2015 04 27 Poetry: Cane April 27, 2015

Three days left in the month of April. This is my 27th post in a row in honor of National Poetry Month, and I welcome you, one and all.

I do write a lot of poetry. I guess I enjoy the rhythm of it all. The movement of the scripted verse, the melody of the lines, the poetic chorus that takes shape with each word. It’s a form of music for me, and if you know me, you know that I completely adore music.

I tend to write alot about my vision loss. It’s been five years, and some of my best growth during this time has come in the form of writing. It has allowed me to climb inside my head and pull out some amazing pieces of writing that, well, honestly I have a hard time believing that I wrote. I’ve written short stories, essays, poetry, emails, all about losing my vision. A day doesn’t go by that I wish I never lost my sight, but a day doesn’t go by that I don’t feel thankful that I am still able to take part in one of my passions. Writing.

Being blind comes with a ton of experiences. It comes with extreme highs and deep pounding lows. It leaves me searching through my mind for clues to help me make it through the day, and it helps me build an imagination that is second to none. I see what I imagine, and I imagine what I see.

The following post was written a couple years ago, and it plays a major role in trying to capture some of the emotions that I feel, to this day. It is poetry, and it was written by a searching, competent man, who just happens to be blind.

Thanks for dropping by, and have a wonderful rest of your day.

Deon

***

Cane

Trust is a five letter word that fumbles across my lips.
It’s tone is simple enough, yet it’s uncomplicated meaning eludes me.
Helplessly fearing where I tread seems more appropriate, and complacently calm.
Unseen roads haunt the soul of the sightless spirit.
With a soothing touch, the white cane opens the eyes of my mind.
Seeing with the stick is such an unfamiliar complexity that eludes normal past logic.
The fear is instilled deep and hidden from those who care to look.
Dreaming through a frightening shadow, I see what I hear, what I smell and touch.
I now can dream of what used to be unseen.
Visions appear through a slumbered sight.
The dream unfolds as the day unwinds.
The brightness remains unclear, as the warmth falls down upon me.
I reach for your vision.
I grasp at your sweeping voice.
Touch all that remains hidden from view, and lift me up to see.
Carry me on your shoulders, and help me over the obstacles in my journey.
A world never before seen, comes to life through the cane.
Bring the shadows to me.
Help me feel the road ahead.
Guide me through the darkened path.
Light the twists and turns that lay ahead.
Remember me as the one who trusts.
Remember me as one who learns.
Remember me and lead me home.
Teach me and I will learn.
Speak to me and I will hear.
Show me and I will see.
Guide me and I will follow.
Help me up, and I will trust in you.
My mind understands what my soul feels.
My heart embraces what my fear cannot.
My drive lights the heart of the frightened child within.
Caress the pained dawns and brush the color back into my smile.
Sorrow and pity have no place in my scripted stage.
Raise the curtain and shine the stage lights on the encored events that place their hands upon my shoulders.
Lead me, guide me, direct me, show me, and tell me I will be ok.
If I learn to trust, the belief will follow.
The belief in me will follow the cane.

2015 04 26 Poetry: One April 26, 2015

Could it be? Can it possibly be the 26th of April already? Is this one of the fastest months the universe has ever seen? Hmm?

It is surely chugging along at a good clip, and I am honored to have you stop by once again. Thank you very much.

I have said aloud a lot that I have an addictive personality. Ever since I can remember, whenever a trend finds its way to me, if it’s something that strikes my fancy, I’m in, one hundred eleven and a half percent, and you better not get in my way or I’ll go sit in a corner, pound my heels against the floor and start sucking my thumb!

No, really though, even if there isn’t a corner around, watch out.

I have loved my addictions, each and every one. I’ve also grown to hate a certain number of my addictions. It’s a fine line sometimes, or at least that’s what our conscience tells us. Dang strong thing, this conscience of ours, or at least mine.

I have seen addiction change my life in ways that was unannounced and unexpected. I have seen these baffling powers control all logical thinking, until, well, there ain’t much logic. I probably didn’t start with a huge amount, so I should have been more careful from the start. I probably thought I was, or I should say, my addictions fooled me into thinking that I was.

I am blessed that I found a handle on my addictions before they completely ruined me and everyone around me. I found a fellowship and jumped in head first. I thank God for those who crossed my path and instilled in me the belief in myself that had vanished.

The following poem is a reminder to me of how far I have come, and how short the distance is to where I came from. I continue to admit many things every day, and I pray.

Take care and thanks again for your support during this National Poetry Month.

God bless the writers and their stories.

Deon

***

One

Weeping tears mark the progression of life
Small droplets of painful woe mark the steps
Salted trails down unsuspecting cheeks dry against a harsh, bitter wind
Pleading eyes peer towards the Heavens as the soul inhales deeply with anguished breath

Unrelenting memories flood the chambers of a captured heart
Thoughts frantically dash about with electricity as the veins surge
The imagination wreaks havoc with unanswered speculation
Again the lungs deeply expand as the body uncontrollably quivers

Well trained torment tightens its unforgiving noose
Eyes dart quickly, searching for a secret escape
The conscience rapidly rubs its hands together, and smiles
With retreating logic, the moment is at hand, again

Shaking hands grasp and pull against a disappearing will
The mouth waters and the eyes peer as the ghosts circle around
A gripping, twist of fate unleashes the manipulative poison
Eyes flitter, then close as an unwelcome guest moves back in

One is too many
One million is not enough

2015 04 04 Poetry: Past Due April 4, 2015

Hello again and welcome to April 4th. I know, I know, you’re saying to yourself, “Man, I can’t believe it’s April 4th already!”

What? You’re not? Hmm.

Either way, it is April 4th, and that means it’s time for another installment in in my personal poetry a day challenge.

Wait! Don’t leave!

Are you still here? Phew! I thought I lost you.

grin

I have always relied on my sense of humor to break the ice, probably because of my pitifully shy state of character. Nothing breaks the ice like humility of self, put into words that propel humor into the mix.

Huh?

Sometimes I surprise myself at how much I don’t say sometimes.

Fact is, I love humor, and how it relates to everything relative to our lives. After all, humor is based on truth. That’s what makes it so funny.

Ok, ok, ok, I’m rambling. Sorry.

Here we go with my poem entry for the day. I thank you for stopping by, and hope you drop by again.

Take care and here we go.

***

Past Due

A broken vacuum to my left,

A loose screw to my right.

My pc screen turned blue, then dark.

My sweat pants are too tight.

Blue Jays screaming all day long,

Turkeys lining up.

Black oil seed’s been gobbled down.

I should use a bigger cup.

The furnace runs throughout the night.

The winter’s hanging tough.

March is gone and April’s here.

I’ve had about enough.

Frozen pizza, man’s best friend.

The oven’s getting hot

Where are all the oven mitts?

That’s right. The washer’s shot.

Sump pump’s running all day long.

Electric bill’s unkind.

Squirrels are hanging upside down.

I think I’ve lost my mind!

The porch door’s broken. The cats are gone.

The internet just died.

Remote control has walked away.

I think the freezer’s fried.

Pizza’s crust is nice and burnt,

Just like last night’s stew.

My sanity is all I have,

And that’s three months past due!

2015 03 20 O & P March 20, 2015

A lot has been written through the years about the winter months and what a toll they can take from, or add to the human spirit. From different points of view come different perspectives that look at the glass as being half empty, or half full. I can tell you first hand that my own perspectives have changed over the years. I’m not sure if this had anything to do with having to shovel the driveway a thousand times or not, but however I look at it, I know that I have changed how I look at it.

I was talking with a dear friend of mine the other day, and we joked about being a pessimist or an optimist. She is a very busy individual, and found herself up against a workload full of deadlines that left her with less time than what the work demand called for. Her mood was sort of low, and although I tried to lighten up the moment with my usual brain dead attempts at humor, I could really tell that she was frustrated and most of all, tired. I then pondered on my own situation and came to the realization that whatever I had been frustrated with on that particular day was hugely insignificant to the overall picture of the day, of my day.

In this crazy, mixed up, shook up, tumbled up world that spins around underneath us, it’s all too easy to look either too far ahead, or further on back the road. The biggest issue with whatever it is that I don’t know what I’m trying to say is that far too many days, we completely forget what it is we are doing right here, right now. We worry about what’s around the next corner more than we worry how we’re actually getting to the corner. We set up our up to the minute calendars, our reminder apps, our digital alerts and end up finger tapping or three finger swiping our day away. Before we know what hit us, the day is gone and the hours have drifted into the past. Where’d it go? What did we miss? Why didn’t someone tell us? Fact is, they probably did, but we weren’t listening.

The older you get, the faster the time goes. Is that really what happens? Is it a mind game that Father Time plays on us?

Do you think I have an answer for that one?

Optimism and pessimism are an either, or an or. Either you do this one, or you lean towards that one. Sometimes, just maybe, you do both of them and get away with it.

I, myself, tend to think that I fall under the pessimism category. My cup is half empty. Oh, it may look half full, and I might even tell myself that it’s half full, but while I hold it in my hands, without even thinking about it, I’m thinking that I already drank half of it and there’s only half of a glass left. I know that this has been a stumbling block throughout many events in my life, but I have always found a way to work towards the finish line. One thing that bothers me now as I write this is that being a pessimist has sometimes robbed me of being able to fully enjoy things in my life. While I might have been holding a trophy in my hand, I was probably already thinking how on earth I would be able to win the same thing next time. So much worrying and fretting and contemplating, and nowhere near enough relaxing and relishing the amazement of the moment. God knows I have had many things in my life to celebrate, and there will probably be a few more.

I’ve been hurdled towards a few roadblocks and obstacles these past few years. Wait. Let me rephrase that.

I’ve had quite a few trying times in my life, and these past few years have piled more onto the, umm, well, I suppose you could call it the pile of trying times. I have been blessed with a huge amount of support, encouragement, devotion and “don’t you dare stop now’s”. I have come through these shadowed bits of my life and found strength to move towards the next set of moments with what I can only describe as optimism. How on earth would I ever find the strength to keep moving forward if I didn’t have some faith that I would continue to find those moments in my life that were enjoyable and worthwhile? How would anyone dare to go forward if they didn’t believe that some goodness was heading their way? Without optimism, how on earth would the human heart ever keep beating?

With the promise of another sunrise tomorrow morning, it’s with optimism and a full heart that I look towards my future with that “o” word. I do so, not forgetting where I am and how I got here. I do so realizing exactly where I am and what’s around me. Well, maybe not exactly, but it’s the attempt that counts, right? Right? With all my bruises, jammed fingers, busted toes and lumps on my empty noggin, how could I possibly not.

It sure has been a long, cold, snowy winter, and here in the wonderfully frozen state of Maine, it seems like we’re still smack dab in the middle of it. Not the beginning, not the end, exactly right in the middle of it.

I’ve always had a habit of picturing the whole year as a clock. Hi noon is January, 5 o’clock is June and the start of summer, and fall starts around 8 o’clock. I know, I know. I’m off by an hour or two, but then again, it’s my clock, right?

Happy Spring to you all, and thanks for stopping by!

10 10 14 Seven Weeks October 10, 2014

Good Bye Week Seven

It’s hard to believe I’ve been in college for seven weeks now. Each week, from the time I climb up the staircase in Hinckley on Monday morning, to when my ride arrives to take me home on Thursday afternoon in Fairfield, it’s a blinding blur, brought on by a beautifully woven tapestry of campus activity. I don’t know where the time goes, but man oh man does it ever.

I’ve experienced many firsts in 45 days. I’ve soared through the highs, sidestepped along the lows, made a few friends, learned a few things, been reminded of a few more, and I have to keep telling myself that I’m just getting started.

I’ve had a few fits with my new laptop, or should I say, a few more than a few. I am gaining with Windows 8.1 though, and as far as Office 2013? Well, let’s just say I haven’t thought of anything nice to call a ribbon yet. I’m working on it though, and sooner or later, those pesky little buggers will pay!

I’ve had some days when my lack of vision hasn’t bothered me, and other days when it was all I could think of. What I’m able to see changes as quickly as the weather, and if it wasn’t for the hours and hours of mobility lessons I had this summer, I’d probably still be trying to find the staircase in the Averill building in Hinckley. Probably be trying to find the doorway into King 112 also. How much I can see through my fogged up, waxed paper view really determines how some of my days progress.

My health has been good though, which I should never take for granted.

I have some wonderful instructors who have bent over backwards to try and give me the materials in an accessible format. You have no idea how wonderful it is to know that you all have my best interest at heart. None of this would be possible without your accommodations and insight, and I thank you all.

There have been a few things that have sent me spiraling, but with each incident, I absorb, adapt and advance towards the next opportunity to experience and learn.

I have been offered help by a number of students in a number of different situations, and all of them have been met with a slice of humility that reminds me just how generous and compassionate the human heart is.

I have come a long way in seven weeks. I have learned a lot, but mostly I have discovered an unquenchable thirst to learn even more. I’ll never get back the years that have led me to this point, but without them, I probably would have ended up somewhere else, and I think I prefer being right where I am.

I’ve learned how to see things differently these past four years, these past seven weeks, and the gained insight can be measured only with my actions and abilities.

Accessibility has come a long, long ways over the years. I couldn’t have picked a better time to have lost my sight. With all the technological advances that the digital world has brought to the blind community, it’s exciting to think where it’s headed, and what will become the norm in probably just a few short years. I don’t take anything for granted any more. I can’t afford to.

It’s been seven short weeks of one of the most incredible experiences of my life. It’s been 45 days of highs and lows, surrounded by pure possibility.

I look forward to the next seven weeks with courage, faith and hope, thanks in part from the encouragement I continue to get from all around.

I am extremely blessed to have crossed paths with you all.

dp.

2014 07 08 Pop Quiz July 8, 2014

So, like, now I’m all set, right? Everything’s in order, right? All my little quacky ducks are in a row, right? Have I thought of everything? Have I left anything out? Is there something that I’ll come across and then say, “I can’t believe I forgot that!”?

Some days, as I gather up my stuff to head into my day, I am met with a never ending barrage of feelings like I have left out something of major importance. You know that feeling, like perhaps you left the stove on, or left the front door open, or forgot to shut off a switch or maybe you didn’t change the dog’s water?

I used to get these doubtful thoughts quite often when I could see, and now that the old billy goat eyes ain’t working too well, well, well, well, let me tell you, it’s a never ending rummage sale through the old noggin, trying to find clues that lead me towards things that have been left undone. The old saying, “Out of sight, out of mind” really is true. It’s not just a saying. It’s pure, it’s true, and it holds more factual crap than you could ever imagine.

I’m getting better at it though. I’m learning to sort things a little better as time goes by. I’ve learned how to categorize and columnize and group together and list and shuffle things a little differently. Matter of fact, a lot differently. Back when this big, beautiful blue marble darkened on me, I had a hard time remembering a phone number for more than five seconds. Now, I’ve learned how to turn the number into a rhythmic melody that somehow makes sense and stays with me a little longer. As I move through my day, I picture things in my head and build a never ending and constantly changing map of my day. From the rug on the living room floor, to the rug on the floor at the bottom of the ramp in the garage, to where the recliner in the living room has been recently moved to, it’s a world of adaptation, and like I’ve said a few times before, you can’t advance until you absorb and adapt. Oh, it’s possible to trudge on ahead, but believe me, if you’re not prepared, you’ll eventually pay the piper, and these days, he’s a greedy son of a flute playing biscuit.

We all have to make adjustments. We all have to learn how to manipulate. We all have to learn how to study our surroundings and put it all in perspective. We’re all constantly changing, evolving, noticing, learning, anticipating, reacting, gaining knowledge and recognizing the better choice of the two.

I’ve always liked mind bending puzzles. I’ve enjoyed a mental challenge from time to time. Having limited vision is the mind bending, brain twisting puzzle of all puzzles. The challenge is there, some days more than others. The tests, the pop quizzes, the unannounced Friday exams are all lined up, ready to challenge you, challenge me, and it’s up to me, up to us, to make the most of them. I’ve learned how to make the best of mine. Some days I don’t do too well with what’s been put in front of me. I’ve got the broken toes, bruised shins, knees, hips, forearms, busted fingers, scraped wrists, bent nose and dents on the noggin to prove it. I guess you could call them the outcomes of the tests, the performance rankings, the grades handed down from the instructor on high. When you look at me, you’re getting a pretty good look at my report card.

Back in the day, when report card day was at hand, man oh man, was I ever filled with anxiety. Usually though, my grades reflected on how well I studied and how hard I worked.

With all the bumps and bruises these days, you’d think I’d be getting an A, or at least a B+.

Ya, ya, I know. Some of you out there are shouting, “The bumps and bruises are cuz you didn’t apply yourself enough!”

Here’s a little hint. The tutoring never stops.

No matter where you go, there you are, so, take advantage of it.

Thanks for stopping by, have a wicked good day, and please, don’t ever think you’ve studied enough.

Now then, let’s go see if we can find the corner of the couch, or the cupboard door that I left open, or the computer desk drawer that’s pulled out, or the corner of the freezer in the garage, or maybe, if I’m lucky, the back of the text book where all the answers are.

dp

2014 06 14 The Bridge June 14, 2014

It’s a long journey across the great divide, or so it seems. The path across is dotted and speckled and colored with so many questions I have always asked, but never stood still long enough to gain possession of the answers. The doubt belongs to me and lies only with me as I look out and gaze at the anxious sight. The boards are weak, the railings, weathered, the suspended steel cables,rusted, frayed and stretched over the carved gorge of nature’s wrath.

Crossing should be an easy task, a simple quest, a goal truly reachable, but no one has told me so on this day. I only seem to hear the voices as a cluttered, echoing hall of envy, jealousy and vain. With all the eyes of the world doing their own impressions of their daily rituals, they all seem to somehow find time to focus on only me. I am the center of my world’s attention, and it comes as no surprise.

Could this be the bridge over troubled water that I have heard of so many times, or is the rising melody from the depths below another life choice towards the rest of my tomorrows? Could they be one in the same? Is this unappealing route a way across an unknown barrier, or has it been brought to me so that I may finally start to figure it all out? Am I supposed to be where I am, or am I wearing someone else’s shoes? The broken boards, the twisted hand rails, the heckling sounds of the ravine below, they taunt me and dare me to get on with it all.

One step at a time. One, frightful baby step at a time. That’s all this is going to take. That’s all I need to do. That’s all there seems to be to this next gift of the present, but there is so much more that I don’t even know.

I shudder as I step out onto the creaking path towards a future full of my existence. I cautiously shuffle my feet and timidly slide my steps, not daring to pick my feet up off the worn wood. I cling tightly to my past as the rushing torrent of yesterday’s water flows far under foot. The opposite side seems so far away, but then again, it always has.

I breathe and I step. I step and I breathe. Closing my eyes and slowly spinning underneath a searching sun, I hear faint whispers of encouragement, but I’m not certain if they are coming from across the passage, or from behind me. I dare not look down for fear of where I may end up. I can only look forward with guiding hope, and up towards the sky with courageous faith. Faith, guidance, courage and hope. Four bastions of sanity that have eluded me on more than one occasion are waiting patiently on the other side of the door at the other end of the bridge.

The bridge is the chosen way. The bridge is the next step forward. The bridge is resemblance of everything I have done in my life that has led me to here.

The bridge is here, and so am I.

And so, I take one more step.

2014 06 04 Open Seas 04 Wake Up June 4, 2014

I can see the harbor lights as we sail past the outer sound and head on into port. It’s an unfamiliar place, but with a certain feel that I have felt before. I ponder as I wonder, and I remember back to a time in my youth. The walks down the halls, the new faces wrapped in a room full of new sounds. A time to learn how to find time to learn.

This place, this newness, this institution of sturdy moorings has a simple feel, an uncomplicated feel, an important feel. This restful parking spot for the adventurous vessels of the sea unknowingly puts the wandering hearts at ease with a promise, a commitment, a pledge that the rewards will match, and could greatly exceed the efforts.

As I step off the ship, the people I see in the streets all seem to have a purpose in their stride. They know where they are, who they are and what they are supposed to do. This constructed book of wisdom ticks and tocks like a well crafted time piece that gathers all the hours of the past and guides them towards the spinning hands of tomorrow.

As anxious as I used to be, the calm that I feel this day is a welcome commodity that I don’t really know how to handle. It’s a rare treat that with each step, I look forward to the next one even more. My ways of old have somehow prepared me for my time at hand, my days of new, my gift of the present. The stepping stones of older dreams have molded and shaped and nurtured the wide eyed curiosity that becomes as big a part of me now, as it could ever have hoped to be throughout my life.

The hustling, bustling characteristics of the town by the sea have given a new meaning to that word I have written of so many times.

The word is home, and I feel ready to explore all that it has to offer.

The test is at hand. The test is the title of the next chapter. The test is mine for the taking, and I choose the chore that goes along with it.

Across the sea I have come. From a thousand nights before, I have been readying for this one chance. Across the sea I have lived and dreamed and imagined what lies on the opposite shore.

There’s only one way to find out exactly why I find myself in this place, this town, this opportunity, this inspiration of the day.

It’s time to open the book and learn the story. It’s time to test the skills that have been gently nudging me towards my next step for so long. It’s time to live and love the lessons learned.

I hear that wonderfully familiar voice from my childhood, that soothing tone that energized my youth, that motherly inspiration found neatly tucked away inside the fabric of yesterday, as it echoes up from the bottom of the stairs and wraps itself around my morning.

“Wake up Deon. It’s time to get ready for school.”

2014 03 16 Unexpectedly March 16, 2014

Excuse me. Can you tell me where I’m going? I mean, half the time I don’t even remember where I’ve been.

Where am I? Is this my life? Am I inside my life? Is my life happening right where I am, right now? what if I wasn’t here right now? What if I was way over, there? Would my life be happening way over there instead of right here? How would I know if things were different? Ya ever wonder why there’s so many variables swirling around out there? Ya ever think that inside every fragment of every second of every minute of every hour of every day, anything could happen? It could, right? I mean, so many things have happened in my life that have seemed to drop right out of the blue, or gray, if it’s a cloudy day. What if it was in May. A gray, cloudy day in May? Oh you betcha.

It’s safe to say that so many folks plan for a rainy day, the unexpected, the variables that surround each moment. You can only plan so much though. Without knowing which unexpected happenstance will make its way into your world next, well, how do you know what to plan for?

I tell you what, I plan on being unprepared for every thing that unexpectedly creeps up on me and scares the billy goat bubble gum outta me. Is that good enough? Is it permissible to be unprepared for the unexpected? I hope so, because, here I am!

There’s just way too much going on out there to stay ahead of it all and prepare for all of it. Flat tires, broken dryers, a leaky pipe under the kitchen sink, a rotted mail box post, a wandering hub cap, no milk for the cereal, no cereal for the milk, the DVR didn’t record The Millers, a stuck zipper, a missing button, three left socks, one right, a broken shoe lace, ice covering everything in sight, a thin layer of snow covering the ice, a Patriots loss, and yes, another Red Sox ring. It’s all so unpredictable, and it’s happening all the time. It just never stops.

I’ve worked hard my whole life, except for those times when I didn’t. I tried to save and invest and spend wisely, but life just kept happening. Greedy son of a gun, this life thing.

Wherever you are, wherever you go, what ever you’re doing, get ready, because here it comes, and it’s heading straight for you.

I’ve learned so many things the hard way, which a lot of us probably have, that when you have some sort of advanced notice of something wicked this way it be heading, duck! Run! Avoid direct contact and for God’s sake, warn as many unexpected folks as you can. Then again, when something good comes along, reach out and grab it with both hands and hug it tight. Pretend like it’s the last good thing you’ll ever see. A full package of Oreo double stuffs way in back of the top shelf of the pantry, a Dairy Queen large Blizzard with chocolate ice cream and peanut butter cups. Don’t forget the hot fudge sauce on top. A smile from a friend, a hug from a grandson, a drooling giggle from a little baby, a baby duckling swimming just as fast as a baby duckling can to catch up to its siblings and mother heading across a pond. There’s just as many good things out there as there are not so good things. Probably a heck of a lot more, if you look hard enough.

Plan for this and receive that. Save for this and dish out some cash for that. Fill your freezer with this and then go out to dinner and order, that? Are you kidding me? Really? No arugula please!

All I’m saying is what I’ve probably already said, and I can’t remember most of it, so go out and get some unexpected stuff for yourself. Take a step through the door, climb over the next rise, run up the stairs and open the window. Shout out as loud as you can, “Why did I open this window!?”

It’s all good, and it’s all yours, that is, if you dare to take on one of those unexpected invariables.

Have an unexpectedly great day.

2014 03 03 Telephone Poles and Red Sox Hats March 3, 2014

The other morning, I was putting a plastic mixing bowl away in the lower cupboards of the kitchen. I stood up quickly and caught the corner of one of the upper cupboard doors right in the forehead. That one left a mark.

 

About three weeks ago, I was walking from the front door of the garage, through the inside of the garage to the back door. My foot caught the end of the dog ramp I built a few years ago. Down I went. My fall was halted when I piled onto the top of a Rubbermaid wheelbarrow. That left two marks. One of which was a black and blue on my stomach about the size of Kennebec County. The black and blue, not my stomach. My wife gasped when she saw it a day later.

 

This afternoon, I pummeled a kitchen chair with my shin. Knocked the stupid thing eleven feet across the floor. I don’t know if that one left a mark, because my shins are full of bumps and ridges.

 

If it’s not a finger, it’s a toe. If it’s not a toe, it’s another finger. A shoulder jammed by a door jam, a forearm walloped by a walloping butt of a door. A dislocated finger, next to a sprained one.

 

I remember one of the first head on collisions I delivered to myself back in 2010. I was strolling along Center Street in Newton Mass, minding my own business, sweeping back and forth, when all of a sudden, a telephone pole decided to jump out in front of me. My Red Sox hat went flying, my cane folded into five pieces, and down I went. If I didn’t have my hat on to deflect the blow, my nose would be even more crooked than it is already.

 

As dazed and confused as Robert Plant could ever imagine, I got to my feet, and as I usually do, or did, I tried to look around to see if anyone saw me. Of course, I couldn’t see a thing, being blind as a billy goat and all, but still, I looked, and then I looked, and one more time, I looked again.

 

As I brushed off my pride and gathered my humility, I took the hat handed to me by my orientation and mobility instructor. She asked if I was ok, and I assured her that I didn’t have a frigging clue.

 

My hat went back on my head, I unfolded my cane, and again, I started to sweep.

 

Eleven steps later, I walked into another telephone pole, and down I went, one more time. All of my progress that I had built up from the day spilled out onto the sidewalk, and my hat went flying, again.

 

As I gathered what little sense I could muster up, my O&M instructor handed my hat to me, again, and said that probably it would be beneficial if I had a longer cane.

 

I could do nothing but agree.

 

This life I find myself in has proved to be a non stop, never ending obstacle course, cleverly designed and set in motion by, umm, me?

 

What I think, how I feel, how I decide to maneuver through it, everything about my day revolves around my own actions. As I have written before, how I absorb, adapt and advance is reflected onto the outcome of how my day ends up. What I do, how I do it, how I react to it, how I learn from it, it’s how I have become who I am.

 

I find myself at different times of the day rummaging through familiar territory, so familiar in fact that sometimes I forget that I can’t see. It’s those times that I usually end up veering this way a little too much, or drifting that way inadvertently. It’s those times that I end up banging, or clanging, or smacking the crap out of an unexpecting part of my body. It hurts like hell, but usually for only a moment, and then, there I go again.

 

73 times I have hip checked the mirror on the Chevy. Thank god for those new mirrors that have the built in flexible joint thing. A hundred and eleven times I have slammed into the silverware drawer, unaware that I had left it open. Five hundred and thirty-seven times I have walked into the kitchen table, thinking I was headed for the living room. Six times I fetched the paper and started walking down the road towards Route 2, thinking I was walking back up the driveway. Those happenstances are kind of scary, but they don’t leave a mark.

 

As I become more used to being blind, I would hope that the banging and jamming and smacking would slowly come to a halt. On the other hand, as I become more adapted to sightlessness, I would imagine that I might become so used to certain situations that my focus might stray a little to the side, so, perhaps it might prove beneficial to wear a football uniform? How about a goalie outfit, complete with a fat bottomed stick, and an ice pack?

 

At the end of every day, my toes praise the inventors of hard soled shoes.