost to hiring readers, which for an 8-hour exam would require multiple readers, each of who are supposed to be trained and familiar with the testing materials and able to explain the graphics they might see.
I have been told that using my adaptive equipment might place me at an advantage over my sighted peers, but it seems to me that being blind and taking an 8-hour test is a sufficient challenge in and of itself. The program does not give me any answers, but merely lets me process the questions and potential graphics in a way familiar to me.
It may be of interest to you that case law in other states have supported this standard on several occasions, most notably in the case of Enyart v. National Bar Examiners where the Court examined the ADA’s specific provision that covers professional exams (42 USC-12189). The Court noted in this case that a standard of “reasonableness” in an accommodation was fine for employment, but that professional exams were another matter entirely.

According to Carol Allman, PhD, in a position paper on accommodations for testing students with visual impairments, (www.aph.org/tests/accomodations) she notes in bold print that any accommodations provided for students during the testing window should be ones typically used by that student…and not new or unfamiliar ones.

I am asking for your support regarding this issue; not supporting my request would mean not complying with the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) and would serve to perpetuate the barriers mentioned above making it impossible for me to take the exam to the best of my ability. My professional future is at stake and I am requesting immediate intervention. If we cannot resolve these barriers I will have no choice but to seek out legal counsel to compel action.

Sincerely,

Ann Chiappetta, M.S.
2261 Palmer
cc: E. Bridges/ACB; B. Daniels, Director, CBVH; S. Nacarato, Div. Lic. NYS

New Year wishes

2012-01-02T14:24:00.000-08:00

I'm waiting for the water to boil for the macaroni so I thought I'd jot down a few things for the New Year. First, I hope I can keep up with the legal matters regarding my State exam. It's taking a toll on me already but the thought of dropping it pisses me off so much that I have to see it through. Not just for me, but also for the other qualified, talented folks who got themselves through a master's program with a print disability. It's not just about me anymore. It's about ethical, fair, treatment, hard to find in this day and age of Obama.

I'm not kicking our Prez, just wondering when (like all our other presidents since the creation of the ADA) he's going to stand behind his proclomation for making the ADA laws actually help us.

Okay, onto the next part: taking the last plunge into blindness. Yes, it's been happening for months now, the fog is rolling in, obscuring light and outlines, and it's downright scary. I'm so glad I have Verona, good cane skills, and resolve, the latter most times. Sometimes, though, I just want to hide and stay in my safety zone and not have to struggle so much.

Next, I'm really doing well at work and I finally feel like I'm doing what I'm supposed to do. I finally "fit in"; most of my life I never really did fit in anywhere socially or professionally so it feels so good to be respected, accepted, valued and paid well for it. The last part, of course, is the license but the VA is trying to do right by me and other blind folks and my office mates are wonderful, caring people.
I'm lucky and count my blessings each and every day.

Jerry is doing well at work, the kids are mostly fine, nothing earth-shattering. April has friends now, most whom I like, lol. Ant is slowly spreading his wings, and, is a very good writer. I'm so proud, it will come in handy for sure. Not everyone can write and do it well and on the fly.

Going to see mom in March, she's going to be 80 next year.

Still volunteering for GDUI and Guiding Eyes, which is not at all like work, I enjoy it. Still writing for the Ziegler online e-zine and wish I could do fmore feature articles for more of them.
Dogs and critters are good and I look forward to moving along with happiness, health and success in the coming year.

New Year Wishes

2012-01-02T14:16:00.001-08:00

blind beattutes

2011-12-30T15:55:00.000-08:00

blind
BLESSED ARE THEY that refrain from shouting when they speak to me.

BLESSED ARE THEY that talk directly to me and not to some one
else.

BLESSED ARE THEY that say who they are when entering a room and
say hello to me.

BLESSED ARE THEY that say goodbye to me when they leave so I am
not left speaking to the air.

BLESSED ARE THEY that do not hesitate to say "SEE" when talking
to me.

BLESSED ARE THEY who tap my shoulder gently when they approach
from behind or from the side when speaking to me.

BLESSED ARE THEY who wait for me to extend my hand before shaking
it.

BLESSED ARE THEY who place my hand on an object such as the back
of a chair when telling me where it is, so I can seat myself.

BLESSED ARE THEY who do not leave me in a strange environment
without orienting me to it.

BLESSED ARE THEY who offer me their arm so they can serve as my
guide, instead of grabbing, pulling or shoving me.

BLESSED ARE THEY who come up to me in a large crowd and offer to
help me when I appear disoriented.

BLESSED ARE THEY who do not embarrass me in a group of people by
openly referring to my blindness in word or action.

BLESSED ARE THEY who laugh with me when I tell a joke related to
blindness.

BLESSED ARE THEY who read me the menu and its prices and allow me
to order my own meal.

BLESSED ARE THEY who take me to the cashier so I may pay for my
own meal.

BLESSED ARE THEY who do not distract my guide dog from being my
active eyes.

BLESSED ARE THEY who treat me like a human being, for like it or
not I AM a human being.

another poem

2011-12-17T15:07:00.000-08:00

Appearances
By Ann Chiappetta

Once, not long ago
the details of life consumed me
Images of wild flowers, riotous colors in a
blanket of green
were picked, not left untouched.

Dependence on Televised greek tragedies
Indelible Portraits, live feeds and last breaths
Possessed me.

Now a sound or smell overrides the lost optical cues
Memories ribbon the air with Familiar scents
Warm, pungent earth after it rains
Reminders of ripening tomatoes
The brace and sting of crisp winter wind
Recollections of hikes in the snow tipped pines

The soft, clear tinkle of ice on a windowpane
And My husband’s breathing deep in the night
Comforts the troubles
Lulls me back to sleep

New Poem

2011-12-11T07:10:00.000-08:00

The last Degree
By Ann Chiappetta

When I had 20 degrees I could see
Colors and contrast, walk
Relaxed and not rely on a cane for mobility.

Then it became 10 degrees
Gone was the confidence of more periphery
The macular cloud rolled in, obscuring everything

Colors eroded into shades of grey
I relied on a dog because I needed more
Than a cane could give me.

Then one day I began bumping into walls
Misplacing items in front of me

I said goodbye to magnification and high contrast

The accuracy of degrees left me
Once again I was forced
To cope with a lost legacy, a memory
Of what I had only months before.

So here I am, floundering, fearful
The final five degrees
The countdown begins
I don’t know what to expect

The Numbers represent a plunge
Into something familiar
Something different
Something that leeches courage and resolve
Something I am not prepared to face
Something I live with every day
And something I know nothing about.

2011-12-03T16:07:00.000-08:00

updates with legal mattersWell. I am being proactive and called Disability Rights Advocates to inquire as to if they will take on my case with being denied reasonable accommodations with the NY State Family therapy lisencing exam. I'll know sometime next week if they will take on my case.

The V.A. has made great strides in accommodating me with the primary database I need to record and view my case notes. I'm able to do at least 50% of my job with the changes but it's still a work in progress.

The exam process, however, has morphed into an ugly snake with a wicked bite. Not only has the State of NY denied me, the cop out is "we just don't know when the changes will take place,". Wow, since I found out the testing contractor, PES has made it an option for test takers to use screen magnification, why can't they also offer screen reading software? I never got a straight answer and I don't plan to let them slide on this. I'll post as soon as I know if DRA will take me on.

surprise

2011-11-15T13:52:00.000-08:00

I just recently surpassed my first year anniversary being employed full time for the Office of Veterans Affairs. The year went by quickly but was also difficult for me due to being blind. Some of it was on my end and some of it was on the V.A. end and most of it was all due to the fact that the V.A. technology was far from being current. I'm glad to say, though, that we've gotten over the first hump. This is a wonderful surprise because Central Office actually listned to my requests even if it took a whole year and a formal complaint to get there.

Another surprise was the knowledge that I am purportedly the only blind counselor among thousands who had the gumption to complian while also being employed as a counselor. So, folks, this means I'm an enigma, and exception. A front runner for the blind and visually impaired counselors employed by the VA Vet Centers Nationwide.

I find this hard to believe, but so far no one else has identified themselves since I came on board.
Sure, there have been, and still are, blind psychologists and rehab counselors. But I'm the first family therapist.

It's really quite weird and I don't want the label. I just want to do my job and at the end of the day, take pride in knowing I did good.

newest poem

2011-10-25T11:24:00.000-07:00

Break Away
By Ann Chiappetta
October 2011

She Hurts
I soothe by
traveling to the past
Littered with obsidian precipices
and blackness

caring for her
stirs vulnerability
like a cyclonic eye
determined to maim the heart.

Helping means
Chiseling grooves
The hammer blows striking
Shard by shard

Her prison begins to break away
As I fall apart.

Unfair Advantage?

2011-10-14T16:52:00.000-07:00

An Unfair Advantage?
By Ann Chiappetta

Did you ever encounter a situation where no matter what you try, something gets in the way? I know, you’re thinking, oh, no, she’s going to try and pull off an Andy Rooney-like rant. If it sounds like it, feel free to go on the next article, but if you stay with me maybe we’ll both get something out of it.

To be brief, I’m registering for a licensing examination in New York State. The first step was to fill out the application. This I couldn’t do myself, as it is still a hand written submission. The process took two weeks from start to finish.
Three weeks later, I’m contacted by the person who processes the applications for the State Board of Higher Education and Licensing via email informing me that most of the auxiliary documents are in order and I’ve been approved to proceed to the examination registration. She asks for proof of my disability and I provide a form letter from our State agency for the blind, but she says that’s not good enough. I say it’s signed by a New York State rehab counselor, the very same State, in fact as the one she works for and if she can’t trust a sister agency, that’s pretty sad. So she accepts it.

Next, she wants to know why I’m asking for a reasonable accommodation, when, in fact, I did not request any while attending college. When I asked why that was needed, she answered that her job was to make sure I did not, “have an unfair advantage over my sighted peers,” before, during or after the test taking process. After a week of being very pissed off and feeling discriminated against, I got over it, wrote a letter stating how my vision had declined since then and that all my needs were addressed by outside agencies serving me. I added that if they wanted proof, to contact the rehab counselor who wrote the proof of disability letter. I concluded the letter by saying I thought asking for proof of my past needs was in no way relevant to what I required presently and that I found it an invasion of my privacy and insulting.

They, of course, moved on to a higher level of ignorance.
Next, the person says that since I’m legally blind, the testing facility can offer a screen magnifying program. I say I cannot use it because I no longer have useable sight. I describe the screen reading program I use (JAWS) and that I’m requesting to use it during the exam. They respond by saying, no, they do not have JAWS, nor will they obtain it, but they will, however make a reasonable accommodation by providing a human reader for the exam.
I ask if this is the first time the testing site has provided services for a blind candidate and, to their credit, no one responds to my question.

So, after ping-ponging with the woman and her superior, I fight for and receive approval for both a reader, responding person to take down answers, and double testing time. I receive a confirmation via mail instructing me to log on to a website to register and pay for a testing date and location. I go to the website and click on the PDF for instructions and guess what? It’s not accessible. I email them and guess what? The email is bad. So, this is what I mean by barriers. I’ve done it all correctly, crossing every t and dotting every I and I am still being denied equal access to something my sighted peers take for granted. We know who really has the advantage here, folks, and it’s surely not me.

The higher I go the more I find uncompromising attitudes. The simple folk are easier to deal with; I'm not quite sure why that is but it seems to be my experience.

In any case, I have to call the person and verbally recount my findings and hope they will not ignore me or it's off to the Dept. of Justice with an EEO compliant. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever get my license.

Verona goes to the Lake

2011-08-19T17:41:00.001-07:00

Verona goes to the Lake

She knew where we were as soon as we pulled into the parking lot. Are we at the free place? She seemed to say, I love this place. I get to swim, hang out off-leash and poop in the woods. Cool.

We unloaded the truck, weaved through the other guests on the strip of patio on the way to our room and settled in for a fun relaxing afternoon.

Verona and my daughter, April, played in the lake for an hour, Verona chasing sticks and paddling around. The funniest thing was the way she would blow water from her mouth after dropping the stick. April said it made her lips puff out and it made a loud, spitting sound that I could hear from the patio.

When the geese and ducks realized she was visiting, they hot footed it off the grass and stayed in the lake or in the weeds near the dock. It was a thrill to see her body stiffen, her head and tail go up when she saw them. It made me feel proud to share this time together, giving her back to her instincts for just a little while. She’s going to be five years old, I thought, the time goes by so fast. Each and every year we have together is a blessing, a time for me to feel unfettered. As we stand and watch the birds quack and waddle down the hill toward the edge of the lake, 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, listening and watching, being warmed by the late afternoon sun, taking in the fresh water aromas. We are dog and woman, partners for however long time and fate permit. I place a hand on her glossy head and stroke it; she gives me a quick poke with her nose before returning to duck watching as the sun dips below the hills.

Greenwood Lake -- August 2011

Finally met Buck Rogers?

2011-07-29T12:52:00.000-07:00

Well, I finally went to the Verizon store and bought an I-PHONE. I was afraid, you know, sweaty palms, the tight knot of anticipation, etc. Once i instructed the sales girl how to turn on the cvoice over accessibility, however, and held it, all the doubts blew out the window and into the slipstream.

So, I've learned how to flick, tap, split-tap, triple flick, scrub, and touch type while interpreting the boings, doinks, gurgles, and chimes accompanying each new gesture. Very cool, though I still have trouble with the two finger wheelie thing that brings up editing and typing options.

One drawback, though, and this is not a phone problem; my ISP is somehow influencing my not being able to send outgoing mail. I have to get on the tech line and find out why. Grrr.

I am so happy with it, that even with the outgoing mail snag, I have confidence that I will also invest in a bluetooth keyboard

Survivor's Guilt

2011-07-25T17:09:00.001-07:00

Survivor’s Guilt
By Ann Chiappetta

Flash fiction under 1,000 words

He didn’t come out here to live; he came out here to die. He would fall asleep and never wake up, his face poised in frosty rest, his hands clasped over his chest. He was ready, willing his body temperature to fall below normal so he could finally rid himself of the shame of being the one left alive.

When he was a teenager, he was rescued from freezing to death at a winter jamboree. The four other campers with him didn’t make it. The wind chill had dropped the temperature to ten below in the after midnight hours and when the fire went out, they didn’t wake up. The next thing he knew, he was in a chopper and he was burning all over, the medical team telling him he was lucky to be alive. He remembered wanting to scream for them to stop, that he wanted to die. He wanted to tell them to leave him alone and help the other kids instead. He wanted nothing to do with coming back to life. There was no one and nothing to look forward to back then or even now.

This brittle night he was back where he wanted to be, just like the freezing night of the jamboree. He was four years older, four years wiser, and felt cheated. No one waited for him at home; he had nothing left--even if there was someone to argue with him about it. His best friends died that frigid night and now he wanted to join them.
The moon was full and ice white against the depthless sky. The stars floated in cosmic patterns he knew but had lost since he began to freeze. The shaking had subsided. He smiled, thinking they were so pretty. He began singing, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”. He giggled when he realized he had forgotten all the words. He hummed them instead.

Hot breath found his face and he turned from it, barely able to do so in the frosty air. He flailed and tried to move away from the warmth. But the warmth continued to take over. First one side began to burn as it warmed, and he imagined he was in Hell, lying on the coals of his sins. When his other side began to feel again, he tried to sit up but his arms were like cinderblocks and the best he managed was a hoarse croak. Something warm and damp caressed his face and tickled his nose.
He looked up at the moon, his eyes tearing with the effort. He didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to have any regrets, but for some reason, those soft, warm rubs made him ached for more.
His tears were taken away as soon as he shed them. His thawing flesh was being warmed as it came back from its hypothermic repose. His desire to die thawed, too. As the sky altered its depths from night to dawn, the young man tried once again to sit up. He realized as he tried that he was already propped up against something. He reflexively grabbed at what was closest to his hand. His hand closed over something warm and soft. He grabbed again and his mind flared with recognition, but he was still groggy and he fell back into the warmth, almost against his will.
The next time he awoke, it was close to dawn. He began to understand. He saw that the ice white moon had begun its descent and the weak, pale sun was ascending in its place.
He felt alive, and it jerked him awake as if he was a pike snagged on a line in an ice-hole. What he saw made him freeze but not from hypothermia. Four grey animals lay against him, one behind his back. One at each side and one cradling his legs. All four sets of amber eyes gazed at him, and one of them whined and cocked its head, as if questioning him. He looked at his fingers; some were frostbitten but he didn’t care. He’d look at his feet later. He felt his face and wondered if he’d gotten any frostbite on his nose or cheeks. But it would have to wait until he got back to civilization. He was shaken but far from dying.
The wolves stood close by as he rose, watching him with amber eyes. He got up, pulled the hood around his face with numb fingers. His truck wasn’t far off, maybe a quarter of a mile away. He made sure he had his keys and turned to go. Then he turned back and felt disappointed when he saw the four canines had already loped off.
“Thanks, anyway.” He croaked, watching them.
The four companions trotted and bounced shoulders, great bushy tails swishing as they made their way up the path. Three loped on ahead, topping the rise, disappearing over it. But the biggest one, the one who he thought had probably licked his face, sat and raised its muzzle to the sky and howled.
The tears ran along with its woeful sound, and when it ended, the young man turned and walked to the truck.

so sad, but life goes on

2011-07-07T14:18:00.000-07:00

I found out yesterday that one of my ex Medicaid clients died. He was 48 years old. I had gotten him out of a nursing home and back into an apartment.He was so happy to get out of the place. He had strokes and diabetes and was a heavy smoker and knew the risks but didn't make the changes to help himself. His name is Jose Rodriguez and he was a very nice man. I wrote an article about him in the agency newsletter last year, too. Verona liked him, too, always finding him when we looked for him in the nursing home when we visited. He died of a brain aneurysm from a blood clot which originated in his lungs. He hung on for a few days, then slipped away. I wish I could've gone to the wake. I found out via email from the man who took over for me when I left the agency to work for the V.A. What a crappy way to find out. Not even a phone call -- freakin' email. I guess I didn't even rate to be called. Pisses me off.

Well, Jose, I'll miss you and I'm sad you only got to enjoy your freedom for eight months after being forced to stay in that horrible nursing home for over two years, with no one to help you . I'm glad I helped you and wish you didn't die. It was great knowing you, my friend. I'll see you again someday at the end of the path.

Out and About with Verona

2011-07-02T12:26:00.000-07:00

Mystic with Verona
June 27-July 1, 2011

Counselor's training began on Monday at 1:30 pm. Before that, Jerry and April helped me tour the hotel. As we went to and from Our room, Verona would stop at a door to another room that wasn't ours. If we were going out, she'd stop and look at the door on the left, if we were coming back, she would stop and indicate the door on the right. She found our door every time, though. Silly dog. She only made a few minor errors. One was due to a dog distraction when the PTSD service dog folks were waiting to go inside the meeting room and we were coming out of the meeting room. She was supposed to go to the bathroom, and she blew by it and took me right to the dogs instead. We also had a clearance error but it was due to an overcrowded sidewalk in downtown Mystic. The pedestrian drawbridge barrier was in place at chest level jutting out perpendicular to the side walk, and it was not painted orange or striped or in a place that would allow folks to pass it on the safe side of the sidewalk. Ro didn’t see it and it caught me on the right boob. I corrected her and reworked it but the crowd was blocking us and I’m not sure if she even understood what the error was.

We did get to go to the beach and she sat beside me off-harness and let folks pet her.She also got me up at 4:30 a.m. every morning. After a long day of counseling training sessions, she's ready to eat dinner and take a nap on the bed. One day the cleaning staff put her sheepy plush toy up on the desk, and I asked her where it was, and she kept putting her head on my lap, pushing my hand up. Then she stepped up onto the chair between my legs, and pushed my hand over and guess what? I found the sheepy. Rick Adare, a Veteran speaking on behalf of the PTSD service dog
program maintained by East Coast Assistance Dogs (ECAD), said that there isn't an adequate way to describe how his dog, a black lab named Baskin, enhances his life, but he did say that with his dog by his side, he is doing things he would never do without her. Like going to a crowded mall, or into a busy city atmosphere. I identified with him, as I felt isolated when I was a cane user, and now it doesn't matter if I'm going into a crowded mall or a quiet path in a park. Verona takes charge and keeps me safe, and has my back, just like Baskin does for Rick. Only a person who has experienced being trained with a working dog, whether it is a K-9 dog, alert dog, a psychiatric service dog, or a guide dog has opened himself to allowing the dog to handle his vulnerability along with the disability. This is profound and the general public needs to be educated on this fact along with the other FAQs, like the responsibilities and daily activities of working with a service dog. I was asked by the Disabled Veteran's working Group to come and Speak to them about blindness. We had much in common, and I also impressed upon them that while I don't share their veteran experience I can meet them in the disability experience. It was an enriching dialogue and I hope to keep in touch with them.

Verona is happy to be home and see our family. Next week it’s Reno, Nevada, and after that, who knows?

Sitting on Rocks

2011-06-25T15:39:00.000-07:00

Solid as a rock By Ann Chiappetta

“I am like a tree by the river, my roots run deep”

My first memory of sitting on a rock by the river was at five years old. I snuck down to it one sultry afternoon in midsummer, knowing that if caught leaving the backyard, I’d be in trouble. I was forbidden to go alone but my mother and sisters weren’t around and so I took it upon myself to walk down the street and find out why the other kids got in trouble for going there. I crossed the street and over the bridge. I turned right at the end of the rusted iron rail and stopped at the top of the path leading down the embankment. To my five year old eyes the way down looked very steep but I was determined to get to the bottom. I planted my sneakers and rode them down and the loose dirt and gravel, pin wheeling my arms until I stopped. I coughed, spitting the grit from my nose and mouth. I remember looking up through the dirt cloud hanging in the humid air and wondering if I’d make it back up. The path to the street looked awfully steep. But I was in a different world now, far below the hot sun and the people hungry flies and yellow jackets.

I found a large, flat rock and sat, smelling the dankness and listening to the burbling water sounds. It was busy yet lacking the anxiety of home, which was rife with adult emotion. My young mind recognized the value of this place and at once I knew it would soon become my refuge of choice. Climbing back up the embankment meant going back to the house and its problems. From that point forward the rock by the river was the place to escape.

I found the baby snapping turtle at the river, taking it home and keeping it as a pet until it climbed out of the tank and died in one of my sneakers. I hunted salamanders, marveling at the vivid orange stripes contrasting with the black body and the creamy belly before letting them go squiggling from my hand back under a rock or rotting log. I poked centipedes, mindful of the pinchers and how quick they could crawl. I caught crayfish and watched the local trout but couldn’t ever get close enough to net one. I didn’t even trouble with frogs or toads that was boring. I collected moss and leaves, too, my father helping me identify them and press them between wax paper and flattening them in the pages of a book.

The river symbolized a safe, quiet sanctuary, far removed from the scary challenges of what was happening inside and around our house. Once my parents revealed they were divorcing, my ability to trust people evaporated. Nature and the river restored some of the continuity I’d lost, the flow and cycle of the seasons was more acceptable in my confused mind. It was easier to coax a squirrel to eat from my hand than to ask my parents to play a game or help me with my homework.
That rock was my spot from
then on.

The second time I used a rock was in third grade. I went to the rock behind a clump of bushes just outside the perimeter of the school yard with a boy. We sat together on the wide, flat boulder, sometimes talking, sometimes holding hands. One time he kissed me. I used the rock to be alone and read. This rock was granite with specks of pyrite and darker veins running through it. I didn’t really have any connection to this rock but it served its purpose. Once I left the grammar school, the rock took its place in my memories of Paul and my first kiss.

After graduating from grammar school and moving onto middle school, I returned to the rock near the river often, sitting on it and losing myself in the world below the street in the old neighborhood. I lived in an apartment building since the divorce. My father dropped off a child support check every week. On the weekends he didn’t come I walked the four miles to the river and sat for hours. I’d read, or, just sit and watch the wildlife.
Back then there was a family of beavers trying to dam the river and a giant snapping turtle and crayfish you could snatch up in the eddies lining the bank.

In sixth grade a girl who lived above us showed me how to river walk and ride the rapids on the swift side of the riverwhich fed into the harbor. We swam out to the rock island below the rapids and sunned ourselves. Not too long after that, the river became polluted and unsafe for swimming.

Once in high school, I returned to the river below the bridge sporadically, finding it hard to blot out the garbage lining the bank, rusting shopping carts half buried in silt, and jumbles of cans and bottles caught in the eddies where I once hunted crayfish. Even my rock was gone; a storm swelling the river the previous spring must have moved it. It felt like I was being abandoned again, like I had to give it up or risk the hurt of disappointment. I turned 14 the year I said goodbye to the river and its reassuring solitude. It was the last time I visited the river for many years and it was then, standing there among the green flora and artificial detritus that I knew it was time to leave and find a new place for myself.

Since then, I’ve walked other rivers and examined geological exhibits in other museums and tapped for crystals at the Herkimer diamond mines. I even walked among the stalagmites and stalactites in Howe Caverns. I love gemstones, especially my birthstone, aquamarine.

Perhaps my attachment to rocks is due to the fact that they are the foundation of our existence, and I needed a solid foundation at that time in my life. For me, the constant and powerful river and its elements provided a predictable foundation when I didn’t have it at home. I learned to trust my rock and explore my surroundings and was relieved and pleased to learn that I could be part of it whenever I needed to escape the irregular world above the river bank.

some accomplishments

2011-06-19T14:27:00.000-07:00

Last year I was voted in as a director of the ACB guide dog Affilliate, Guide Dog Users, Inc. Since then, I've learned how to get along with our Board of Directors, {insert rueful grin}. It's been challenging and quite fulfilling to put my skills to work for such a worthy organization and I plan to say on board for a long time, following term limits, of course.

I never thought I'd be able to tolerate politics but my training as a therapist has helped beyond what I thought it could. For instance, the skills I've learned regarding group process have already given me the understanding and boundaries key to being part of a high-powered broad spectrum of abilities and personalities while still being able to keep a professional perspective. At times, however, it's been hard for me not to take things personally, especially when another person purposefully intends to do so and it's obvious.

After something like that, I think, I should've taken more industrial psychology classes, hehehehe.

It's been an enriching experience, don't let me spin it the wrong way -- I plan to stick around and keep the organization in the highest regard.

This year was especially busy. I chaired a task force designated to hire a professional web design studio to bring our decrepit website into the 21st century. It went well and we're wrapping up the first half of it. Go to: www.gdui.org to see the result of the task force's work.

I think I'd like to find out how I could be part of other Boards but only when my activity with GDUI eases and this won't be for a while yet.

The other membership I'm proud to be a part of is the Graduate Council at my guide dog school, Guiding Eyes for the Blind, www.guidingeyes.org. What a wonderful family atmosphere. They take great care of my dog as well as my concerns regarding her, I made the right choice when I picked them for consideration. If you read Left Foot Foward, The First Year, and other dog related posts from 2010 you'll get the stories behind my appreciation.

So, that's all for now, folks, have a great June/Summer Solstice and goodbye for now.
Annie

soft sci-fi short story

2011-06-12T13:06:00.000-07:00

Lafayette 10
By Ann Chiappetta

Avril touched down on Lafayette 10 just as the sun was setting. The dry, harsh atmosphere was a welcome change from her home planet, Hepson and she already noticed a difference in her breathing. Hepson was like living on a damp sponge, she thought, taking out a pair of U.V. Shields and inserting them into her eyes. The filmy contact lenses hid her wide ovular eyes with a mirrored effect. She winked at her reflection in the compact and smiled. She gathered up her belongings and followed the other passengers to the debarking pods.

The jerk of the pod docking on the groundwoke her and she popped the restraint as it opened. It was her first time on an interplanetary trip and she was still feeling drowsy from the effects of cold sleep. She got on the belt and put down the carry on bag, reaching out for the grab bar while the other passengers settled. Once she and the others were on the shaded belt, it rolled toward the arrival building, an enormous, one story facility topped with solar panels and rimmed on three sides with moisture catchments.

Avril touched her mouth and smiled. She hadn’t needed the mask since entering Hepson’s spaceport pod prep unit. The medic pointed to it and said,
“take it off. You won’t need it again unless you come back.”
She slowly peeled it off, the tiny air scrubbers sighing as she pulled it away from her mouth and lips. She felt naked but the medic smiled reassuringly,
“Don’t worry, you won’t miss it when you get to Lafayette 10, that place is hot and dry. Just what you need.”

Avril touched her lips, remembering what he said and looked back over her shoulder at the huge, needle like craft that had carried her and 3,000 others light years from what was familiar and dropped them onto a planet composed of red dust and cacti. A planet that would give her life back but that also would view her as an outsider.

Well, she thought, it wasn’t any worse than her home world.
* *
Avril’s multi dwelling unit was located in a local mining community called Strata, one of the first areas to be settled in the northern hemisphere about 150 years ago, . It was an affluent city with the usual cultural diversity. She rented a modest semi-submerged two room apartment on the shaded side of the complex. It suited her well and was close to public transportation and her new job at one of the life support facilities located in the mining company’s main office. She was, after all, an expert on breathing apperatus and deep core mining provided her with a way to make a living. Possessing an advanced degree in environmental safety helped, too.

Since she worked the midday split shift, Avril usually slept through most of the morning, avoiding the scorching heat of the 115 degree afternoons.
She met Ralen in the gym about a month after arriving, enttering the gym for her daily cardio workout before reporting to work.
“Hello, haven’t seen you before,”
Avril stopped,
“Just started last week,”
He extended a hand,
“I’m Ralen Jarvis, from Border Tours,”
Avril slid her hand into his and smiled back. It was the first time she had been approached by a man, and he was even good looking, too. No one on Hepson had ever taken notice of her except to gawk. She almost put her hand to her mouth but stopped. She wasn’t a freak anymore, just an off-worlder.
“Since you’re new in town, maybe I can offer you a sight seeing tour? That’s what I do, you know, give newcomers a chance to view our world.”
He handed her a holo-card. She imprinted it and sent it to her ebox.
“I’ll look it over when I get home later,” she said, “it was nice meeting you, Ralen.”

She walked away into the changing area, hoping he didn’t see the flush on her cheeks. He was very handsome, she thought, almost giggling, and then chided herself for being so immature. His hand was as warm and dry as the landscape and she liked the sensation; Hepsonites were always cold and damp, like fish.
. Avril retrieved the digital calling card once she finished her shift. It was the only item in her ebox besides one from her mother a month ago, asking if she arrived safely. She didn’t delete it, as if doing so would sever her connection to her family for good. She instead tapped the digital card notice from Ralen.

The promo was thrilling and the price for a 12 hour ground Ariel combination tour was within her budget. She wiped her hand before tapping the respond icon and felt silly; it wasn’t a date, just a reservation, but to Avril, it felt like it.
“Silly girl,” she murmured, then hit the icon to reserve her place for the next tour.
• * *

Avril checked her satchel for the umpteenth time, her ears scanning the open air for the hum of Ralen’s rover; her eyes watching the security monitor for confirmation of his approaching vehicle. When she’d reserved her trip, she never thought to ask how she would get back to the spaceport to board the aircraft. When she asked him about it, he offered to pick her up on the way, explaining he was staying at a friend’s place just outside Strata and he would be glad to pick her up on his way to prep the flight.
“I won’t be in your way?” she asked.
“Not in the least, besides, if you want, you can lend a hand, if you’d like.”

Avril finally heard the hum of the rover and popped in her eye shields, tightened the band on her ponytail and put on the sunhat. Her dark hair would attract the sun and the hat kept her much cooler than she would have thought. She grabbed her bag once the security camera identified it was Ralen, and she left to meet it.

Avril stood outside the touring craft, feeling disappointed. She’d been all thumbs with the pre-flight check and could tell Ralen was only a few millimeters from losing patience. She’d bungled so many tasks that she just wanted to go home but Ralen insisted she stay. What choice did she have, anyway, she thought, he was her ride home.
The small light craft was outfitted for eight plus the two person flight crew. Ralen invited Avril to sit up front with him since the other passengers were couples.
“You’ll be bored back there by yourself. Besides, I could use the help.”
Avril frowned,
“I don’t know anything about aircraft and I wasn’t much help while you were prepping, either,” she said
Ralen shrugged and turned to welcome the other passengers,
“You can always climb over if you change your mind,” he said as he greeted the first couple and told them where to sit.

The Ariel tour took them on and east-west parallel and highlighted the colonies. Many of the settlers chose the now defunct volcanic craters to house them, as the rim rock was a natural barrier from the heat and sandstorms. Lafayette 10 was recovering from mineral pirating over millennia ago. Advanced techniques in modern terraforming and restoration proved that planets like this one could eventually be nursed from the brink.

Avril looked up from her holo display to find Ralen facing her in his seat.
“Don’t worry, we’re in a holding pattern until I get clearance to land,” he said.
Avril looked out the portal,
“Is that where we’re going on the lava boat?”
“Yes, we’ll be cleared to land in a few minutes, the port will bring us in by tractor beam.”
Avril watched the air commerce
“This is ten times busier than Strata,” she commented, as another small craft crossed the airspace beneath them.
“Lava City is a tourist’s dream, if you like that sort of thing,” he said.
“Oh? What do you mean?”
“Anything you desire is down there,” he said, “legal and illegal things, if you know what I mean.”
Avril blushed when she realized what he implied. Ralen chuckled

The craft began its descent and the remote tower announced the docking procedure. Ralen touched her knee
“Here we go, welcome to Lava City.”

The lava City spaceport provided Avril with the proof she needed to take what Ralen had said seriously. There were thousands of species milling around in the spaceport and she even thought she saw a few of her own people but couldn’t be sure because they wore environmental suits to keep the low oxygen, moist atmosphere circulating. She could be sure, though, that one was male and the other female, apparent by the size and shape of the suits. As far as she knew, she was the only one of her kind here and she didn’t like knowing there were others around. The only one who didn’t hate her for being so different was her mother.
“Do you know them?”
She started, turning to find Ralen looking at her, an unreadable expression on his face.
“What? Oh, no, just, well, a little homesick, I guess.”
Ralen nodded, watching the couple move past. Avril couldn’t help noticing that he was more than a little interested in them and it made her uncomfortable.
“Time for the tour,: he said, braking off his observation and gesturing to the kiosk leading to the boarding area.

The craft was narrow and cramped and the group had to climb a ladder to access the cockpit area. Ralen, as usual, loaded them back to front. When it was her turn, Ralen proffered a hand, and then pulled her up so strongly that she lost her footing and landed against him. He caught her and kept them both from falling into the cramped cockpit. She tried to get her arms working and push away from him but only managed to grab his buttocks.
“Oh, sorry,” she muttered, her face flaming with embarrassment.
“Are you okay?” he asked, steadying her, his hands on her shoulders.
She nodded, to embarrassed to look up at him. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice low.
She looked up at him, I’m a nice guy, honest, I don’t bite.” he said, then let her go and climbed into his seat.

The lava ride was the most thrilling experience Avril had with the exception of playing in the river Falls back home. The craft was an insulated hovercraft, riding the thermals above the floe 1000 feet below. Ralen expertly maneuvered the river with confidence and his narrative kept everyone entertained. The spontaneous tendrils of exploding molten orange kicked up by the fast moving lava reminded Avril of her homeland, and she soon lost herself in memories and felt a bit homesick.
Then she noticed Ralen’s level of concentration as he piloted the craft in the thermals.
Avril watched him, his excitement infectious. By the end of the ride, she was breathing as heavily as he was and when he turned to look at her, she smiled,
“That was wonderful,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his forearm. The other passengers were all clapping and nodding in agreement.
• *

“Avril, wake up, you’re home,” came Ralen’s voice as he shook her awake.
She sat up In the Rover and looked around. They were parked in front of her complex, the solar panels reflecting the twilight like soft silver. She must have fallen asleep on the ride back home. She turned her head and met his eyes. She could see them now, free of the UV shields that hid their true color. They were as blue as Hepson's ocean, vibrant blue rimmed in black.
He kissed her, and then sat back.
She sat there in the Rover, her lips burning from the contact. After a moment, she remembered her manners.
“Thank you for such a great time, and for the rides,” she said, popping her seatbelt and opening the door. The hydraulics complied with a hiss.
“No problem, Avril. Call me if you want to see me again,” he said.
She stopped, turning back to face him,
“Do you want to see me again?”
“You have my number,”
“Okay then, I’ll call you,” she said, then walked to her unit.

When she got in and undressed, she felt the quiet desert night replace the day’s excitement and she was able to relax. She heated a meal and adjusted the thermostat up a few degrees before checking her box. Ralen’s name appeared. She tapped the icon and read the message.
‘You look great without your eye shields.’
She smiled, exited the message and set her alarm. The split shift at the mining facility was only hours away.
• * *
Avril considered calling Ralen many times during the next few weeks but could not bring herself to even approach the com unit without panicking. She just didn’t know what to say or how to act. She only knew that hshe wanted to be near him. She stopped going to the gym and worked out at home instead to avoid the anxiety being near him provoked because it was just too intense.

Hepson was a semi-aquatic world and she was it’s freak. She was prevented from learning all but the essentials or what could be sent via a com unit approved by her parents. She just didn’t know how to relate to anyone who was not either a co-worker or a superior. That was the one element of her life that she depended upon, her work ethic and intellect. It’s what got her off Hepson and would, she hoped, provide her with some direction on Lafayette 10. But she was at a complete loss as to what to do about Ralen.

Then one day it resolved itself. Avril was just about to leave for her shift when the security monitor bleeped. It was Ralen’s rover,
“Hey Avril, want a lift to work?”
His voice sounded like he wasn’t the least bit upset she hadn’t called since the day of the tour.
She took a deep breath,
“Yes, thanks. I’ll be right out,” she replied and popped in her eye shields and grabbed her satchel.
No time for anxiety, she thought, cramming on her sun hat after thumming the lock on her door.

Ralen was smiling when she stepped into the Rover but waited until she was secured before speaking.
“I thought maybe you forgot to call me,” he said, piloting the rover back the way he’d come.
Avril played with the strap on her satchel and said nothing. She wanted to say a million things but couldn’t find the right words. Ralen directed the rover to the mining depot where Avril worked before continuing.
“Listen, if you don’t like me, just say so.”
“I like you,” she said, still fiddling with the strap on the satchel, “I, um, I’m not very good at these things.”
She crept a look over at him from the corner of her eye. He was watching her watching him.
“so, just a little shy, is that it?”
“Yes,” she agreed, turning to meet his gaze more fully.
“But you like me?”
Nod.
“Dating okay?”
Nod.
“Good, I’ll pick you up after your shift, then, and maybe by then you’ll be able to tell me more about yourself.”
Avril smiled,
“I’d like that.”

She left the rover and entered the lobby of her office building, catching a glimpse of herself in the reflection off the mirrored security wall. For the first time, Avril touched her face because she was smiling.

• * *
“She was meant to die,” hissed Simsu, reading the mail from his wife’s ebox, “You let her go and now your actions have disgraced us.”
Luuma said nothing, her secondary gills quivering, the only clue to her discomfort. Simsu made her sit before him , berating her with words and a kick or two to emphasize his anger.
“You are lucky you gave me sons first or I’d have left you for dead when you gave birth to our freak.”
Luuma knew that the only reason he let them both live was to exploit them. She sent her daughter away to save her from being sold to a gypsy. Luuma had outsmarted him by putting Avril on a deep space transport destined for a planet she hoped would save her daughter’s life. Her own life meant nothing now and she was ready for whatever her husband was going to do. Simsu seemed to read her thoughts, his rubbery lips grinned, revealing the baleen like teeth,
“You think you’ve saved her, well, wife, we’ll see about that. “
She glanced at him, risking another kick for such boldness.
He laughed,
“That’s right, wife, I’ve called in a favor. A lunar cycle from now, your beloved little freak will be dead.”
Luumla said nothing, turned away from Siimsu and asked,
“It is as you say, husband.”
He grunted and struck out at her again but it was half hearted.
“Bring me food. Ttomorrow you will thank me for sparing your life.”
Ten minutes later Luumla served her husband, kneeling by his side at the low table as he ate, and then as he died, the poison working quickly to paralyze his heart. When she was sure he was gone, she ate her share. Her last thought was that the poison didn’t hurt, which was disappointing because she wanted the horrid beast who was supposed to be her husband to suffer before dying.

***

Ralen waited for Avril in the mining company’s main lobby, his eyes on the public holo , his ears, however, listened to the gurgling swoosh of an elderly evo suit behind him. Ralen recognized the suit from the day he took Avril and the other tourists on the Lava City tour. Two people in junkyard suits appeared at the spaceport that day and one of them was here again today . He positioned himself so he could unobtrusively inspect the off-worlder’s reflection in the mirror finished wall beside the public holo. Ralen noticed the suit’s apparent age, as if the wearer had thrown it together from bits and pieces of other suits. The form fitting helmet and face plate made it hard to tell the sex of the suit’s wearer, though he was sure it was male. It was definitely the same suit, apparent by the unique patchwork of bonding tape and sealant.

Normally he would have passed the off-worlder without a second glance, however, it was Avril’s reaction when seeing them in the spaceport that day that made him take note of them. She looked surprised and even a little afraid. That got him thinking back to the conversations he and Avril had as they returned from the tour in his Rover. By then, he’d guessed that she was here because she was tired of living with an air scrubber glued to her face, but he asked anyway.
“So, why are you here? Don’t Hepsonites need moist air to live?””
“I’m not like the others. I don’t have gills.”
She gathered her hair and looked at Ralen, hesitating a microsecond before lifting it up to reveal indentations where her gills should have bben. She turned in her seat to give him the full effect. The indentations were on either side of her throat, just under the jawline below her button-shaped ears.
Ralen reached out and traced the indentation with a finger. Avril turned away, letting her hair fall back over her shoulders.
“My mother made me leave. She said I’d die if I stayed any longer. She said my home world would kill me.
“Kill you?”
Avril shrugged.
“It was hard to breathe.” She added, then changed the subject.
Soon after that, she’d fallen asleep. And he’d never gotten the chance to ask her why she didn’t introduce herself to the other Hepsonites.
He thought it odd that the two Hepsonites in the spaceport just happened to show up when she was there. Ralen hadn’t met any of her kind since living on Lafeyette 10, which was his entire life so far. He knew Avril was from Hepson because he made it his priority to find out about newcomers for his business. When he saw her, however, he was attracted to her exotic looks.She was slim, narrow hipped and her face was taken up by a large eyes and mouth and a petite flattened nose. Her skin was the color of cream. To Ralen her features were a welcome change from the broad tanned obvious faces of his kind.
He watched the off-worlder through his reflective vantage point and waited. A few minutes before Avril’s shift ended the junkyard suited man left. Ralen tailed him as far as the outer archway, feeling uneasy.
He scanned the area in front of the mining company once more, then shrugged to himself and returned to wait for Avril.

She saw him as soon as she stepped off the lift, his tangle of platinum hair seemed to glow in the refracted light from the mirrored lobby. She resisted the impulse to throw herself into his arms and instead gave him a quick hug and kiss. He popped in his eye shields and gestured toward the exit,
“I hope you’re hungry, we’ve got reservations at The Rim,” he said steering her out and into the lift to the parking garage.
“What’s The Rim?” she asked, twisting her hair and shoving it under her hat.
“He smiled like a little boy with a secret,
“It’s a surprise,” he said.
They walked to the rover and got in and were soon out of the city and skimming the open red-tinged landscape of the outer limits of Strata.

Avril soon discovered that The Rim was a restaurant perched atop the highest natural rock tower just outside the west rim of the crater. The entire structure reminded Avril of a mushroom with an abnormally long stem. It took only a few minutes to reach the top via seated lifts which corkscrewd the tower’s outer surface. The ride provided a splendid view of the crator’s landscape.
“It’s beautiful,” Said Avril, taking it all in as if she was a little girl in a land of candied confection.
Dinner was a work in progress for both Avril and Ralen; he explained the foreign sounding entrees, drinks, and desserts to her with patience.
“My home world wasn’t exactly a cosmopolitan place to live,” she said, taking another sip of the house wine, “thanks for expanding my horizons.”
Ralen pointed to another piece of land crab she’d pushed aside,
“Are you going to eat that?” he asked.
“I’m full, go for it.” She smiled and pushed the plate to him.
The ice cream was her favorite and Ralen mentioned that there was a great ice cream kiosk near the mining company and offered to make that their next date.
“I’d like that, we could go on my break, if you’re not doing tours that day.”

• * *

The Rover sped through the desert night. Avril noticed the land traffic here was much heavier than on the outskirts of Strata.
“I’m stuffed, thank you so much for dinner.”
“Want to stop for a drink?”
“I take it this is a normal part of the dating thing, right?”
Ralen laughed, “Yes, it sure is. How about a cactus Daqri?” he suggested, heading the Rover to a brightly lit bar fronted with a dancing neon holo of a frothy concoction overflowing a stemmed glass.
“It’s not ice cream but it’s cool and tasty, trust me,” he added, nudging the rover into a spot and popping the doors.
The bar was crowded but Ralen found two seats. Hhe ordered two cactus Daqeris.
The android bartender placed the drinks in front of them and debited Ralen’s account, then left.
“Ever drink alcohol?” he asked, watching Avril’s reaction after taking a sip
“Yummy,” she said, licking her lips.
“Ever see a bunch of drunk fish? That’s about fifty percent of my homeworld. Fermentation and distilling are mainstays there.”
Ralen laughed,

He wasn’t a drinker and preferred a few beers but only while not working. He didn’t want to come off as a wimp, but he had to be up early for a two-day tour out beyond Lava City. After the second drink, he sat back and stifled a yawn.
“Let’s call it a night, okay? I have to pilot another Lava City tuor and I need some rest”
She looked disappointed but got up and let him put an arm around her. A few steps later, her arm was draped around his waist and they walked out, arm in arm.
Avril was just settling into the Rover when her voice comm unit Beeped. She glanced at the display and frowned.
“What is it?” Ralen asked.
“It’s my security droid. It’s reporting that someone’s trying to get in to my place.”
?Did it notify the police?”
“yes,” she nodded, tapping in a reply “I just told them I’ll be right there.”
“Ralen backed out of the spot and set the navigation for Averil’s complex and hit the accellirator.

“Before we get there, I’ve got something to tell you,” Ralen began,”I was hoping to tell you this another time but I guess now’s the best time considering what’s just happened.”
Avril looked out the Rover’s window, her mind racing with anxiety. Was he going to tell her he didn’t want to see her anymore? She didn’t know what to say and waited him out.
“I’m a clone. The Sheriff is the guy who cloned me.”
Avril looked through the windshield,
:We’re here already, that was fast.”
“Did you hear what I just said?”
“yes, and it doesn’t matter, Ralen. Do you know why?”
He shook his head, “No, so tell me.”
“It doesn’t matter because I was once a tadpole that swam around in goop.”
Then they looked at each other and laughed until Avril felt tears running down her cheeks.
The rover’s brakes got them back into the moment. Itslid in next to the Sheriff’s vehicle and they got out. Sheriff Marion Fisk was there to greet them, a look of surprise came and went across his face in a flash when he saw Ralen. The two men gave the same nod of acknowledgment.
“Miss Ozmalut?” Sheriff Fisk said, holding out the I.D. pad.
Yes,” she said, thumbing the pad to confirm her identity.
He scanned the data and then looked up,
“Whoever did this was not a professional or they would have actually opened the door. As it is, only the lock has been broken.”
“What can I do? I can’t stay here without security.”
“I’ll stay and we’ll get it repaired tomorrow.” Said Ralen, “unless you can suggest something else, of course, Sheriff.”
Avril looked from one to the other, they were twins, the only difference was in age. The Sheriff was heavier and looked much older.
“I can’t keep watch with my men, if that’s what you mean, Ralen. I’ve got the city to worry about.”
“Right, I forgot the city gets all the attention.”
“Thank you, Sheriff, we’ll be fine, I’m sure of it.” She said, putting a hand on Ralen’s forarm. It seemed to calm him down,
“Right, let us know when we can go in, then. We’ll be in the rover.”

The Sheriff and his assistant left a short time later and As Avril made a late night tea, Ralen set up a simple security beam over the door with a kit he’d left in the Rover.
“It’ll be loud if it goes off but that’s it.”
Avril was sitting next to him on the futon,
“Thanks,” she said, taking the empty cup , “now try to get some sleep.” She kissed his cheek and went to the bedroom and closed the door.

Ralen left as soon as the sun rose, passing the repair droid on the way to the Rover. As the droid worked, Avril drowsed on the futon. Wondering why someone would break in, as she had nothing of value. She’d left most of her things behind in the rush to get off Hepson. She reset the alarm after the droid reported it was repaired and tested, then she went back to bed. She snapped awake, realizing she didn’t hear her usual wake-up music. She sat up, looked at the clock and cursed, she was going to be late for her shift if she didn’t get moving. She threw on some clothes, gulped down her vitamins, and grabbed her satchel and hat. She thumbed open the door and was tackled by a white blur.
****

Avril heard the evo suit’s breathing equipment as she woke and her hand went to her face, expecting to find the air scrubber attached. She was confused for a moment when she couldn’t find it, her mind snapping to attention once she realized it wasn’t her air scrubber making those sounds. Then she remembered everything else and opened her eyes.
She saw the patched evo suit and heard the suits labored crinkle which meant the filters needed cleaning.
“Ah, so you are finally awake,” said a voice heavy with the Hepsonite gurgle all the planet’s inhabitants had developed due to air escaping the secondary gills while speaking.
“I thought I’d given you too much of the sedative,” he said, “I want to say a few things before I have to kill you.”
His words brought the last few hours back to her all at once and she almost cried out as the events played out in her mind.
She was on her way to work, opening the door, and felt a sharp pain in her thigh. She looked down. As her hand began to pull out the needle, she felt the unmistakable sensation of the sedative and she tried to get back in the apartment and shut the door but it was too late. She grabbed the door frame and stumbled into the smaller of the two intruders blocking her from leaving the apartment. The Hepsonite tried to steady her but Avril had no control of her limbs and fell against the other, slamming the smaller woman into the wall. Avril heard something inside the suit’s pack give way under them and the woman let her go, hands flying to her suit controls. Avril’s legs weren’t working. She got to her hands and knees to crawl away but a booted foot caught her in the ribs and sent her sprawling into the kitchen alcove. Her head hit the corner of the wall and she saw stars before losing consciousness.

Avril looked around, not seeing the female Hepsonite, and realized she didn’t even know where they were. The first thing that came to her was why was someone trying to kill her? The man in the evo suit was watching her webbed hands uncovered, one hand held a wicked looking injection pistol that had been used to shoot her with the sedative.
He caught her interest in it and laughed,
“I’ve got your lethal dose right here, don’t you worry,” he said, waggling it like a toy.
“Why?” she asked, sitting up when she discovered only her feet were bound
“Why?” he laughed again, the gurgle adding a phlegm overtone, More than one reason, bitch. First for Siimsu, you are a disgrace to him and killing you will amend that. Second, for killing my mate, you know, the one you crushed in your dwelling.”
. She thought she would never hear that phlegm soaked gurgle ever again. She hated it so much it made her physically sick. She swallowed down the nausea “I was told to give you a message before you die, he looked at her but the suit’s face plate blocked Avril from seeing his eyes. “Your father wants you to know that he thinks you would have made a wonderful whore. It will be an honor for me to kill you.”
Avril looked down, noticing the dried blood on her hands and shirt. She remembered hitting her head and found the tender spot at her hairline just above her forehead. She shifted and pain shot through her left side where the man had kicked her into submission. It was always her mother who was battered by her father; protecting Avril by saying she was too delicate for beatings. Siimsu would add a few kicks to compensate, adding that she was right; Avril’s selling price would go down if she was damaged. This Hepsonite man was no different than her father. All of them were oppressive and prone to violence. She supposed being brought to death by chemical injection was better than being beaten but she wasn’t ready to give in, not yet. Her mother risked her own life to save hers and Avril wasn’t going to let this slimy off warder kill her without a fight. She liked her life, her job, and even being pursued by Ralen was becoming quite pleasant. She had a lot to live for, in fact.

She looked at the injection pistol, the man’s webbed fingers, all six of them, awkwardly covered it, his single jointed thumb barely able to rest on the safety toggle.
He laughed, waggling the pistol at her, mistaking her interest as fear.
She looked up at him,
“Your suit sounds like it needs new scrubbers,”
“My suit’s fine, bitch,”
He got up
“If you let me live, I’ll repair it for you, I’ve got the supplies at home.”
“I’m not an idiot; I know you design the breathing packs for the mining company.” He said, his breathing seeming even more labored than before. The crinkle became a squeak and his hands went to adjust the moisture pump. He looked down and tried to shift his grip on the pistol when Avril rushed him, knocking the pistol from his hand. They toppled backwards over the chair he had been sitting on, the pistol skidding across the floor.
She rolled off of him and kicked out with her bound feet, the blow breaking something inside his suit. The gasping sound got louder and he got up, searching for the pistol. They both saw it at the same moment but Avril grabbed the chair and swung, sending him slamming into one of the stone walls. She scrambled for the pistol and pointed it at him but he was not standing and she could barely hear the suit working. She took stock of the room for the first time, her hands shaking, her mind still feeling the rush of adrenaline. The door leading from the room was simple and she opened it, surprised it was the basement storage of her apartment complex. She hobbled out and shut the door, then took off her shoes and wiggled out of the bindings. She rubbed her ankles until they stopped burning and put her shoes back on. She shaded her eyes from the sun and followed the path to the front of the complex, the gun still in her hand

Ralen saw her come out from behind the main building, her hand shading her eyes. He had his comm. Out and was jjust about to call the Sheriff’s office but stopped when he saw her limping toward him.
“Avril?’ he said, his voice cracking. .
She stopped and looked at him, then she broke into a lurching trot. He rushed to her and she clung to him; for the first time in her life, she felt safe.

excerpt from memoir

2011-06-05T14:03:00.000-07:00

Rolling up the Rugs: Non Fiction by Ann Chiappetta
Excerpt from “After the Divorce: 1970”

I got my love from animals -- dogs, cats, sometimes coaxing a squirrel to eat from a hand. We had a revolving door of pets depending on how long it took mom to discover the new additions my middle sister, Laura brought home. Teika was a calico who had three litters of kittens with a Russian blue tom cat we also owned named Jack. Eventually Teika went to live with mom's ex boyfriend, Eddie, a few months before we moved to California. Until then, though, she turned out to be a sweet and loving pet.

The summer after graduating from fifth grade, I noticed jack hadn't been around and I went looking for him. He usually sauntered into the hall as I came in from school or from the complex pool, wanting to eat, but he hadn’t been doing it for a day or two. Something told me to go find him. The tingle was there and I wanted it to go away but I couldn’t ignore it and after feeding Teika, I went out to look for him. I found him lying in the bushes near the front steps of our building, his body stiff and cold. I Recognized that he died horrifically, apparent by the arch of his back and the way in which his lips had shrunken revealing ann open-eyed death mask. I will never forget the shock, sorrow, and anger I felt. It was rat poison, that much I knew, with a certainty I couldn’t explain. I stood up and tried to figure out what to do next. I remembered overhearing a neighbor talking to my Mom about finding her cat dead on her patio and when she called the police, the officer said it looked like rat poison.
Another neighbor had knocked on our door a few days ago and I heard a snippet of conversation between her and my Mom about the fear that the super had put out rat poison to get rid of the cats instead of the vermin. As with many conversations, it really didn’t mean too much at the time but now it bridged the gap of how this could have happened and it fueled my anger.
I knew by the returning tingle that the superintendent had put out the bait. I got a paper bag,
slipped him in it and went to the super's apartment, He opened
The door and I showed it to him. " You killed my cat, you bastard. I hope you go to Hell" I said and walked away. I shook with the intensity of it all. Standing up to an adult like that and cursing them went against every fiber of my being, yet I did it. My legs felt like rubber but my mind was telling me I did the right thing.

I walked down the hall, knowing he was watching me, feeling his eyes on my back, but I didn’t stop. I went to the furnace room and opened the outer door. I brought Jack to the furnace and unlatched the heavy door, glad it was cool and not being used. I placed jack inside on top of some garbage already there, closed the door and pressed the button. the whoosh of the
intense furnace heat incinerated his corpse. In less than an hour he would be gone, his ashes swirling up the flue with common household refuse.
I watched him being consumed by the fire in the tiny window in the iron door and cried. A few weeks later, as I headed for the side door to the building to go home and have dinner, the Super was standing there like he was waiting for me. I hadn’t seen him outside since Jack’s poisoning and got a bad feeling. Nevertheless, I had to go inside, so I tried to pass him. He blocked me as I tried to pass.
“I feel bad about your cat.” He said, “Got a gift in my pocket for you to show you how sorry I am.”
I looked up into his face and he smiled. I wasn’t sure but reached into his pocket anyway, not sure what to expect. My fingertips met something soft and warm with a hint of wetness.
He tried to push my hand deeper into his pocket but I jerked it out, the flash of realization making my stomach flip. I’d been touching his penis. The words I cursed him with a few days ago came back to my lips but I held back.

"You’re disgusting,” I said, and walked away.
I remember telling my Mom what had happened but don’t recall anyone ever asking me about that horrible day. Like many grief-laden events in my life while growing up, I shouldered it as best as I could, not knowing I had an option to trust someone enough to share it and unburden myself. I learned this much later, after many years of trying to manage depression resulting from carrying this and many other burdens caused by loss.

almost denied access

2011-05-30T08:36:00.000-07:00

While entering the local amusement park yesterday (Rye Playland), a park employee denied us access. She said only service dogs were allowed. I said that Verona was a service dog and tried to go through the gate. She stopped me and said she had to call her manager to double check. I said that I was blind and that my dog is a guide dog. She didn't budge. Then the folks I was with told her the same thing and suddenly she let us in. This goes back to something that happened at work the other day: my office mates sometimes don't feel confident I can handle the phones even though I'm better at it then some of them. A call came in and after I put it on hold, the caller hung up. This resulted in my office mates blaming me for dropping the call. They automatically made an assumption that the blind person fucked up when it was not the case at all . I don't think my office mates even thought about how I'd feel about it. Maybe it's me who should feel sorry for them, not being able to have confidence in someone like me.

All I can do is be the best I can and let it roll off, but, boy sometimes it's so hard to do it.

Poem on Vision Loss

2011-05-22T16:31:00.000-07:00

Someone Asked Me
By Ann Chiappetta

She humbled herself,
Massaged our hands and feet, taught
Us reflexology, aromatherapy, Yoga

I am a good student, recording my physiological history from
Birth to the present, as if
It mattered To anyone else but me.

What she didn’t know was that I was paralyzed with fear
Unable to move forward, stuck.

She asked me,
What’s holding you back?
As she rubbed lemon and lavender extract into my skin.
Funny, I thought, she sees only what’s strapping me down, not
How far I’ve come,
So I shrugged.
Was she judging me, this Dark One,
This woman who relieved high blood pressure with acupuncture?

What’s holding you back?
This time I got insulted and said,
If going blind means anything, I guess that would be it.

She kept silent and we finished, my frustration flowing out with
The dirty foot bath water.

Years later, I ran into her. I could tell
She scrutinized me. I’d gained weight,
walked with a white cane,
I battled Depression.

Small talk subsiding, she asked,
What happened? You were doing so well.

I shrugged, made eye contact even though I couldn’t even see her face.

I pointed to my white cane, saying,
Going blind sucks.

She said nothing
She did nothing. She acknowledged it not at all.

5/2011

cool stuff to know about cell phones

2011-05-22T08:12:00.000-07:00

5 Things You Never Knew Your Cell Phone Could Do

For all the folks with cell phones. (This should be printed and kept in your car, purse, and wallet. Good information to have with you.)

There are a few things that can be done in times of grave emergencies.

Your mobile phone can actually be a life saver or an emergency tool for survival.

Check out the things that you can do with it:

FIRST (Emergency)

The Emergency Number worldwide for Mobile is 112. If you find yourself out of the coverage area of your mobile network and there is an Emergency, dial 112 and the mobile will search any existing network to establish the emergency number for you, and interestingly, this number 112 can be dialed even if the keypad is locked. Try it out.

SECOND (Locked Keys in Car)

Have you locked your keys in the car? Does your car have remote keyless entry? This may come in handy someday. Good reason to own a cell phone:

If you lock your keys In the car and the spare keys are at home, call someone at home on their cell phone from your cell phone. Hold your cell phone about a foot from your car door and have the person at your home press the unlock button, holding it near the mobile phone on their end. Your car will unlock. Saves someone from having to drive your keys to you. Distance is no object. You could be hundreds of miles away, and if you can reach someone who has the other 'remote' for your car, you can unlock the doors (or the trunk).

Editor's Note: It works fine! We tried it out and it unlocked our car over a cell phone!'

THIRD (Hidden Battery Power)

Imagine your cell battery is very low. To activate, press the keys *3370#. Your cell phone will restart with this reserve and the instrument will show a 50% increase in battery. This reserve will get charged when you charge your cell phone next time.

FOURTH (How to disable a STOLEN mobile phone?)

To check your Mobile phone's serial number, key in the following Digits on your phone:

*#06#

A 15-digit code will appear on the screen. This number is unique to your handset. Write it down and keep it somewhere safe.

If your phone is stolen, you can phone your service provider and give them this code. They will then be able to block your handset so even if the thief changes the SIM card, your phone will be totally useless. You probably won't get your phone back, but at least you know that whoever stole it can't use/sell it either. If everybody does this, there would be no point in people stealing mobile phones.

And Finally....

FIFTH (Free Directory Service for Cells)

Cell phone companies are charging us $1.00 to $1.75 or more for 411 information calls when they don't have to. Most of us do not carry a telephone directory in our vehicle, which makes this situation even more of a problem. When you need to use the 411 information option, simply dial:

(800) FREE411 or (800) 373-3411

without incurring any charge at all. Program this into your cell phone now.

This is sponsored by McDonalds.

You Should Write a Book

2011-05-20T17:32:00.000-07:00

You Should Write a Book

I've decided to share excerpts of my short stories and poetry on a regular basis now that I have a lot of stuff. This is hard for me to do since it requires a routine and being able to post work without tinkering endlessly with it before I post it. I know, it's a control thing, but what's a girl to do?

On a related note, I've been working on a memoir, it's coming along well but I'm not sure how much or how little to write biographically. what is common knowledge to me, for example, may not be common knowledge to my relatives and I want to express my views without hurting them. I think it comes from the belief of "sparing" another person' and wish the fear of doing this didn't also imply that doing this is also keeping secrets.

So, I'm letting it all out, regurgitating childhood experiences, reflections of relatives past and present, providing a detailed description of who I am, what I think, and how I've been influenced by others, especially while growing up. This is the crux of it all, how I developed, who helped or hindered it, who left scars, who provided love and joy.

It is intimate and perhaps uncomfortable for some, but hoepfully enlightening for most.

I don't necessarily want a feel good or woe is me book; rather, a real piece of a life, a truth best described by the person best suited to tell it. So, the next post will hopefully be the beginning of this memoir.

finally sent it

2011-04-14T03:38:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I sent out the application for my marriage and family therapy license. So, after 4 years and a lot of disappointments, the final part of the career journey has begun. I'm kind of in shock right now, and won't jinx it by expecting things to go smoothly up in albany. The Office of Professions is notorious for losing entire applications. I've copied and sent is signed receipt requested, too, to head off any excuses. Cross the digits that things will go well and I'll get my permit number in a month or two.

2011-04-10T18:07:00.000-07:00

Grad Council weekend
April 7-9, 2011, Guiding Eyes for the Blind, Yorktown Heights, New York

We left White Plains at 1 pm Thursday afternoon, arriving at Guiding Eyes around 1:45, just in time for lunch, grilled cheese and tomato soup. After dropping off our bags, Ro and I walked over to the Kennel for her annual vet visit. We reunited with Lily, the clinic’s resident kitty, who loves Ro. Unfortunately, Ro’s experience wasn’t routine. The growth on her nose was biopsied, and once her lyme and borditella vaccinations were given, she was subjected to an intense ear cleaning due to ear gunk. Once the vet determined it was yeast, Ro was given an anti-inflammatory injection, ear drops, and we were loaded up with various treatments and sent on our way.
While in our room, Ro apparently decided to christen the bed, so we had to move to another room. How embarrassing. I kept her off the bed and on the tie-down the rest of the night, sensing she was overwhelmed and was just not herself.

After the reception dinner, I let her run off some energy in Alumni hall, then put her back on tie-down in the room and hung out for a while with the other grad council members. When I returned later, she had regurgitated her dinner and the water she drank, and I spent 20 minutes mopping it up.
Friday morning she was fine and we spent the day in meetings, followed by a group run in the planet dog yard and a kennel tour.

Clicker training was at the end of the day, a fun obedience task for Verona and she was smiling as we took part in it. We also were shown the new prototype harness and I must say it is like a Coach product for dogs. Rich, sturdy harness leather and solid brass hardware, updated and classic. I can’t wait to get one.

Friday night we hung out and let the dogs play while we talked and laughed, shared the stuff that makes us a family. At one point, Verona and Tanya, a yellow labbie, went up to the second floor to explore the offices and neither Dick or I could persuade them to come back. We ended up calling them for five minutes until finally, they sauntered back down the stairs, pretending to ignore our anxiety that neither of them came when called.

We all had a good laugh with that. Then another grad was furminating his dog, getting the hair on his beard and face. The instructor who was hanging with us dust busted his face, which sent us all roaring with laughter, as we all know how dog hair gets into everything, including beards. Another grad played hide and seek with his dog.

What really helped me the most was the candid conversations with other blind people, sharing what others cannot unless they, too, live with blindness. We laughed over having “retinal farts” and eye spasms, fearing the dark, sunlight, and new places. We shared our aspirations for our careers, family, and health concerns. It was one of the most enriching times I’ve ever known and I will treasure it for the rest of my life.

The night walk was the most exhilarating part of this for one reason: I am scared of the dark because I’m a total at night. No visual information, just twinkling lights on a terrible, velvet curtain; no top, bottom, left, or right, Darkness in a bubble.

I wouldn’t let anyone else know how scared I was and when an instructor offered to take us out, I jumped at the chance. There was a moment when I thought, are you nuts? The anxiety tightened my chest so much I had to use my rescue inhaler, but I refused to opt out. I had to do this no matter how hard it was;this is the last barrier for me.
I set off with five others, was proud of my little Verona, she guided me without incident and I came back knowing the dark was no longer the fear it had once been.

So, what did grad council do for m I’m not sure I can adequately state what I’m feeling right now, as I write this – but I do know that I am stronger, more confident, better able to accept all that life rolls out for me because I have the companion who helps me make sense of the sighted world.I also now know I also have the comraderie and understanding of others like me.

Grad Council Weekend

2011-04-10T18:06:00.000-07:00

not finishing stories

2011-04-01T10:34:00.000-07:00

I've been beating myself up about not finishing my stories. Apparently it is a bad habit beginning with growing up with a dysfunctional family, at least according to the family therapy experts. I didn't learn the skills to plan and complete basic tasks, which has influenced my laxity about not wrapping things up and knowing how satisfied it is doing so. It all has to do with the lack of self-confidence and low self-esteem. {insert heavy sigh} So, being who I am, I'm working on righting the wrongs by revisiting all the half-finished, almost done stories I've written so far. I'm kind of alarmed to admit there are a lot of them. So, here I am, blogging about it. Feeling guilty about it. Not knowing why it happened or how to fix it.

The thing is, that I do finish what I begin in other areas of my life. I have completed other stories, many poems, and a gazillion other tasks, so what's the deal here?
I'm not sure but knowing the problem leads to finding a solution. Maybe I just need to stick with one thing at a time. Creatively speaking, I am a bit whimsical and improving my focus will get me to accomplish more that I've been. Right? Right.
See you on the pages, then.

Birthday Post

2011-03-14T09:47:00.000-07:00

Sunday, March 13 has passed and I'm one year older. The year is still young so I don't know how life will be but so far it's acceptable. I have found a great source of support from some folks I've been working with both at the job and my volunteer positions. I'm very excited about it. I can sometimes be so focused on tasks that I forget to just have fun, go out with friends and be social. I think this is the biggest and best change for me since getting Verona.

I began writing a memoir and will post excerpts herein when it's ready for other eyes and ears. Smile.
Until next time --

Dream or the Power of Suggestion?

2011-02-25T16:14:00.000-08:00

Have you ever had a dream that is not what it seems? What I mean is, I woke up this morning remembering a dream with a recurring character, my husband’s best friend. His name was Joe and he died at the age of 38 from congestive heart failure. Whenever he appears in my dreams, the first thing he says is that he’s sorry he hasn’t visited me for so long but that he was busy. That’s pretty much what he’d say after disappearing for a long time and popping up just when we gave up hope of ever seeing or hearing from him again. Then he would call or ring the bell. That’s how he enters my dreams.

This time he took me for a tour. The house was similar to his parents’ home except much larger. It also looked out on Long Island Sound. I remember standing with him, feeling the sun and hearing the gulls overhead in the distance. This time his father was there, making sure the guests were well fed and entertained. Joe looked sad and he said he missed us, that he wished things had turned out differently.
He said that it was harder and harder to visit, that this might be the last time, that he had to learn to accept his death and all it implied. I said I understood and when it was time to say goodbye, I kissed him. It felt as real and as satisfying as if I really did it. I told him that if he didn’t visit anymore that at least I could give him a gift he’d remember. And we both laughed.

I woke up with the conviction that we wouldn’t have another visit and it made me feel sad. Losing Joe was hard for us and neither of us ever thought it would happen. Maybe my mind is reliving the memories as a way of coping with death. A friend’s husband died last week and I heard just yesterday about another woman losing her husband at age 35. Perhaps these two deaths triggered my mind to reconnect with memories of Joe .
Or, maybe, he was just popping in for a psychic visit.

PTSD POEM

2011-02-21T14:27:00.000-08:00

The Keeper
By Ann Chiappetta

You ask me to hold the secrets
Put the stories away
You must think me the mental Equivalent of Fort Knox
Accepting your dark treasure
denser than gold and so heavy you can’t move it.
So heavy even Atlas couldn’t bear it.
Locked up until the next time we meet.

the tales told are soul-stealing
corrosive
Seductive as nails down your back.

I think you stay in those stories,
beCause it’s easier than saying goodbye.
Part of you lives on in them
While within the same stories,
You hold on to the part that died.

December 2010

new Dialogue byline

2011-02-12T12:05:00.000-08:00

What I want to Remember
By Ann Chiappetta

I lost my sight at the age of 28, and resigned from my job because of it. I worked as a designer for an acrylic furniture company and could no longer perform my job duties, which were all visual in nature. I mourned this part of my life more than any other because I didn’t know how to take all the creative energy and transfer it into something else. One night, out of sheer frustration, I began to write. First it was poetry, most of it fanciful and meaningless. This turned into journaling and short stories, which led to some successful small press literary magazines publishing my work. It wasn’t until much later, when I was in college, that I realized I’d made the transition from expressing myself with the visual arts to those of the literary kind. From this point, I resolved to develop my talent because I knew it would become an essential part of learning how to successfully live with a disability.

What I didn’t realize back then was that re-training my mind was the cornerstone of the transition into blindness. I will always remember what life was like before it and I am grateful that I do have the visual references of the first 26 years of my life to help me go forward.

Images have a way of tattooing themselves to the psyche. If they are referenced enough, one will never forget them. All writers use this sensory recall as an essential tool to enhance the craft. What I didn’t know at the time was that developing it would one day help me deal with losing my sight.
I call this my soul sense, and it incorporates personal visual experiences with other sensory skills, like touch, sound, smell, and taste.

For instance, when I hear a jet plane, my mind cues up the image; when someone points out a beautiful sunset, I recall one. I use the power of observation to keep the memories close, that way I will never be without a reference.

Of course there will be surprises, like when I expected the Napa leather bag to be black or brown and the sales clerk told me it was electric blue. I’d never seen electric blue leather bags, so it took me a moment to put the image and the color together in my mind.

Blindness is a way of being, a distinct circumstance in which a person learns how to navigate through life. To ignore it means we are ignoring ourselves and denying the personal growth to cope with the emotional nature of living without it.

Retinal degeneration has made my world monochromatic. I do, however, remember the colors I can no longer detect. In my mind’s eye, the flat grey and black bushes dotted with stark white blobs are blooming forsythias lining the sidewalk. The vivid yellow flowers and light green leaves under the blue sky are only memories.

Does this sadden me? Frustrate me? It used to but not now. It happened so gradually that I had time to adjust. I already knew what forsythia looked like so for me, even when the color blindness began, the reference guide in my head kept me from feeling like I was missing out on something.

Retinal degeneration has also rendered me night blind. Since I was about ten years old, the lack of any form of light filled me with anxiety. It made me feel so helpless. Now, however, I do my best to face the dark with courage, though I don’t always succeed.

If I could impress just one piece of advice upon a young visually impaired person I would tell them to never give up, learn Braille, mobility skills, and trust themselves to know when to ask for help. I would ask this young person to remember the golden rule of true Independence: know when and how to ask others for help to achieve it. We are, after all, interdependent, learning how and when to ask for assistance will open doors and prevent social isolation.

What I miss seeing the most: faces of those I love. What I don’t miss: the ugliness of suffering and violence.

What advice to I have for someone who is progressing into blindness? Do the best to let your mind file away what you want to remember visually.
If you’ve seen a breathtaking view of the Grand Canyon, even if it was only a photo, when you are actually standing at the rim, it won’t really matter. You will be smelling, tasting, and listening to the majesty of that wondrous place. Your soul sense will aid in the expansion and creation of new memories.
Ask yourself what you want to remember and make it happen.

Explore, ask questions, and refine your skills for those times you will need them most.

Ziegler Article

2011-01-28T17:42:00.000-08:00

Working for an Independent living Center
By Ann Chiappetta
For three years, I worked in an Independent Living Center (referred to as an ILC) located in Yonkers, New York. Westchester Disabled on the Move, Inc., is a not-for-profit organization dedicated to upholding the equal and civil rights and independence of people with disabilities. ILCs can be found in every State and also in other countries. The core programs at our center included, but are not limited to, advocacy, housing, vocational support, access barrier resolution and other State and/or federally funded programs.
I held many job titles in that time period, including a youth leadership coordinator, transportation survey coordinator, and a Medicaid program service coordinator. The tasks I completed for each position held challenges for me both as a blind person and as someone returning to work after a ten year break from the workplace. Some of the challenges were simple to overcome, others weren't so easy. For instance, I had hardly any trouble acclimating to the computer related elements of my new job but I struggled with finding a system to manage the paperwork and hand written documents generated by both the center and the paperwork required by other State or federally funded programs. More often than not, I created accessible documents because the center or agency working with us found certain documents impossible to change or replicate. I had to choose my battles, so to speak, when it came to accessible materials. As much as I wanted to manage the paperwork independently, it just wasn’t feasible without some sighted assistance. Being an ILC and founded upon tenets of equal access, our Center’s executive director and office staff stepped in and provided a reasonable accommodation by scheduling daily and weekly meetings to help me sift through paperwork which wasn’t accessible to me otherwise. I still had complete control of what I wanted and needed to do the job and the staff acted only as an added means of compliance. No one ever told me how to do my job nor did they take away any of my job-related responsibilities.

The list of the most difficult of these documents were always state and federally generated documents. Inevitably, when we would succeed in obtaining a specific accessible electronic set of documents for a program, we would begin a new program and have to start the process all over again. This often led to time lapses in project turn around times and delays.
Despite the paperwork barriers, I found my time was split between coordinating services and referring consumers to other service providers. I became an advocate for our consumers, quite often the only advocate for an individual. I learned that a service coordinator not only assists the person with navigating the various systems but also mentors and/or collaborates with them. Quite often the consumer receiving services is unable to grasp the complexity of a given program. New York State’s Department of Social Services is one example of a public assistance program that intimidates people. I accompanied the consumer every step of the way, from the application process to case review interviews.
A service coordinator also must possess excellent communication skills and be proficient in organizing the care of whatever the consumer requires.

All in all, working for an ILC was extremely important for me because I not only learned how to help others but I also learned how to advocate for myself in the workplace.

If you would like to learn more about ILCs, visit:
http://www.ilru.org/html/publications/directory/index.html

THE SECOND YEAR

2011-01-17T09:46:00.000-08:00

The Second Year: a retrospective in dog guide land

I give the forward command and we begin to cross the street; I hear the car lurch from its place ahead just as Verona walks us out into the cross walk. She stops as the car makes an erratic right on red even though we have the right of way.
“Good dog, “I say, then give the forward command again, and we step out a second time.
The car behind the car that just lurched around the corner on the red decides to do the same and Verona not only stops but backs us up to the curb and does her little dance. I know this dance, it means, “mom, don’t go, we’re in trouble.”

A year ago I didn’t know this signal and felt the whap of a concrete bench on my knee even though she tried to tell me not to take another step. She did her dance then and after that incident, I pay attention to it.
“Okay, Ro, let’s wait a bit,” I tell her and line us up again at the curb. She tries to take me to the perpendicular curb but I tell her no, we need to go this way and she complies reluctantly.

This is where humans and dogs digress in terms of thinking; I know it will most likely be safe this time but she is thinking, wow, it’s going to happen again, and we better get out of here. This is when our mutual trust comes into play and although it seems like we’ll never get across this street, we do it together and do it safely. As we step onto the up- curb, I praise her for being such a great dog by giving her a doggie snack and petting, and we move on to go get lunch.
January 4, 2011 was our second anniversary, what guide dog users call ‘dog day’. I’ve written poems and short essays about this and other aspects of being a first-time guide dog user and this month means we’ve made it past the first two years and our bond is solid and reliable. Verona, whom I now call ro, is a four year old black Labrador retriever weighing in at 60 lbs and about 23” at the shoulder. She is a serious worker but she is also a very playful dog when not in harness. Her ears are too big for her long, wide head and her tail is a rudder like weapon when she’s wagging, which is just about all the time out of harness. She has happy pants syndrome, a constantly swishing rear-end and it hurts if you happen to be in the line of fire of her tail.

But, who, exactly is Verona – and perhaps more importantly, why is she, and other service dogs like her so special?

Her history is fairly typical for a program trained dog: she was a planned birth, her litter the result of Cooper, a black Labrador male, and Eileen, a yellow Labrador female. She is the second of five puppies born on November 24, 2006 at the Guiding Eyes breeding facility in Patterson, New York. At 10 weeks, she was given to her puppy raiser, Carol, who taught her good manners and social skills. At 18 months, she moved from New Hampshire to Yorktown Heights, New York to be proofed for advanced training. She and Carol said goodbye until graduation. Upon passing the test, Verona and her siblings began training for guide dog work.

She lived in the kennel with her buddy, Sawyer, another yellow Labrador until January 2009, when she and I met for the first time. The moment I touched her, it seemed as if the entire time of struggling with vision loss finally held meaning. For the first time, blindness held promise instead of limitations and let downs.

Fast forward a bit, and after years of avoiding events and independent travel, I’m no longer so limited, thanks to Ro and Guiding Eyes for the Blind. I now go wherever I need to with confidence and a safe way to accomplish it.

Ro is more than just a mobility tool, she’s a co-therapist. We’ve visited a local children’s hospital wherein we helped the social worker to ease a nervous teen who was having trouble adjusting to his new environment. She was often the reward for a group of unruly teens as incentive to settle down and work in a group. If they did well, I’d take off her harness and happy pants would take over and relax all of them. We visited our sick friends and recovering clients in hospitals and nursing homes, too. She is now my co-therapist at my new job helping Veterans with disabilities.

Happy Anniversary, Verona, and May your butt always wag so happily.
I love you.

listen to my interview

2011-01-14T16:20:00.000-08:00

This is a radio interview about my disability and how I got through it.

http://www.wgch.com/showarchive/shs.shtml

flare ups and frustration

2011-01-09T14:45:00.000-08:00

Well, don't know how it happened but I've been nursing a sore elbow and hand. Woke up a few days ago and noticed it hurt to bend my elbow and it worsened to not being able to even hold anything in my hand. So, took Advil and slathered on Tiger Balm and figured the weekend would help ease the pain if I rested it. It's Sunday and as you can tell by my posting, I'm still typing. Not the end of the world but the pain and the limitations are just so frustrating. I'm already blind, what more do I need? Gripe, gripe.

At least I got my nails done and my feet prettied up at the salon today. That made me feel much better.

The Year in Review

2011-01-01T16:55:00.000-08:00

GREETINGS FROM CASTLE CHIAPPETTA
December 2010

The year in review: at home and other happenings.

The first few months of 2010 were more or less quiet, as Jerry and I were still healing from shoulder and gallbladder surgeries respectively. It certainly felt like the winter would never end and then it was spring. Verona and I celebrated our first year together in January by traveling up to Guiding Eyes and taking part in the graduation ceremony and kennel tour. We’ve come a long way since our training and I’m so glad I’ve got her in my life.

Jerry’s been working for Homeland Security now for over ten years and this year has been full of unexpected changes since the Obama administration has taken charge but for the most part, it’s all been minor.

Anthony hasn’t decided what to do once he graduates high school but we are hoping he will figure it out this year. He’s got a knack for languages and has a great radio voice, so perhaps he’ll look into audio engineering. He’s very good at multi player role playing games, like World of Warcraft, and from what I hear, is well respected and plays with a core group of people who respect and like him. His next step is to find a training program or enroll in a community college.

April has been battling a series of throat infections since May and missed the first half of school due to three episodes of tonsillitis, one so serious she was put on prednisone for a week and two rounds of antibiotics. The specialist finally said the only way to keep these infections from reoccurring was to remove her tonsils, adenoids and excess sinus tissue. As I write this, she is recovering from the procedure which was done on December 15th.

Backtracking a bit, we took our annual vacation in August, piling into the new Toyota Tacoma truck and drove to Pennsylvania. Neeka went with my friend and dog trainer, Jamie while we were away.

We first went to the PA Renaissance festival – Huzzah! -- It was hot but bearable. We stayed at a motel, and then drove on to stay near Stroudsburg at a KOA. Our cabin was clean and had air conditioning and a bathroom. The camp grounds had an awesome pool with a fountain at one end and a spiral slide at the other, restaurant, and Dog Park, just to name a few amenities. We went to Hershey Park but left after only half the day due to excessive heat. It was 98 degrees by noon and neither myself nor Verona could take it. April and I did get to go on some awesome coasters, though and I had the best sour cherry slushie ever. The heat reminded me to ask myself, whatever possessed us to take our vacations in the dead heat of summer?Ugh. Verona was so well-behaved, staying on the porch and guiding me expertly through all the crowds, heat, and obstacles, especially at the R. Fair. I would love to get back to that KOA in the fall and bum around all the little towns in Lancaster as well as hit the outlet stores before Xmas crazies. Having ro is a true gift and every year I grow to appreciate it more and more. J

Jerry, April, Carol and Verona and I drove up to Foxwood’s resort and casino for an overnight stay. Jerry and I went to see Jethro Tull at the MGM Grand’s theater while Carol and April bummed around the hotel, mall, and casino. Someone had to stay with Verona while we attended the show. Well, not really but it was a good excuse to get the kid to come so we wouldn’t worry about leaving her at home with only Anthony, who is not a babysitter.

On September 22, Jerry and I celebrated our 20th anniversary by going to a B & B inn Greenwood Lake, Orange County, N.Y. We did some apple picking with Verona, who had to guide me off-road, so to speak. Low hanging branches, gullies, yards and yards of half rotten apples, and little kids wanting to hug her were just some of the most eventful items we negotiated. It was a lot of fun and she did so well, we let her play kill the Frisbee twice when we got back to the room near the lake.

We went to a great German restaurant called The Breezy Point Inn, which is a B & B with a huge dining hall which serves an authentic pig roast buffet. It was excellent, Jerry and I both ate way too much and rolled out of there with fond memories of everything from the schnitzel and apple strudel with vanilla ice cream to the hog’s head on the buffet’s carving table. J

In October I changed jobs and I’m now working as a family therapist for the Veterans Administration located in White Plains, N.Y. It’s been five years since graduation with my master’s degree and I’m finally where I should be in terms of my career. I am so very grateful for the folks who helped me and I’ll never forget those who mentored me to this point. God’s blessings are with me and for that I’m just a humble pie. J

What’s in store for us this year? Number one on our list would be: no more surgeries. After that, we’re happy with whatever comes along.
Love and best wishes to all in 2011!
Annie, Jerry, Anthony, April, Neeka, Verona, and the bird, hamster, and fish.

Shame, Shame on Them

2010-12-12T13:42:00.000-08:00

I’m certain my sighted friends and family have wondered how I deal with disability discrimination when it occurs. For the most part, situations present themselves and then rectify themselves without much effort on my part once I call attention to it. Occasionally, however, a situation presents an ongoing and frustrating set of circumstances, like the one I will describe below.

Last month, after starting a new job counseling in a community based mental health clinic, it was recommended that I read a specific book. This book was provided free of charge to our clients, their families and mental health professionals at the clinic. Since I couldn’t read the book in the current format available, (printed material), I contacted the publisher and the author asking for a reasonable accommodation. Specifically, I asked if there was a chance a recorded version could be made and in the interim, perhaps I could be sent the text files of the book so I could read it with my equipment.

In short, the foundation who funded the publication of the book said no and they would not consider a recorded version due to the fact that only one other person asked for it to be recorded. The co-authors asserted that they would not agree to offer the text files as an alternative, stating “…We will not release our text files for individual use.”, which is a form of discrimination if the person asking for an alternative format can prove he/she cannot access the primary materials in the current format. A publisher must, under ADA policy, offer an alternative if one is requested

As it stands, I’ve sent the letter and don’t really know what to do next. I could let it go, but these folks need to know that refusing my request is unacceptable.
Anyway, read on and remember the last line whenever you’re faced with an uncompromising attitude.

To All Concerned;

Let me preface this by stating that I am also a writer and would not allow unauthorized individuals to exploit any of my own work. But I am not attempting to do that with my request. I’m only trying to obtain “equal” access to this particular book. I hope you can appreciate my perspective as I’ve acknowledged yours. I respect and admire the sacrifices undertaken to create and distribute this book and that is why I’m writing this letter. Your book is an essential and valuable tool for ****s, their families, and the general public and should be available to everyone, not just those with vision.

Going forward, what follows this introduction typifies the struggles I face living in a sighted world. I would ask you all to put yourself in my shoes. I am a mental health professional who happens to be blind, assisting combat ****s and their families, some of these ***s may also be blind or visually impaired. I require access to this book in order to help them. I have reached out; put my disability in the forefront in hopes of achieving the goal of finding a cooperative attitude regarding my legitimate request. Imagine my surprise when I’m informed that my request is not going to be granted even though it is the law.

But, let’s go back to my original suggestion, that providing the computer generated text files would be more accessible and most likely cost little or nothing but a few clicks on a mouse in a word processing program and one or two compact discs. If I am wrong, please tell me.
What cost or copyright risk would it be to just send a text file via email? Or burn the text based files onto a disc? I’d pay for the disc and mailing costs just like a regular print book and it would not infringe on the author’s copyright because it’s for my personal use. For proof of this, go to Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble.com and look at the eBooks just waiting for distribution. Publishers and authors alike seem to have no trouble with releasing books in alternative formats. Additionally, you would be in control of what goes on the disc, including your copyright and the ISBN number, which is your protection from unauthorized distribution of the disc. It is the same as a hard copy book, just in an electronic format.

Incidentally, what would stop a person with your hard copy book from scanning it and making copies for others? Isn’t that what you mean by limiting access to your files?
Going one step further, the entire book could be scanned saved and distributed electronically for people with print disabilities without being a copyright infringement. Just go to www.bookshare.com. What would that cost?

My next thought was, do I need to quote ADA Code and access Laws to obtain equal access to your book? Would you turn away a **** requesting the same consideration?
I think you need to think about your decisions and what they mean to someone like me.
What if I was a disabled **** who could no longer see print? Would I be unable to access your book, which, by the way, was meant for ****s and professionals assisting them? Is the fact that I am blind the single remaining factor in not being able to read your book? If the answer is yes, then that is against ADA policy and a form of discrimination.

“Sorry, we can’t do that.” Just isn’t good enough.

You see, from my line of thought, I don’t believe, even without quoting ADA law, that you can remain a barrier to my request. It would be really disappointing to know that something I know is available to only those with sight is not available to me just because I’m blind.

It’s been 20 years since the passing of the Americans with Disabilities Act and yet there is a barrier where one would least expect it. I hope you reconsider your hesitation, and, I will send you the internet links to whatever ADA documents you request about literature for the blind and physically handicapped, once I gather the information.

Sometimes the most difficult barrier isn’t a curb or a set of stairs, it’s an attitude.

Sincerely,

Ann Chiappetta

Short Fiction

2010-12-07T17:57:00.000-08:00

Surprise Visitor
© 2007 By Ann Chiappetta

I helped Linda in with the last bag of clothing, placing it beside the others in the small bedroom of her new apartment. I looked around at what we’d brought in; all she had was a bed, a table, a computer, and a few boxes of personal things. I wished I had enough money to start her out the right way but I didn’t and even if I did, she probably wouldn’t want it anyway. Linda was proud and didn’t accept charity, not even from her own brother.
“Well, I got my work out for the day.” I said, wiping the sweat off with the arm of my tee shirt. The apartment was on the second floor of an eight unit brownstone in the Riverdale section of the Bronx, close to her new job. A long way from Katonah, I thought, but it was a nice enough area. Linda made the decision to move from up county because she wanted to be independent. Mom and Dad, however, tried to talk her out of it but she moved anyway, saying,
“How can I live my life when I can’t even get to work on my own?”
The truth was that our parents didn’t know how to let go, to deal with Linda’s disability. She and I talked about our parents facing the truth, that they both struggled with what it meant to have a blind daughter. Despite mom and dad’s difficulty accepting her vision loss, Linda wanted to get out on her own, just like any other college grad. She met her blindness head-on, with courage and perseverance. I wished mom and dad could do it, too, but they weren’t ready.
Linda rummaged through a box marked KITCHEN and found two cups. She rinsed them off, filled them with water,and handed one to me.
“I hear it’s the best water in New York state.” She said. Grinning.
“”Here’s to your new place, Cheers.” I replied, touching her cup with mine toasting the occasion.
“Thanks, Danny.” She said, “I couldn’t have done this all without you.”
“I would be insulted if you didn’t ask, baby sister.” I said, hugging her. “I’m so proud of you.”
I drank another cup of water, watching Linda unpack the rest of the items from the box thinking about how much she had overcome. She started losing her vision in high school, the retinal disease progressing until she was left with only a small portion of her sight. It was a long, hard road for Linda, but she walked it and now stood in her own apartment, sparsely furnished but all her own nonetheless.
I went to the nearest pizza place and brought back dinner, then went home.
I was opening the door to my apartment when my cell rang. It was Linda
“Hello?’
“Danny, you’re not going to believe this but I think there’s a bat in my bedroom.”
“A what?”
I suppressed a laugh but she must’ve heard the little bit that escaped into the phone
“Stop laughing, Danny, it’s not funny. You know how I feel about those disgusting furry things.’
I closed and locked my apartment door and headed back to my car.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, just stay out of the room and call the super.”
An hour later, we stood at the bedroom door listening to the bat flapping around, its leathery wings fluttering against the walls as if desperate to find a way out.
“Okay, Linda, I’m going to turn the light back on and hope it lands somewhere where we can find it.” I cracked the door open reached in and switched on the light.
Linda crossed her arms and shivered,
“Yuck, I will never understand your attraction to all those furry, slimy animals.”
“I got them just to torture you with them.” I teased, “Besides, I don’t see what’s so slimy about hamsters or bats. They have fur, not scales.”
“Danny, just get the darned thing out of here, okay? I’m going to make some coffee.” She went back into the kitchen, shaking her head in disgust.
I searched the room for twenty minutes but all I could find was a small hole near the radiator. It was big enough for a bat or rodent to squeeze through. I stuffed the hole with a couple of steel wool pads held in place by duct tape. The super would have to plaster the hole but my temporary seal would suffice until then. I tried looking for the bat again and finally found it in the back of the closet. I missed it before because it was only about four inches long and its grey fur blended in with the shadows. I got a towel and threw it over the bat, then I put it in an old shoe box Linda gave me earlier. I carefully poked a few holes in it for air and carried it out to the living area.
Linda was on the phone,
“… I said I’m being chased around by a bat. B-A-T. Okay, thanks, good bye.” She put away her cell phone and turned to me, “Is it in the box?”
I nodded, “Did you call someone to come get it?” I asked.
“Yes, they’re sending a patrol car.”
I almost dropped the box when the banging at the door began,
“Police, open the door.” Came a muffled bellow.
Linda froze. I went to the door and looked through the peephole. Sure enough, there was not one but four officers waiting to be let in and they looked like they meant business.
I opened the door and they rushed in, two of them covering me, one of them covering Linda and one checking the other rooms.
, “We got a call there was someone being chased with a bat.” Said the lead officer, eyeing me.
Linda and I burst out laughing. I held up the box.
“The bat’s in here.” I said, then began laughing again. The officer took the box from me and peeked inside, then he handed it back,
“Holy cow, the sergeant isn’t going to believe this.” He put away his baton and nodded to his fellow officers,
“Hay boys, you’d better come look at this.”
Ten minutes later, officer Halaran shook my hand and grinned,
“Danny, we’re going to be telling this story for months. The other three officers were still chuckling as they left.
Linda thanked them and closed the door but there was another knock. She opened it, finding the super standing there, a confused look on his face,
“Did the cops get the guy with the bat?”

A Tribute to Verona

2010-11-27T17:43:00.000-08:00

The Booty Dilemma
By Ann Chiappetta
Inspired by Verona, the guide dog
November 2010

Yes, it’s that time of year again, so dust off those fleece lined boots and air out your winter coats, gloves and hats. Don’t forget the lip balm and sunglasses for chapped skin and snow glare.

While we’re on the subject of winter accoutrements for the two-footed species, being a dog owner and most importantly, a guide dog handler, I am reminded to make sure Verona has her winter outerwear as well.

The type of doggie gear I am referring to is the dreaded booties. I don’t think any dog likes them, but rather, dogs tolerate them. Some dogs refuse to wear them. Verona, thankfully, is putting up with them, preferring them to the ice crusting between her toes. Brrr, sounds uncomfortable, right? So, then why do dogs dislike booties? Why, if they are above the grade in intelligence because they are guide dogs, can’t they at least embrace the booties?

This is what I say to Verona when she assumes a defeated posture whenever I bring out her footwear and ask for a paw.
First, the tail drops, then the head droops and the ears hang low, and finally, dejectedly, she picks up her foot and turns her head away from me as if to say she is philosophically opposed to her pretty, insulated red booties. I tell her that I love the fact that her red footwear matches my red coat, and, isn’t that great? She tells me she isn’t moved by my cajoling by keeping her head turned away and sighing.

If that isn’t bad enough, she assumes the duck walk, which is very humiliating for a dignified Labrador. I realized how much she disliked her booties by the mere fact that she will not take the proffered treat after a paw insertion. Thankfully, after ten minutes or so, the duck walk becomes a prance and the tail and head return to almost normal as we tromp outside into the cold, wet, salt sprinkled weather,
“It’s better than cold feet, right?”
I say to her as the wind whips past my collar and stings my face and cheeks. She shakes and I wish I could read her thoughts. My mothering instincts know that her ears are getting colder by the minute. I wonder if someone has considered inventing doggie ear muffs, and if I could get her to wear them.

love the new job

2010-11-14T09:06:00.000-08:00

Okay, so it's going on a month that I'm working for the VA. It's been great so far and I know that I'll be able to finally get my lisence and move forward with my plans for the future. I need to say, however, that my heart is also in a good place, as I feel that I can provide, in a small way, the compassion and understanding Vets deserve for protecting our freedom.

Let me go even further and state that underneath I'm a fervent patriot and over the years since 9/11I've felt pulled apart by the current deployments in which our Nation has become involved; this galvanizes my effort to support the men and women coming back . I can't make the government change anything firsthand but I can do my part for our society individually by doing what I can and that's why I love what I do. So, for me its all about serving and purpose and helping others.

Okay, off the soap box.

Now, on to Verona: she has become an unofficial therapy dog when not in harness. She understands when it's time to work for me and when it's time to give to others. It's an amazing thing. Just the other day a Vet was hanging out by my door and I could tell she wanted to ask me something, as she was hesitating. So i asked if she wanted to come in and say hi to Verona and she came straight in and Ro went over and put her head in the woman's lap. It was just ten minutes but I could tell that when she got up to leave, the Vet was less stressed out and for that I am glad Ro could help.

So, I know we're in the right place. It's like coming home.

Moving on

2010-10-09T15:08:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm moving on to ...another job. Actually, Verona and I will be moving on to assist returning Veterans and their families by providing mental health support for readjustment to civillian life. I will be commuting to White Plains, NY, our County seat. The commute to Northwest Yonkers was long and I'm glad to be closer to home. It's probably the same distance, however, it's not across County, thank goodness; a feat which Westchester public transportation authorities haven't figured out how to make easily attainable without it taking 2 hours to go 10 miles. Anyway, I'll be in the hub of activity while also having flexibility on how to get there.

The other great part about this opportunity is that I will finally be able to obtain my family therapy license and most likely sit for my exam next year.

So, I've waited five years and have been rewarded. I can't wait to dig in and get to work.

What I'm leaving is some of the most determined folks I've met in a long time. Specifically, Scott Smith, who, as my acting supervisor, has taught me that a person is foremost and his/her disability secondary. I want to print him a t-shirt that says, "people First", because that's what he promoted by just being himself. He is often held prisoner by his body but hismind and spirit carry on and working with Scott inspired me each and every day. We shared a lot about our love of writing, assessing and assisting folks with mental health/peer counseling and he never discouraged my dream of one day becoming a therapist. Three years later, I'm doing what I was born to do and he has wished me well unselfishly, caringly and with professional dignity.
I'll miss it but it feels like I've graduated from middle school to high school.

Well, time to wrap up thislong post by saying I'm also grateful to those who listened to me bitch and kept a supportive and caring attitude. Smiles and wags from Annie and ro.

summer Trip 2010

2010-09-11T17:00:00.000-07:00

Pennsylvania Here We Come
August 27-September 3, 2010

We left New Rochelle in our new Toyota truck, packed the bed and hoped for the best. I wanted our trip to be rain-free, something we haven’t managed to avoid in years. My prayers were answered, however, and blue skies prevailed as we drove south to the George Washington bridge. The extended cab held my husband, who drove, two large teenagers, myself, and my Labrador with less room than I would have liked, but we didn’t complain. I wished the dog had more room, though.

Our first stop was two days at the Roadway Inn, 25 miles from the Pennsylvania Renaissance Fair on the grounds of the Mount Hope Winery. It differed from the festival in Tuxedo, N.Y. for two reasons: the first being that it was spread out on much larger grounds and it was much cooler due to the many shade trees. We hung out with the Queen’s Militia, who were very nice to us and gave us a personal tour of the musketry and defense pikes used during the time. One made eight pence a day, no raises. One also had to have at least two opposing teeth to join the Guard, as it was often that the lead balls could be too large and one had to ground them down by biting on them. Lead poisoning, anyone? Huzzah!

I also learned that wool was the best outerwear because it didn’t catch fire easily when the powder threw hot embers back upon the shooter when firing. Same went for the wide brimmed, wool felt hats that protected the shooter’s hair and face from powder burns.

We listened to minstrels and attended a sword swallowing show. We couldn’t get a good seat for the mud pit show, so we lounged on the grass until the smut show began. What a hoot that one was, the actors were very naughty, indeed. We visited the glass blowers booth and purchased some jewelry and spent a hour in the weaponry store. My son drooled over the war ax and my husband saw a replica claymore he wanted but felt was too heavy to lug around unless it was strapped to his back. I looked for but didn’t find a Lady’s dirk and said no to the spiked brass knuckles my daughter wanted.

My husband and I tasted the home brewed ales and purchased an assorted case and a few bottles of wine for souvenirs on the way out.

After two nights at the Roadway Inn, we packed up and headed west to the Kampgrounds of America’s Pine Grove site where we reserved a one bedroom deluxe cabin. What a lovely campground. The amenities included a walk in swimming pool with water slide, restaurant, store, laundry, dog park, and clean, new cabins with propane grill, front and back porches, air conditioning and a full bathroom. The kitchen area had a small fridge and sink with hot/cold water and plenty of counter/cabinet space for our five night stay. My daughter slept in the loft, my son took the floor on an air mattress, and we had the queen sized bed. My only complaint was that the bed was too hard. We did need to bring our own linens/pillows but since we had the truck and extra packing space, it wasn’t an inconvenience. In fact, it was kind of nice to have my own pillows from home.

Another hidden perk was that we didn’t bring a television and instead played board games, cards, read books, and listened to the ball games on a radio. We talked and joked with the kids and just enjoyed one another. My guide dog, Verona, loved sunning herself on the porch and watching the chipmunks frolic. I never even needed to put her on a tie out, she never left the porch without permission. What a good girl! Daily obedience pays off.

Monday we shopped and settled in and Tuesday we set out early for Hershey Park. It was too hot to stay more than a few hours, but we did manage to get in four rides and an excellent sour cherry slushy. Yum. The best ride was the slingshot like roller coaster, STORM RUNNER, which hit speeds of over 70 m.p.h. and left you weightless on the two drops and slammed you into your seat with serious g force on take off. I’ve been on a lot of coasters and this one is in my top five. For the most part, any of the swinging coasters where your feet dangle are the best thrill for the money. But this one was truly scary for the less indoctrinated. We witnessed one rider go off crying and another chicken out.

It was so hot that Verona had to put on her booties to protect her feet. A woman stopped me to ask where I got her slippers. Another woman thought the lavender color looked great with her black coat. My kids kept far ahead of me, teenaged mortification propelling them forward even in the blistering heat. They think that it’s “weird” to be with me when everyone is commenting on the guide dog’s cute shoes. . Verona’s obvious discomfort, my overheated head and The smell of hot tar made me wonder why we came during the day and not at night. Next time, we’ll try going at sunset.
.

Wednesday we drove into Intercourse and dropped some dollars at the canning store, purchasing, among other things, stuffed sweet peppers, strawberry rhubarb jam, Peanut cream, and marinated mushrooms. We also stocked up on my favorite brand of sweet bologna and strolled around Kettle Village until it got too hot.

Before leaving the cabin, we entered our reflections in the cabin’s journal and read over the other entries, some of which were written by the dogs who stayed there with his/her families. No wonder Verona liked it so much.

I finally tasted and very much liked homemade whoopee pies, purchased from a local Amish farmer selling them in front of a winery. Devil dogs just don’t compare to hand whipped whoopee pie filling.
As we drove back over the GW bridge towards home, I thought of the things we didn’t do and knew we’d be back to do them next year. I’ve been to Western Pennsylvania many times since I was 6 and will return there many more times. It’s rolling hills, fresh air, farming industries, Amish folk, and historic small town charm is like a magnet and that’s why we vacation there more than any other place in the States. Our next trip will be to Gettysburg. Stay tuned.

new poem

2010-08-06T14:01:00.000-07:00

Quiet Fall

After the Accumulation
Crack open the window
Admit the illicit cold
Like a secret lover who
Slips in over the sill

Savor The taste of cold skies
Tooth aching

The brace of damp musk
Burns nostrils like arctic smoke

An ear bent to the opening
Hears chilled perfection
the sound, ice on ice
Sweeps the ground, unreplicable

Brigid’s passionate lips
entice the glass

I close the window
End our embrace
covet the maelstrom from afar

leave the cold fire to
reclaim the world with possessivness born
of Nature and frigid Lore.

2010

They Come From a Lesser Kingdom

2010-07-30T14:51:00.000-07:00

They come from a lesser kingdom
By Ann Chiappetta

For me, the mystical and curious bond shared among humans and canines began with Charlie Brown, an Airedale we adopted from a local animal shelter when I was five years old. True to his namesake, he was a contradiction; wheaten fur shared real estate with shorter, wiry guard hair, giving him the appearance of fighting with an electric shaver. His ears were upright yet folded over slightly at the tips, like a Collie. He was affectionate, prone to roaming, and would do just about anything for food. But what enthralled me the most about Charlie Brown was his eyes. He had deep, luminous brown eyes that looked directly into mine. We often had staring contest that lasted minutes. At those times I felt special, like he trusted me enough to allow me into his thoughts. Little did I know that I wouldn’t find another canine who allowed me into those luminous brown depths until I met Rocki twenty years later.
* * *
We stood in the kitchen, sorting through the day, when Jerry put up his hand,
“Oh, I almost forgot—remember you wanted me to ask around about puppies?” I nodded, mentally crossing my fingers that someone at the airport had puppies to give away. It was a year since blackie had died and our youngest was old enough to appreciate a dog.
“One of the other inspectors came up to us and asked if anyone we knew wanted a puppy.”
He opened his shirt pocket and drew out a Polaroid snapshot. Before I could say anything else, I fell in love with the only pup looking up at the camera, his eyes blue-hued from the flash; a boxer-like mask covered his eyes and snout. His mostly brown sugar coloring was accented by white in the best possible places, like on his chest, neck, feet, and the tip of his tail.
“I want this one, the one looking up at the camera.”

Three weeks later we met Sue & Bob in the parking lot of our apartment complex. They set up the portable, octagon shaped baby-fence depositing the eight pups two at a time. I had to restrain the urge to hop over the fence and sit down and play with them. I saw the pup I fell for and asked about him. Sue had named him Rocky. I bent over the gate and made smooching noises. He perked up, trotted over and licked my hand. I scooped him up and he proceeded to wash my face with his soft, warm tongue. I nuzzled him, smelled his sweet puppy breath and said, “I’ll take him.”
Jerry asked Sue to point out the biggest pup and held him. The pup didn’t look happy and grunted in displeasure. He was white with black ears and mask, his huge round feet and big black nose were oddly alarming to me but I thought then that it was just because Jerry didn’t like my pup. Oh-oh, I thought, he doesn’t like the one I do. My mind raced, anticipating a stand-off. So there we stood, each with our pup, neither one willing to give in. Moments ticked by until I noticed that Sue & bob were beginning to fidget. WE looked at each other,
“Well?” I prompted, “You want that one and I want this one. Can we handle two?”
Jerry stiffened, “Two? It’s a lot of work.”
I sighed, looked once more at the other pups, and made my decision.
“If you are willing to pay their expenses, with no griping, I’m willing to do the work.”
I knew Jerry would be silently calculating how much he would have to spend in order to get his way and if it was worth the overtime and personal sacrifice. We both knew pet care was just as expensive as the health care for humans, at least in our area. But we did have one thing in common; we were both ready to welcome another dog or two into our home. Blackie’s death was especially hard on jerry and I could almost feel him hesitating.
Rocky snoozed in my arms. Gunny snoozed in Jerry’s. Our eyes met and we both shrugged,
“We’ll take both. “ He said.
We named them Rocky Balboa and Gunny Highway. During the next year, Jerry and I often told each other that we were nuts for adopting two puppies. It was usually when we were mucking up urine and feces or painting baseboards and such with bitter apple to discourage chewing. Then we would watch them play and sleep together, and we’d relent.
We did what all dog parents did; try not to get mad when Gunny chewed Jerry’s prized pair of leather boat shoes or when Gunny ate the handles off the wood cabinet. We tried to stay patient when Rocky repeatedly dribbled on Jerry’s boots every time Jerry bent over to pet him. I remember our conversation about Rocky, who had somehow become the smarter of the two. Gunny had become the challenged one, the one we felt sorry for when he resorted to the less appealing behaviors, like being afraid of loud noises, skittering supermarket bags, and leaf-blowers. Rocky, however, soon became the Golden Child, the one for whom we invested our time and emotions. Due to this, when he would submit by urinating on Jerry’s work shoes, we understandably became upset.
I don’t remember exactly when we started referring to them as “the boys” but I do recall correcting them when we went for walks. For instance, whenever they would begin to pull me in opposite directions, I’d snap the leads and chide, “Together, boys.” Hearing this, they would come together, bumping shoulders as if to get back into a better rhythm. I couldn’t help feeling like a Teamster training two miniature horses.
By their first birthday, Gunny outweighed Rocky by twenty pounds. In fact, they did not look anything like littermates. Rocky was a striking 65lb. Sheppard/boxer mix, his brown sugar and white coat neat, soft, and clean. Gunny was a shaggy white 85 lb. giant with too-small ears that flopped when he walked. His paddle like feet, deep chest, curled tail, and huge nose put him more in the sheepdog category. We called him a throwback. The few large spots which came out much later reminded me of an appaloosa’ even the hair texture was different compared to his thick, harsh white coat. In short, Gunny was a shaggy oddball, ungainly and awkward in spite of his striking white and black coloring.
The main difference, however, was in temperament; Rocky was as sweet as his brown sugar hued coat and Gunny was as contrary as his uneven and shaggy, smooth in one spot and harsh in another fur. Rocky kindly tolerated our three year hold’s precociousness by leaving the room when she became overwhelming. Gunny just wasn’t as tolerant and if my toddler got too rough, he would get up and shake her off, grumbling. Generally, though, both dogs were gentle and got along with other people and dogs.
In the fall of their sixth year, Gunny became seriously ill and we found out that he’d been suffering from chronic hypothyroidism. We began medication and a few weeks afterward, he seemed to improve. His chronic ear infections cleared, his coat came back in full, and he lost the weight he’d gained. Then, about six months after we began his treatment, he snapped at my neighbor, someone whom he’d known since he was a pup. Then he began to go after my son. We were mystified; he’d always been such a sweet dog, not at all prone to viciousness. Our vet suggested some tests which all came back inconclusive. One of our vets suggested to do some research on thyroid levels and aggression in dogs. I found a study that suggested some dogs become aggressive with the onset and treatment of thyroid disease. The study stated there was no cure for this form of aggressiveness and the best thing was to euthanize the animal. Gunny was one of the ten percent of dogs who had this reaction to the imbalance and subsequent medication. Once on the medication, Synthroid, his physical health improved but his mental health deteriorated. Once he snapped at me and bit my daughter, I told my husband we had to put him down.
Our vet did her best to find someone who could deal with him and perhaps allow him to live out his life in quiet seclusion but no such person came to his rescue. I stayed with him on that last day, feeling helpless yet relieved to know that death was a release from the torture of losing his mind. This decision came after months of tests, soul-searching, and hoping he’d recover enough to be able to live with us without our family living in fear.
The day before I called the vet to say that we’d pulled out the stops to no avail, I brought Gunny back to our family one more time. He had been in a kennel since attacking my daughter and I wanted them to say goodbye to him. I didn’t want my children to feel responsible for what we were being forced to do. He spent only five minutes with us, then, to our pain and disappointment, growled and began to become aggressive. I left our apartment, tears blinding my eyes. That was it, I thought, he was going to be put to sleep tomorrow.
As the vet comforted me, she reassured me that I was doing the right thing, that if he could tell me he’d say that he wouldn’t want to live in a crate, heavily medicated and no one trusting him. At that moment I flashed back to my initial hesitation in taking him in, and wondered if my intuition was trying to warm me that this day would come. Part of me wished I’d told my husband that I didn’t want two dogs, that all I wanted was one. I stroked his body one last time and kissed his head.
“I’ll miss you, gunny.” I whispered.
As I unclipped his collar and walked out of the exam room, I felt empty and defeated.
For months after his brother was gone, Rocki would stop and look up and down the street as if looking for something. I didn’t think much of it until one day he stopped doing it. That was when I figured out that he was looking for Gunny. I cried that night, not knowing if I’d ever get over losing gunny. ***

I’d just come out of class, my fear stuck in my throat. I hadn’t yet gotten the call from Jerry reporting how Rocki was after surgery. I said a prayer and made the call.
“Hello?” Jerry sobbed into his end of the phone.
“Oh God.” I replied, ‘its cancer isn’t it?”
“It’s bad, honey. Call the vet, she’ll tell you everything.”
For the second time in as many years I had to say good-bye to my pet. Rocki had inoperable stomach cancer and would not live more than three to six months. We made him as comfortable as we could, and put him down on January 10, 2006. Jerry and I mourned for months. He was only seven years old, in his prime, well-trained and an asset to our family. He was the only other dog besides Charlie Brown who let me look into those mesmerizing brown depths, even when he knew he was dying. He helped us heal from losing gunny, surprising us with intelligence and good sense when we least expected it.
I cried over him for a long time that day, sitting beside his inert, cancer ravaged body, and prayed that if we ever took another chance on a dog, that he/she would live a long time.

* * *
There are. Of course, innumerable accounts of how dogs changed the lives of individuals and families. A full history of the dogs who’ve come and gone in my life thus far exceeds single digits. Some of these dogs belonged to others. Some, like rocky and gunny, were rescues, but all were worthy of my time and kindness. Each and every one imparted a unique piece of canine spirit, teaching me how to be a better person

Jerry and I stood in our vet’s office, looking at a shaggy, black RESCUE dog named Sam. WE agreed that he just wasn’t for us, his trauma apparent in his fear and nervous shaking. The vet teck looked thoughtful, then grinned,
“I think I know the right dog for you.” She turned to the other tech, “Why don’t you bring out Neeka?”
She came skittering out on her lead, flopped down belly-up in front of Jerry, her tail wagging. He was smitten. Then, as if she knew exactly what I wanted, she came to me, stood on her hind legs, and said hello. Her warm tongue washing my face. I looked into her eyes and felt the mystical connection surge between us. Her expression seemed to say, “What took you so long?”

Book Review

2010-07-23T19:01:00.000-07:00

The Scouts of the Valley
By Joseph A. Altsheler
Historical fiction
MP3 download book review for readhowyouwant
July 2010
By Ann Chiappetta

This is the first book I’ve read by this author. Needless to say, I was so intrigued with it, that I read it twice. The story opens with a chapter in which the protagonist, Henry Ware finds himself being pursued by the English, Canadian loyalists and at least six tribes belonging to the Iroquois Nation.

The author grabs onto the reader from the first paragraph and doesn’t let go until the last page. Loosely based on the French and Indian war, the young Ware and his four Kentucky woodsman companions face blood thirsty enemies and cruel elements with courage and bravery, protecting the settlers and families being attacked and pushed from the Ohio River Valley.

The historic realism is expertly woven into every aspect of the narrative, from the firearms to the horrifying description of Queen Hester wielding her bloody tomahawk.

If you like historic fiction about the American Frontier, this book is for you.

Foxwood's Trip

2010-07-06T14:27:00.000-07:00

Our First Trip to Foxwood’s Casino
a.k.a., the Bonfire of the Panties
By Ann Chiappetta

I was typing up an email message when my husband tapped me on the shoulder.
“What is it?” I asked, taking out my earpiece so I could hear him.
“Can you get the 7th and 8th of next month off?”
“I think so, why?”
“I just got tickets to see Jethro Tull at Foxwood’s.” he said.
I jumped up and kissed him. I’d wanted to see them for years and never had the chance.
“I figured we’d spend the night, do some gambling while we’re there,” He added.

The plans evolved from that point forward; we were staying in a suite so our 14 year old and mother-in-law could join us. I felt better knowing that my guide dog was in good hands while we were at the concert. I knew my daughter would enjoy being in charge of the dog and that my mother-in-law could gamble to her heart’s content.

On the appointed day we packed the overnight bags and arrived at the Two Trees Inn a few hours before the show. The suite was clean and quiet. The staff didn’t even blink when they noticed my guide dog, either.

We had a great time at the show and even won enough on the slots to keep us happy.

The next day we executed the check out sweep and packed the bags into the car without trouble. My husband came out behind us, clearing his throat to get our attention.
“Excuse me,” he said, “whose are these?” he asked, plucking out a pair of soiled unmentionables, holding them with two fingers.
“Oh, they’re mine,” says mother-in-law, snatching them from his hand and putting them in her purse.
“OMG, gross,” says my daughter.
I burst out laughing, imagining the horrified look on my daughter’s face and the way my husband must have been holding the untidy leftovers. Radioactive tongs come to mind. The most bizarre part of the scene is that mother-in-law doesn’t even slip a hairpin about her 45 year-old son finding her soiled, personal items under the bed in the hotel room. Talk about full circle.

July/August 2010

Going for it

2010-05-29T09:37:00.000-07:00

I'm now a featured contributor for the Matilda Ziegler Weekly Online Magazine. It was something I wasn't expecting and it was interesting the way it happened. I took a chance and queried the editor. He offered to read and post my article. I thought, great, a byline, then I asked if he was looking for paying pieces. He replied that, yes, he was looking for feature articles, and offered me a set sum for each submission. this is the turning point.

Now that I'm receiving freelance fees for my writing, I can branch out. Create my own website and promote my work with more confidence. this is exciting because only a few years ago I was upset about finally obttaining a master's degree and not being able to find a job. It took a year to find a job and it wasn't even in the field I was trained in. I had to come to the disappointing conclusion of putting off my lisence to pay the bills. I still haven't found the right jjob yet, and it's two years later. I'm still making crap and looking for a full time job that has a salary high enough to enable me to get off SSDI benefits.

In the meantime, I'm pursuing my writing. so far, my writing prospects look better than landing a position as a family therapist. thanks to the Ziegler Magazine, I know things will get better.

Zen for the blind

2010-04-30T12:22:00.000-07:00

Not sure if anyone else has experience this, but I've found that being blind has made it awkward in houses of worship. I'm not talking about the spiritual process in a personal sense. What I'm talking about is the logistics of the actual ceremony. It's something I haven't gotten used to, even with Ro at my side.

For instance, going up for the host at a Catholic Mass is nothing less than an effort in frustration due to narrow iles.

Catholic calastentics aside, even when I went to our local Zen center, although the monks were helpful and understanding of my disability, I still felt like I was being left out of the ceremony because I didn't know when to bow or find the altar .I suppose as long as I keep at it and work to educate the clergy wherever we go, it will improve. I won't feel like a fish out of water; well, I am a Pisces, so that's quite appropriate.

This is, of course, just one perspective of one blind lady in one city in the huge world.

In the words of a 13th Centry Dogen:
"We study the self to forget the self. When we forget the self, we become intimate with All Things."

little girl with the little white dog

2010-04-03T11:41:00.000-07:00

Dear Little Girl with the little white dog;
I know you think your 3 lb baby on the retracting leash is very friendly. I heard you saying to Fluffy, "Look, there's another dog, let's go say hello." When I heard the leash zing like a trout running a lure, I knew we were in trouble.
I stopped and prepared for the worst, taking Ro's leash in my right hand. We were ready to do battle with the tiny gnashing, growling thing that is supposed to resemble a dog.

"Hello." I say, correcting Ro as she puts her head down to say hello to the snapping, growling thing.
"Are you blind?" the little girl asks, letting Fluffy get closer.
I back away, doing my best to judge distance and taking the chance there is nothing else to my right as I side step Fluffy.
"Yes, and this is my guide dog." Ro is wagging her tail, but holding steady, realizing this thing will bite her ear just like the other one did a few months ago.
"If you could put your dog closer to you and let us pass, that would be great."
She doesn't move and fluffy lunges. I step back one more step.
"How did you know we were here?"
I sigh, not sure how to answer. So I prepare to run the risk of Ro getting bitten and start to pass her, saying,
"I heard you."
As we go quickly by, fluffy lunges again and I leash guide Ro forward until we're safely past. Once we're back to a good stride, I think, that if I even thought her parents were around, I would have laid into them. How irresponsible of them to allow a 5 or 6 year old manage even a little dog in public, alone and untrained. Sheesh, it could have been lunch for some other dog with less manners.

Ah, life and the streets of suburbia.

Be Well, Annie C. & Verona, dog guide extraordinaire My blog: www.brainnatter.blogspot.com

I write to find out what I think. -- Stephen King

Ro and I on the Go

2010-03-27T15:31:00.000-07:00

On March 13, I celebrated my 46th birthday by taking my first solo flight guided by Verona. We left during a rain storm which, after blitzing us with wind gusts, kept us from taking off and we waited 11 hours at the airport, only to go home again. The airport is a sociological phenomenon unto itself and I did a lot of people watching and listening. Going back the next day meant a much better chance of finally taking off and after a four hour delay, we did so. Ro planted herself against the seat when we angled up into the still grey and windy sky. Her ears were positioned in the, "what the heck?" pose and she put her head in my lap. hehehe. We leveled off and she slid back to the floor and was asleep before the kid in the nexr seat.

We arrived six hours later to a very friendly airline employee who got us to the pet potty area ASAP and Ro did her business, just like a lady. When we heard Mom, ro pulled me right to her and we had a great reunion. She knows her family when she sees them.

My sister Lauri was crying when she finally met Ro, and Ro knew she was important, too. I could swear she was thinking, "packmate". LOL

At the Motel in Los Gatos, my best friend, Myla, was there to meet us and we had another "packmate" moment, and we were all hugging and laughing. Ro made herself right at home and jumped on the bed and got belly rubs.

Each day after that, we all had our moments when we thought Ro was great; the time she led us out of a confusing high school campus, her ability to know the new location of our room after we had to move into it. Then there was how she greeted the cats, her gental respect for the elderly one, and her offering the ball to the other, younger cat and doing the "let's play" bow. LOL. That one was very funny.

She respected the other house dogs in my sister's house, too, never challenging them.

My favorite part of our vacation, aside from my loved ones finally getting to meet her, was how she remembered where to go in the airport. Once the airline attendant got me seated, I sat for a while, then had to use the facilities. I asked another employee for directions and we set off. Ro found the door, I asked if it was the ladies' room and a woman said yes. We went in, she led me to an open stall, then to the sink, and then to the trash. As we left, I said to her, find the way. She led me back to the right gate and even to the right seat. I was dumbfounded, but somehow I knew she could do it or I wouldn't have tried it. I've since concluded traveling with a guide dog is much easier than with a cane.

book review

2010-03-24T18:08:00.000-07:00

I wrote my first digital book review for the ReadHowYouWant program. To read it, go to the Accessible Librarian link on this page. I will be posting reviews as regularly as possible, thanks to Bradi and the easy downloads from the site.

A Poem

2010-02-07T11:00:00.000-08:00

In those dark moments
When eyesight doesn’t matter
Where light burns and stars stay undiscovered

The grip of the handle
Eases the panic like a mother’s hand
Before the fear rises
Warm nose finds the way down the hall, up the stairs, into the store

Like the familiar sounds of morning
The light click of toenails on tile reassures
I grip the handle and follow
the soft jingle of leather and brass
and faint canine scent
conveys that
in those darkest moments
I am not alone.

The First Year

2010-01-24T17:19:00.000-08:00

The First Year
Buy Ann Chiappetta
January 2009-january 2010

It is a brisk autumn day; rich aromas of wet leaves mixed with wood smoke greet us as we approach the corner south of our home. My guide dog, Verona, stops a few inches from the curb and turns toward me, indicating there is an obstacle other than the step down to the street. I put out my tow and hear the splash of water. I probe a bit more and realize it’s a large puddle, filled with debris from the rain from the previous night’s storm.
“Good girl. Forward. ” I say and give the hand signal.
She backs us up, then turns right, taking us on to the grass, avoiding the huge puddle. She stops at the edge of the opposite sidewalk.
“Good dog.” I say, praising her before moving on to our destination.

The above description is just a typical moment for us. We work well together, and after our first year of teamwork, our mistakes are few and minor. How do we do it? Well, I can’t read my dog’s mind, but I do read her body language. The movements are given to me through the harness handle, much like the reins of a horse. Suffice it to say that the stiff handle provides her with a way to tell me where to go. I, too, can get my point across through the handle. The use of a leash and voice and hand commands are also other means of communicating when working with a guide dog. When the dance is done well, the feeling of freedom is remarkable.

How I’ve learned the dance and made the transition from a cane user to a guide dog handler is an odyssey of sorts, beginning with some dark moments. I didn’t become profoundly visually impaired until after I graduated from a master’s program in the spring of 2007 at the age of 38. In 1993 I was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa and declared legally blind. Then, in late 2007 the ophthalmologist discovered advanced macular degeneration in my right eye. I was now down to less then five degrees of vision. It was then that I finally put some serious thought into applying for a dog

Years ago, before I went to graduate school, someone asked me if I thought I’d ever give up my cane for a dog. I told them that, no, I didn’t have what it takes to work with a guide dog. Back then, my confidence was low and I wasn’t ready for blindness, let alone a guide dog and the responsibility that came with it. I was also under the impression that guide dog users had to be totally blind, or close to it, which at the time, I wasn’t. I was a low partial, using what sight I could when I could.
I’m not even sure when my perceptions changed but I know as my vision worsened, my curiosity about using a guide dog increased. One of the mitigating factors was that I struggled to maintain an active, independent lifestyle. I was raising a family and pursuing a master’s degree. I routinely struggled with many things, including losing more and more of my vision while studying and participating in campus life. It was at those times, when I felt the most frustration that I wished for a dog. Once, while navigating through a parking lot at night, I almost lost my cane down a sewer grate and stumbled, dropping my book bag into a puddle. Humiliated and wet from the rain, I picked up my wet bag and managed to extricate my cane from the grate without breaking the tip. I thought, if I had a dog, that wouldn’t have happened. another time I was tapping my way down the street to the college library and walked right into a saw horse. My cane slipped under it and I almost flipped right over it. It is moments like that which compelled me to apply for a dog.

Three years after the saw hoarse incident, I get the news: I’m going into the January 2009 class at Guiding Eyes for the Blind in Yorktown Heights, New York. Practically in my own backyard and rated one of the best schools in the world, it is my first choice and I am excited and relieved to be accepted. The elation I feel is similar to that of being accepted into graduate school or winning the lottery. I know that once I make it through training, my life will change for the better. I’m ready for whatever lays ahead.
I begin packing right after Christmas. The only thing concerning me about is how my 13 year old daughter and pet dog will handle my month-long absence. The former is very attached to me and the latter pines for me whenever I’m gone for more than an hour. My husband and son have their work cut out for them, for sure. Somehow, phone calls and a few short visits must suffice. My husband and I both know I need to do this in order for my life and career to successfully progress; this was another sacrifice with its hidden merits. My family wanted to see me become more independent and in order for this to happen, I had to commit to the 26 day training away from home.

I report to the training residence program on January 2, 2009, not sure what to expect thankfully, the class supervisor finds me in the lobby and introduces me to one of our class instructors who shows me to my room. The orientation and friendly manner of the staff relaxes me and soon I am unpacked and ready to meet my other classmates.
Day one and two introduces us to the daily routine we will follow for the next twenty six days: a wake up call at six a.m., then breakfast. Mid-morning we ride to the actual location where we train in downtown White Plains, New York. It is here that we are given pre-dog evaluations, called Juno walks, and lunch. After the evaluations are completed, we drive back up to the main campus for dinner and lectures.

Day three is dog day. When lunch is over, we’re told to go to our rooms and wait for one of the trainers to bring us our new dog. The night before we find out the names of our dogs by playing a guessing game. One of my classmates gets a dog with the same name as his ex-wife. Another woman, who already has a penchant for shopping even while at guide dog school, finds out her new dog’s name is Visa. It seems to me that we each are given a dog with a name that suits us. My dog’s name is Verona. What a great name to go with my Italian surname. I can’t help smiling. It just sounds so good together.

Later, in my room, I fidget and pace; what color is she? How big is she? Will she like me? Will I be able to trust her? Part of me knows the questions are just the symptoms of nerves and waiting for that knock. What I didn’t know was that once my dog put her big, glossy head in my lap, my life would be forever changed and blessed by a loving, loyal, companion.

She quickly earns my respect; she is obedient, affectionate, and all business when in harness. On the second day of a training walk, she prevents me from being hit by a car backing into the crosswalk by pulling me out of the way. When I discover what she has just done, I want to cry. I take a breath and praise her, feeling more confident than just a few hours ago. She kept me safe, and now it is my turn to learn how to let her do her job.

That was the turning point for me. Verona proved her intelligence and soon we were learning how to work together. Some new students like me had similar experiences. New teams seem to need a situation like a traffic check to bond them and to increase the mutual trust. Verona and I were, for the most part, typical and for that I was grateful.

Our most challenging training experience was my clumsiness taking left turns. I’d stepped on her paws twice in one training walk and to avoid me, Verona would swing away from me. I got so frustrated that I started to cry right there on the street. The instructor comforted me and got me going again. That evening I went for extra training and eventually we overcame our turning snag.

I had to keep my steps small and go with her and the mantra, “baby steps” is always a reminder to not overstep my boundaries.

I’ve also discovered Verona loves to visit the children’s hospital. I volunteer once a month and make presentations to the school program for medically fragile children ages K-12. Ten minutes before we end the presentation, I take off her harness, do some obedience, then heel her around the room so the kids can pet and meet her. I even taught her to jump onto a bench so one child could pet her from his hospital bed.
She’s provided me with a much better sense of self-discipline, too. We have a rigid feeding, walking, and training/exercise schedule that only varies slightly when either on vacation or inclement weather. We are always traveling and I even find my anxiety about going to unfamiliar places has lessened. Her ability to instill confidence at times when I need it most is probably her best attribute. She takes charge in crowds, stores, and when we find ourselves faced with an obstacle that isn’t easily solved.
What I mean is that because of Verona, I have developed a routine which supports our relationship in many positive ways. The dark moments are far fewer now; I no longer fear unseen sewer grates, saw horses, holes, stairs, and low hanging branches and signs. With Verona at my side, my ability to do more is multiplied. I reflect back on that horrible night when I dropped my bag into the puddle and can now say with certainty that the situation was the first stumble to the path of obtaining a guide dog. People with disabilities are faced with independence challenges every day and having Verona avoids the stress and frustration of these challenges for me. She brings balance to my life that no inanimate object, like a white cane, ever could. From now until her retirement, the dark moments will be replaced by the bright light and companionship of my partner, Verona.

They're Not Rin-Tin-Tin: debunking the guide dog myth

2009-12-24T17:01:00.000-08:00

They’re Not Rin-Tin-Tin: debunking the guide dog myth
By Ann Chiappetta
I’m a first-time dog guide handler, and, as such, I haven’t attained the broken-in status of the seasoned handlers, who can somehow avoid impromptu conversations about their dogs while in public. Truth be told, I envy handlers who have attained the ability to go unnoticed. For some reason, I’m not one of them, and most likely will never attain the quiet dignity they’ve acquired when working their dogs.

I’ve concluded that my role is that of the informant, the guide dog ambassador. For now, at least, it suits me and my dog, as we’re both social creatures, thriving on interactions with both humans and canines.

There are, of course, inaccuracies and mis-information not just about blind people but also guide dog users and their dogs. I refer to the unrealistic assumptions of the un-indoctrinated general public as the Rin-Tin-Tin Myth, reflecting the fictional, super dog named in the 1950s adventure series. For those who do remember the show, is it any wonder the first successful guide dog team was comprised of a blinded Veteran and a German Sheppard dog? Aside from the coincident, for many years the German Sheppard Dog was the poster dog for the blind. The introduction of other working breeds, such as the now popular Labrador retriever, has both helped and hindered handlers. For the most part, Shepards look intense and dignified. They are ever watchful, work hard, and can be protective. On the other paw, Labradors are better able to relax, cop a snooze, and love anyone with food. Both breeds are great guides due to their work drive and desire to please their handler. Let’s not forget the many other breeds of dogs that are also successfully trained for guide work. Golden Retrievers, Dobermans, Collies, and Boxers are only a few I’ve met that are part of a successful working team.

Keeping all this in mind, I do my best to debunk the mythology of working a guide dog. Sure, breeds differ in some respects, and I don’t just refer to the physical differences. For example, most Labradors can be easily trained with food rewards whereas many a Shepard cannot be convinced with even the most enticing treat. Does it mean one is better than the other? No. Fortuneately, Training methods have evolved with us and our dogs, making it much easier to train both breeds effectively.

I think the general public needs to know what’s appropriate and what isn’t if and when one should come into contact with a working team. So far, I’ve had some strange interactions, like a baby in a carriage pulling my dog’s tail. When I turned to ask what was going on, the adult acted like I wasn’t even there. Once I crossed the street, a Good Samaritan caught up to me and told me what happened. I laughed and thanked him. My dog was tested that time, that’s for sure. She passed with flying colors.
I don’t, of course, have to take the time to educate folks; many handlers choose not to engage in these conversations because it becomes repetitive and burdensome when you just want to go about your business. There are times, however, when a comment from someone is so off-base, I am compelled to take on the role of guide dog debunker.

The most amusing questions are:
1. How does your dog know how to cross the street? I thought dogs were color blind.

This one always makes me laugh; I tell them I have to know when it’s safe and give my dog the command to go with the traffic flow. If a car blocks our path or puts us in danger, my dog will act accordingly and get us out of harms’ way.

The second most frequent comment:
2. Is he/she training?

I always answer, she’s working now, and her training is over.

The third most frequently asked question:
3. Can I pet your dog?

My reply: Please don’t pet her, she’s working. Thanks for asking first.

The next one:
How do you get a guide dog? I want to say, “You got to be blind, you dummy”, but I just smile and say there are at least ten training schools in the United States and Canada and they can all be found via the Internet.

So, going out in public really puts my people skills to the test, just as it puts Verona’s guiding skills to the test. But it’s certainly better than sitting at home.
Incidentally, Verona will be three years old on 11/24. Our one year anniversary is on January 5, 2010. Writing about our trips illustrates how much my life has changed and has been enriched since meeting and training with her. I have a better sense of belonging, a feeling of freedom I never thought I could ever regain after losing my sight.

Due to the intense on-campus training I underwent at guiding Eyes for the Blind, I’ve found other folks who live like me, and that is comforting whenever I feel overwhelmed by my disability. I am part of another family who will follow and support me as long as I am part of a guide dog team and willing to take part in the mission to stay active, independent, and live life to the fullest.

Some folks have asked me what other roles my new dog assumes when she isn’t working. My dog helps me gain control of my life. She quells the anxiety I often feel when traveling to unfamiliar places by guiding me and keeping me safe. She is my constant companion, sharing my life at home, work, and vacation. That alone is worth taking the time out to help someone else understand what it’s like to work with a guide dog.

Season's Greetings

2009-12-23T13:19:00.000-08:00

The year was full of good and bad things, but what bummed me out the most was not being chosen for a service dog anthology. I sent high quality work but it was not good enough. I'm fighting the doubts that I'll never be more than just an amateur and no one will want to remember what I've written.

I'm hoping the New Year is better.
How to Deal with Rejection
Rreading the letter
Tears at my fiber
Cramps the gut
Punctures resolve.

The shock, disbelief, anger, and deal making
Obliterate the Hope of acceptance
And when ready,
In mere moments after receiving the news,
Fingers will grasp the wickedly pointed D shaped pin
(For Disappointment (
And stick it resignedly into the tenderness within.

Pain is proof of progress.

December 2009

The Dogs of Selas Manor

2009-11-25T13:11:00.000-08:00

The dogs of Selas Manor

As most of you already know, I am a first-time dog guide handler. My immersion into the dog guide sub- culture has been both interesting and satisfying, and my most current foray in attending a local dog guide association was my first experience with an organized group for handlers and their dogs.

My good friend, Mike and his dog, Kaiser, a large yellowLabbie, met Ro and I and showed us how to take the bus into New York City. I hadn’t been in the city with Ro since last January and it was great knowing that once we stepped off the bus, Ro would keep me safe. I’m still amazed with the freedom she provides; she seems to know when I need her to be more assertive. She understands that when I’m in unfamiliar places, I’m not as confident and she takes charge.

We set off down Fifth Avenue, Mike and Kaiser setting a quick pace. Too fast for a short-legged woman and dog, but we do our best.We catch up to them at every corner and ro quickens her pace as we go. By the time we are on the long block leading to our destination, we’re not too far behind.

All goes well and we arrive at Selas Manor, an apartment building for people with disabilities and folks over 55. We sign in and go up to the fifth floor to meet Z and her dog guide, Margo, a black Labbie. We unharness and the three dogs play, sniff, and settle down after about ten minutes. There is not one instance of bad manners and this proves our guide dogs are bred and trained with superb results. Ro just falls right into the doggie group and our visit is uneventful.

Z, short for Zurline, is a wonderful hostess, and we talk until it’s time for our meeting. Her apartment smells like sweet potato pie, which she is heating up for the dessert after our meeting concludes. It reminds me of the upcoming holidays, Thanksgiving and Christmas being around the corner.

The meeting is focused and our ballots for a new executive board concludes within an hour. I’m impressed by the fact that there are over 20 handlers and dogs present and no one seems to have trouble settling down for the discussions and voting in the new board members.
This shows that well bred and trained dogs demonstrate their merit at times like this. Verona and her doggie friends take a break, snoozing under our feet as we talk and complete the meeting.

Mike and I leave a few hours later and catch the bus back to Westchester, Kaiser and Verona leading the way. We manage not to lag behind too much as we walk the city blocks back to the bus stop.

Winter Greetings

2009-11-08T15:44:00.000-08:00

Hello. Just got back from Greenwood Lake in Ulster County, NY. We found a great little motel/B & B right on the lake and it's so quiet and Ro loves that she can run free. We visited Applewood Winery and tasted the hard ciders. The winery is one of only a few local establishments that grow the apples for hard cider. The apples are different than the ones used for eating/baking. We purchased a great Macantosh wine, blueberry and blackberry hard ciders and a few bottles of spiced wine. When served warm, it's like drinking apple pie. Yum.

Last Thursday Ro and I took part in a video taping to benefit Guiding Eyes. It was great to be chosen for it and be involved in such a great project. I'll post more about it once it's "official". :) Ro was great, sitting pretty for the camera. I also got to hang out with another blind woman whom I love to talk to and finally got to meet. As usual, the GEB staff was great and made my participation seem effortless even though I know darn well how hark they work to promote GEB and make it a school reflecting integrity for both the students and the dogs guiding them.

Well, work is very busy and home is busy, so since it's Sunday, I'll finish this up and get ready for another busy week.
Blessings,
Annie

Mist and Maple Leaves

2009-10-11T08:07:00.000-07:00

Mist and Maple Leaves
By Ann Chiappetta
August 17 – 24, 2009

We’re on the bridge poised between the flagpoles separating the United States and Canada.
“Hey Mom, we’re in two countries at once.” Says my daughter.
I don’t think crossing into Mexico would feel the same. For one thing, we’re surrounded by water not desert; the other reason is The Canadian border patrol officer is brisk and efficient, dismissing us once my husband casually adds that he is a Customs and Border Protection officer back in the United States. Somehow I don’t believe that a border crossing in or out of Mexico would be as simple. In any case, it pays to have perks. In fifteen minutes we’re over the bridge and heading to our hotel overlooking the Falls.

The hotel lobby is busy and full of obstacles, and my guide dog expertly whisks me around them all and into the elevator. Luckily our room is at the end of the hall and easy for me to find.
The daughter, husband, and mother-in-law, ooh and aah over the view from the 36th floor facing the falls.
“It’s beautiful, Mom.” My daughter says.
I look out the window and realize that it’s all lost to me. For her sake, I try to smile. I manage a horrible sounding sigh instead.
“I wish I could see it.” My words are choked and I fight back tears. The hope of being able to sear the visual loveliness of Niagara Falls past my damaged eyes and into my memory flies away with the mist. For a few minutes I’m overcome with grief. What a bittersweet way to take the final plunge into blindness, facing the daunting and unforgiving power of Niagara.

My guide dog, Verona, steps up TO the glass and looks down. I can tell by the way she holds her ears that she is thinking. It’s at a time like this that I would willingly give away the rest of my sight to know what’s going on inside her doggie brain. I stand beside her, knowing that she will make my time here less stressful. I can’t wait to work with her while we tour Niagara and downtown Ontario.

Rather than obsessing on what I can’t experience visually, I unpack, the busy work is calming. When I’m done, the grief is gone, replaced by anticipation of the pleasant sort mixed with resolve. I came here to learn how to vacation with my new guide dog and prove to myself and to family that I don’t need my vision to do it. I just hope I didn’t set the bar too high.

Our suite is spacious and well appointed a whirlpool tub and fireplace completing the amenities. Verona loves the plush, sculpted carpeting and inspects every inch at her leisure.

Day three we take the deluxe bus tour, ending with the ride beside the Falls on The Maid of the Mist. But first we are driven to other key points in and around the Lake District. Verona and I get the front seat behind the driver. The tour bus driver, Dave, is like a cross between a big brother and walking history book. As we drive through the Niagara region, Dave tells us The parkland and the falls are leased for tourism and maintained by the parks department. The Canadian government has control of the entire area.Even the casinos are leased out, adding that the hotels and tourism by the falls have developed due to the government finally legalizing gambling.

During the tour, Verona has to work hard to keep me safe. In one park she is asked to keep up with our group. As the crowd parts to surge around a low stone bench, she stops short but I keep moving and hit my knee against it. Before I can even react, my husband is urging us around it
“Hurry up or we’ll loose our group.”
We hup up and when I finally feel my knee, I find a scrape and it’s already hot and swollen. I pop two ibuprofen and choose to ignore the pain.

On our way back to the bus I go past the bench and Verona guides me around it. I’m not quite sure what happened on our way in but our little error makes her pay even closer attention now. I relax my doubt that she can’t keep me safe and remind myself that new teams will have moments like this. Our instructor at guide dog school was always reminding us to trust our dog. She also reminded us that younger dogs will make mistakes and we need to pay attention to avoid potential errors. Perhaps if I’d paid closer attention to what Verona was trying to tell me I wouldn’t have stepped forward and hit my knee.

It’s two p.m when we finally get on line to board the boat for the falls. We’re herded cattle-style into a small plaza outside the quay. It’s hot and I’m shoulder-to-shoulder with the other tourists. Verona stands with me, patient ands stoic. It takes an hour for us to finally get on the boat and I don the blue plastic poncho; the hood barely covers my head but it fits easily over my bag and body. The boat is shaped like a small ferry. The ride to the Falls is only three minutes and I hear the roar and feel the wind rushing under my thin, plastic poncho. We ride along the horseshoe curve of the Falls and it is awesome; we’re pelted with water and wind gusts so strong that our ponchos are being ripped off as we try to stuff them back in place. I’m yelling, laughing, and loving the feeling of the water and wind on my face and body. For a few moments I forget I’m holding onto Verona’s leash and a stab of concern pulls me from my adrenaline rush. I look down, feeling her huddled under my husband’s legs, trying to avoid the water. I pet her and tell her its okay. I get the feeling that she can’t wait until it’s over.

Then, as fast as it begins, it is over and we’re back at the quay, wet, excited, and glad to have done it. I have just enough time on the way out to let Verona shake off the water and I dry her, knowing she truly is a great dog. Unflappable. I’m so proud of her, and I tell her she’s done a good job. The flub into the bench is forgotten.

That evening we order pizza and have it delivered to our room. We’re all wiped out from the tour and even
Verona takes a long nap on the king sized bed, belly-up, her snores making me smile. It sounds so satisfying and less annoying coming from her than coming from my husband. Before long, I’m lulled to sleep by her soft sounds, foot sore and ready to take on what ever comes our way.

2009-08-30T10:18:00.000-07:00

I'll try this again since I've been having trouble navigating this site. Not sure where the summer went but I know it has something to do with the weather being so cold and rainy. I think the worst part is the tomato blight; I love fresh tomatoes and it's just not the dog days of summer without them.

Canada was great and I want to go back so I can visit the wine country and maybe even get to Toronto. I found the folks very nice and great about Verona and not one public place gave me trouble.

I'm working on an essay about our trip and will post it soon.
In two weeks we're going back to the Rennasance Fair, the first time this season Ro did great and it was a nice day. I hope the weather is nice this time, too. I finally broke down a bought a parasol and it really helps whenever I stop to watch the performances. Ro scoots under the bench to stay out of the sun and sleeps while we're watching. The only bad thing is she snarks food off the ground so next time I'll have to put on her head halter to prevent it. I'm sure she will get the idea after an hour and I'll be able to remove it. She's great that way -- a few corrections and she's good.

Be well until next time.

First Poem for Ro

2009-07-25T07:45:00.000-07:00

Verona
By Ann Chiappetta

I wait for the knock
Once it comes my life will change forever

Since I arrived
For two days and nights

For my entire life until now –

I’ve waited
Unprepared
Searching

I sit on the bed
Wondering how it will feel an hour from now
And go numb with nerves

Question scroll across the marquee of my mind
What will she be like?
Will she like me, learn to love me?

The hot red letters of doubt scroll past
Can she guide me?
Will I be able to trust her?

Then the knock comes and my heart jumps
“Come in.” I say and stay seated
Hoping I can open my heart with as much ease as the door.

I hear her nails click on the floor
I put out a hand, touch her head
She licks me, tail wagging
“Ann, this is Verona.” the trainer says

I don’t really know what to say or how to feel
But her presence soothes me

“Aren’t you a beautiful girl?” I coo as the trainer leaves
We sit on the floor together

The marquee of doubts vanishes
The blocky, red letters fade
Replaced by a message of calm, canine acceptance
Dressed in ebony

She settles her head in my lap
Each stroke of my hand
Strengthens the hope, quiets the fear
The questions dissipate with the knowledge
-- Stroke by stroke --
That she is the one who will lead me

Summer is Here

2009-06-27T07:58:00.000-07:00

Family update: My daughter made it into the alternative school for high school, something we're both happy and releived about. My son is being a bum. My Mom is visiting and soon we'll be traveling to and from upstate Ny for fairs and festivals.

Life with a guide dog has certainly changed things for all of us, thankfully, all for the better. My family feels less stressed out whenever we go places because Ro guides me and they don't have to do it.

I now know that she is sensitive to antibiotics; she was very sick after a round of them for an infection on her foot. I'm pretty sure her liver was temporarily compromised from them. But now she's fine and back to her old self. I didn't sleep much that week and even Jerry was worried about her and helped as much as he could. In fact, she charms everyone she meets.

Let's see ...what else? I entered some of my non-fiction for consideration in a service animal anthology. The editor says at least one will be included. I figure if and when I see any earnings from it, I will donate it to Pet Rescue and GEB. I also got my first person who mentioned reading one of my articles in DIALOGUE Magazine. That was a great feeling. She recognized my name and told the other person who knew me that she thought my writing was wonderful. Gush, Gush.

Work is going well. I'm working full time until the end of August, when one grant ends and I will only be coordinating the remaining grant. Keep all your pudgies crossed that the funder in the remaining grant renews it so I can keep working. I really love working with people and hope we can continue finding and I can keep on running youth groups. I'm not sure I'd like to continue full time, though. But for now it's great expereince even if the money isn't so great.

I am also working on running a blindness support group for those who want group therapy. I'm hoping to run two groups: one in Yonkers and one in White Plains or New Rochelle. It's time I start it and I hope my contacts will help me get it going by finding members.

All in all, life is good and even though I hate the hot, humid weather, I'm glad the cold months are behind us.

Life With Dogs

2009-05-10T12:30:00.000-07:00

So, it's been months since I've entered a posting but I have a few good reasons, the first and foremost being LIFE. It's been wonderful living with my guide dog, Verona (Ro for short), and Neeka, our pet dog.

It wasn't all peaches and cream when we got back from training, though, but since then we've all adjusted quite well. If I knew how hard it would be to manage both my dogs after guide dog school, I might have prepared better for it. As it happened, I had a hard time seperating from Neeka. I missed her while I was away and even after bonding with Ro in school, I worried if she was pining for me. She was, after all, a rescue and I was her primary caregiver. Mommy was away and she didn't know why.

My husband told me that Neeka slept by the front door waiting for me. That broke my heart when I heard it I wished there was some way I could tell her why I was gone and that she wasn't being abandoned. But I couldn't and just had to let it go.

I had to let go of many thingsduring my journey into blindness and have since learned to try to do my best to know when to release whatever was out of my control. Giving up my role as primary caregiver of Neeka was just another role I had to find a way to revamp. Luckily my daughter took over while I was gone and she and Neeka have since bonded.

My fear of the dark has relaxed, too, One day I went out to a meeting and returned after 8 p.m. We got off the bus and I realized this was the first night trip Ro and I were going on since the one we did in training. Ugh, I thought, this will be interesting. But I stepped out with her and we did great. My confidence is slowly being restored, thanks to Ro and her excellent guide work. She keeps me safe and every day she does something that causes me to feel grateful I have her.

One night last week we were walking down our apartment hallway and a man came out the stairway just as we were passing. He swung the door open so fast I didn't have time to react. But Ro heard him and pushed us out of the way just in time. The man barely missed us with the door and his own momentum. It was like a traffic check and I praised her as we resumed our way out of the building. If she hadn't done that, we would have both been hurt, perhaps seriously.

Left Foot Forward

2009-02-07T19:02:00.000-08:00

LEFT FOOT FORWARDTwo years ago, I made the decision to apply for a guide dog. Up until that point, I was considered a high partial, i.e., having some residual vision but not enough to be reliable. Inevitably I made the transition from high partial to low partial and the decline prompted me to take an active role in applying for a dog guide. I applied to three schools and made the choice to go to Guiding Eyes for the Blind in Yorktown Heights, New York. Arrival
I am in the January 2009 class. It is cold, but training in the snow has its advantages. For instance, the natural barriers of snow mounds and sheets of ice provide us with excellent training obstacles. The freezing temperatures make it easier for the dogs to get used to the booties needed to protect their feet from ground salt. The elements helped us do better due to the challenges the weather provided. What can I say, I’m an optimist. Last night after dinner we got our leashes. The bridle leather was stiff and we were encouraged to break in the leash by bending and stretching it. I used nervous energy to do it; I didn’t have a dog on the other end yet and the expectation of the following day motivated my hands all night. The next day we were evaluated for our walking and pacing preferences. We did awkward Juno pirouettes and I even called the female trainer GOOD BOY. Thankfully she laughed.
Tomorrow we get our dogs and I am so stoked I just can’t wait.
Our class is small, only nine people total. Four women and five men. Most are retrains; one woman will be getting her seventh dog. Four of us are first-time handlers and find everything new and a little bit daunting. We have lots of information to absorb in just a month and at times it can be overwhelming. The transition from a white cane to a dog is interesting; one must first remember putting the left foot forward until it becomes ingrained in one’s muscle memory. The reason is that the left foot replaces the probing of the cane once the dog leads you to the curb. The dog interprets your body movement from its place at your left side. It reminds me of the Hokey Pokey, guide dog style. Put the left foot out, take the harness and turn it about. Anyway, I find it challenging and the more I’m holding on to the harness, the more relaxed I get.
What else so far? Overall, without exception, Guiding Eyes is a wonderful place to train; the staff is courteous and accommodating, which gives us the chance to relax and concentrate on our training so we can make our stay here as successful as possible.
Dog Day
Her name is Verona and I love her already. She is a black lab. Did I say that I love her already? She’s a bit of a soft touch. She is gentle, goofy, and has big, velvety ears that flop like Dumbo’s when she trots around during play time. When she gets really excited, she snorts like a pony. She loves to have something in her mouth and her tail wags incessantly.
She is obedient. The most amazing part of this is she forgives me when I make a mistake, like when I accidentally step on a paw. Once, I left the room for two minutes to get a drink and when I came back she was standing there, a bone in her mouth, wagging and I think I actually got a brief glimpse of her soft brown eyes and we clicked. . But that could just be my imagination; In any case, I swear it was then that our bond became firm, the mutual trust solidifying. It was the next day after a scary traffic check that I realized I would lie down and die for her, if necessary. She keeps me out of harm’s way and that deserves my complete dedication to her well being.
The First Week
6 a.m.: walk/feed/walk. Breakfast is at seven-thirty. Then we get in the vans and drive to White Plains and train until three p.m. Dinner is at Five and after our last walk at 10 p.m., I shower and fall into bed, whereupon we begin the routine at six a.m. the following day. Today is the second week and Verona and I walked our route alone. She got me safely across seven streets and wove me through pedestrian traffic, parking meters, scaffolds and snow mounds. Tomorrow we start a new route.
Week Three: Graduation
We have learned how to walk on country roads, traverse escalators, revolving doors, elevators, and stairs. We have trained in Manhattan and have taken a trip into the subway system as well as above ground trains and buses. We’ve all had the benefit of being lead successfully and safely by our dogs in shopping malls and on city streets. The freedom I experience when Verona is guiding me defies adequate words. The best I can do is say it’s exhilarating, perhaps as good as seeing again. Nothing can replace the loss of vision but the partnership and trust Verona and I share compensates for it. By having a dog guide, I’ve gained back much of my mobility lost as a cane user. For me, the dog is the way. I was never really very good with my cane. It’s an object, not a companion. I suppose it comes down to feeling better about my disability and a dog guide provides me with the companionship to help me when I need it most.

For the First Snowfall

2008-12-19T08:14:00.000-08:00

Snow Plow
Prismatic chips clatter against glass frames
wind-driven, opaque collections
heaped to infinity.
Blacktop and tarmac await the scrape
As Gea tucks in sleepy grassesWith frosty, hibernate hands.
chink-a-chink
Metal dentures rumble past
chink-a-chinkchink-a-chink
Steel maw cleaves the twilight
Rows of white topped ground unmasked.
Ann Chiappetta © 1994

Counting Down The Doggie Days of Winter

2008-11-30T10:09:00.000-08:00

Counting Down … Guide Dog School on January 5, 2009

It’s December 1, 2008, and I’m counting the days until I report to Guiding Eyes for the Blind. It’s all I can talk about, all I want to think about, and all I can concentrate on lately. I wonder what my dog’s name will be, what training obstacles we will have, and what the other folks training at GEB will be like.
I can’t wait to meet Bev and Becky, and the trainers. I wonder how big our class will be and what the food will be like. I’m also a little nervous about how I’ll get along even though I’m not a Braille reader yet and if the training materials will be accessible to me.

My employer has been generous and cooperative in terms of my time off and returning to work. Not having to worry about the potential repercussions of leaving for a month lowers my overall worry so I can concentrate on the upcoming challenges.

As for our family, I am concerned about how we will all get along once we come back home, too. I’ve only been away from my husband and kids for a few weeks at a time and I find myself saying prayers that they will get on fine without me. I just have to believe it or my anxiety about leaving for a month will be overwhelming. Keeping this in mind, I remind everyone in the household that they will be doing the dishes, laundry, and cleaning. But I worry most about how our family dog will adjust to my absence.

Since her addition to our household, she and I have bonded and although I’ve tried to get my husband to take over her feeding and morning walks, I am still the one who gets up and does it.
I fear the the sudden change after I leave will depress her, but I have to believe that all will work out so I can do what I need to do. I’ll miss the dog as much as the kids and my husband. Maybe more.
Then there is my 13 year old daughter. She always seems to have the most trouble when I go away and I hope that this time will be different. This will be a good test for both of us in terms of separation and her determination to take good care of herself while I’m gone. I know she is very capable and strong, but I also know how much we will miss one another.

As for preparations, being mindful of the capricious January weather, I’ve purchased insulated/water resistant boots, a storm coat, gloves, and hat. I also bought a set of long underwear, just in case the wind chill is really bad on training walks. I’ve been reading the GEB’s participant manual, too, and have spoken with some folks who have graduated. The

next month will probably crawl.

So, on to the holiday season, and to waiting the day my life will change for the better when I finally meet my new partner.

Removal by Annie C

2008-11-23T08:37:00.000-08:00

Removal

I am unfettered
Glass and wire left behind

forsaken
I am the sightless
I denounce frames and lenses
Like false gods

I am a disiple
fear replaced by loss understood

I am the naked prophet
disrobed
after prolonged oppression

I am baptized by blindness

dipped into the water
Fully submerged
The glasses wash away
Swept aside in the river’s current
Sins relinquished.

Like a prophet, I convert
Yet I rise -- a Lazarus
A Believer.

I wonder
If my eyes weren’t taken
would I still be the same?

2008

The first of my blindness poems

2008-11-15T08:24:00.000-08:00

I wrote this one last year after the retinal specialist told me the macula in both eyes was in an adbanced stage of atrpphy and it was only a matter of time before I'd lose what is left of my vision.

The purpose of expressing my personal expereince is twofold: for my own benefit and to help other folks going through something similar. So, if you know someone who might find some good from these words, please pass it on.

ORBITUARY
BY Ann Chiappetta

Old ways are replaced
like the beasts Sent to slaughter
after the invention of combustion engines.

The beloved written word
the character patterns that enthralled Have gone.
Printing press and paperback are inaccessible
thoughThe desire to hold and smell books
Put the paper close to an ear and thumb the thickness
Delight in the nose-tingling swish of air
pulpy and acridRemains
akin to a craving.
The act itself
The devouring of pages
is lost to macular degeneration
physical contact thwarted by
Blurred vision, sensory affliction
The death of an eye

The Search So Far

2008-11-09T09:17:00.000-08:00

The Search for a new Partner

The definition of intelligent disobedience, in guide dog terms, is when a dog acts to protect a handler by disobeying a direct command to avoid an obstacle. This action is the alpha and omega of guide work, the ultimate test for a service animal. It is a wonder to witness, and, I suppose, even more gratifying to experience as the human part of a guide dog team.

I’m hoping to be part of one of these teams, to be able to trust my dog implicitly and without reserve. My first attempt, however, was disappointing and it’s taken years to develop the courage to try again. The truth was that I didn’t agree with the reason behind the rejection, and it rankled me to such an extent, I gave up trying. According to the evaluator, I was still too “vision dependant; imagine hearing that, after experiencing two years of declining sight, including a second round of rehab services, not to mention coping with progressive vision loss for fifteen years.

The shock of it took months to overcome and I cried every time I thought about it. As difficult as it was to take no for an answer, to process that the school didn’t feel I was an appropriate candidate, eventually my resolve returned and I decided to try again. First, I got an examination by a retinal specialist/ophthalmologist. Who evaluated my remaining vision, informing me less than five percent of it was left? After hearing this, I made up my mind to take another shot at applying for a dog. The difference was that this time I wasn’t applying without preparation. Not wanting to repeat my earlier experience, I enrolled in a new correspondence course through the Hadley School for the Blind called “Guide Dogs”. The course consisted of five lessons; a course book and a supplemental book containing vignettes about folks and their dogs. The course promised that by the time I was done, I’d know for sure if a guide dog was for me. It also prepared me for the application process, encouraging a potential handler to apply to at least three schools simultaneously and research them before asking for an application. I learned many valuable things about being part of a guide dog team through corresponding with the course instructor. She informed me that based on my course work, not only am I ready to bond with a guide dog but also my remaining vision shouldn’t present a barrier to being accepted into a school. It was my remaining vision that caused the first school to pass me over. I told her about my experience and fear of another rejection. The instructor encouraged me to find schools that trained partially sighted handlers. She informed me that I would have to agree to be blindfolded in order to foster the trust between myself and a dog. Trust is paramount to a successful team. I’d experienced this in my first home assessment. The evaluator blindfolded me and led me a few blocks. I remember thinking how wonderful it felt to finally be free, to finally relax while walking. The instructor also encouraged me to reach out to other partially-sighted handlers and I had the perfect resource for connecting with these folks. Newsreel is a monthly audio newsletter serving the blind across the US and Canada. As a subscriber, I can record my comments, requests, and helpful hints to be included in the audio tape. I sent in my request asking to hear from other folks who trained while still having some vision. I wasn’t disappointed. I received calls from folks all over the United States, all of whom had guide dogs and trained with some remaining sight. In fact, when one woman found out I was close to the school in San Rafael California, she insisted I go visit it and apply. What the heck, I said, I was already on vacation. Why not?Mom and I arrived at the school and spent about a half-hour with the admissions counselor, then took the tour. It was wonderful. The best part was finding out that being partially sighted was not a barrier to working with a guide dog. The admissions counselor did say, however, that partially sighted trainees, for the most part, did have to work harder to elicit the trust between themselves and their dog. To counteract this, the trainer would advise me to train with dark glasses to occlude my remaining sight. This would eliminate the obstacle of my vision getting in the way of allowing a dog to work and trust to be established. I’m ready for that, I said, assuring her that even my remaining sight was no longer reliable and I was ready to give it a rest. She must have thought so, too, because she gave me an application. The next six months were the most challenging part of opting to apply for a dog guide. It’s a collaboration of my information being printed on applications, of asking friends, agencies, and doctors to fill out and return forms, of hoping that when I finally do send the application, there isn’t a snag to slow it down. Soon, I tell myself, I’ll have at least one school offering to take me. But I’m still anxious that the sight I have left will be a problem. Not all impaired folks can travel confidently with a cane. I’m one of those folks. When I go out to unfamiliar places, every inch of my being is on alert and when I’m done, I am exhausted. A dog guide would help dispel some of that hyper-vigilance. I could find the bus stop without fearing the path to it. I would be able to navigate the curved paths in the park without straying off course and twisting an ankle. I’d be able to weave in and out of crowds confidently and know I wouldn’t be tapping folks with my cane. Best of all, I’d have a partner committed to helping me live and work as I liked, tuned in to not only my needs but also my moods, I currently own a dog and I honor her devotion by caring for her as best I can. I brush her teeth and coat and try to keep her on the svelte side by reminding my husband and kids not to feed her people food. I know she would love to have another dog in the house, another warm body to share the space near my chair. I’m looking forward to making it happen, too.
Resources: The Hadley School for the Blind 700 Elm Street, Winnetka, IL 60093 800-323-4238
Newsreel8 East Long Street Suite 420 Columbus OH 43215(614) 469-0700 (888) 723-8737 FAX (614) 469-7077E-mail irwin@newsreelmag.orgWebsite newsreelmag.org

Welcome to my new blog

2008-11-08T19:13:00.000-08:00

Today was a good day. I relaxed, cooked, got some writing done and brushed about ten pounds of hair off the dog. Jeesh, I wish I could card it and dnit a hat from it. It's a very nice grey color--at least that's what they tell me.

Since our house will be a two-dog abode once again, I've been trying to prepare for the eventuality that there will be way more hair and that means looking for a good vacuum. I think I need a monster like sucker in a small package. Hope I can find one. I wonder if there is something like this already on the market.

tASK OF THE DAY

2008-11-07T07:04:00.000-08:00

My task for today was to begin a new blog. That done, I now can go on and complete the other mundane things for today, like shopping, laundry, and (shiver), cleaning.

Let's see what tomorrow brings.