traveling up and down the blind highway

Fellow poet and artist Lynda Lambert and myself have been on a journey of growth and discovery. Since January, we have been writing poems and sending them on postcards decorated with a piece of art. We are now 3/4th of the way through the project. For my part, I have grown in the scope and variety of art. Producing art on such a small canvas has expanded my notions of the art process.
At first, I used braille on color paper. The braille was the poem. The dots were the art.
I tried finger paint, pastels, crayons, sharpies, felt markers and acrylic paint. I used layers of paint and cut outs of parts of pictures to make a pleasing design on the postcard. I have incorporated photos of flora and fauna from my yard to add variety. My art is abstract. I move the brush listening to music. The feelings of the moment is reflected in the finished product. I know when the art is complete by how it feels when dried.
Since I have no sight, I rely on my other senses to feel, smell and hear the brush strokes on the paper. Occasionally, I touch my lip with a brush to feel if there is paint on it. The final layer is clear acrylic watered down to give a coat of protection.
I have pushed the limits of the postal service to what is allowed in the mail stream. One of my cards had a cloth flower that was returned needing more postage. A small bead in the centered of the bloom made the card too thick. The card can not be thicker than a quarter inch. The card itself needs to be five by seven inches or smaller. This is so the cards can be sorted by machine. My poems started out with haiku or three line poems. The poems have lengthen using rhyming, tanka and free verse. All to fit on a postcard.
My first task of each day is to find a finished postcard with art. The art may or may not relate to the poem. To find inspiration for the poem of the day, I look to the weather, visitors to the water trough and bird feeder. I print two copies of the poem, one for the card and another for a hard copy for my file. The poem is send to Lynda as an e mail.
We journal daily events in the poems. The important and small events are captured. At the end of the year, we will each have close to three hundred and twenty postcards we have exchanged.
Next year, we will combine the art by month,
adding notes of our written interchanges will add insight into motivation and the process. Below are two examples of the art and poem on the reverse side.

carolaspot@aol.com copyright 9/16/24

Today we celebrate National Teddy Bear Day. The origins of the teddy bear made national headlines when Theadore Roosevelt refused to shoot a treed black bear while on a hunting trip in Louisiana . A cartoon from 1902’s Washington Post highlighted an interaction between the bear and President Roosevelt. An enterprising toy store put two stuffed bears in the window and labeled them Teddy’s bears with the President’s permission.The toy Teddy bears have been popular for over 120 years.
When My daughter was growing up she preferred stuffed animals instead of dolls. Her favorite was a pink bear from “Vitoria’s Secret.” She named him Joey, after the baby kangaroo character “Roo” in the “Winnie the Pooh” children’s stories by author, A A Milne. The stories and cartoons of the toys of Christopher Robin fascinated and captured the imagination of Ruth’s play.
Ruth took her teddy bear everywhere. Over the years, she collected more stuffed friends, Joey remained her favorite. Recently, I asked if she still had Joey? She brought out a well worn and loved bear. The paws pads and nose was shiny from rubbing of little fingers. The coat was faded to the light pink.
“He is too fragile to keep on the bed, I keep him stored safely .” Ruth loves to go to the store, “Build a Bear.” While Aaron was dating Ruth, They went to the store and made the perfect bear to seal their relationship. Some women love jewelry, but my daughter will take a bear as a loving gesture.
So enjoy this special day. Give the gift of a big bear hug to your love.
***. poem
Joey
Given with love for a baby.
Staying with her through her childhood and teens.
He was her favorite, for hugs and comfort.
To look at him now, he’s well worn
with love.
carolaspot@aol.com copyright 9/9/24

This summer, I have been blessed to witness a doe give birth to twins in the neighbor’s backyard. A small flock of turkeys chase each other in the clearing in the woods and skunks, raccoons wash their paws in the water trough. Soon, these sights will cease. Why? The start of hunting season is the answer. Small game, turkey and white tail deer. Hunting season’s vary but they run from September to to December 11th. People walking in wooded areas are encourage to wear bright colors such as orange or bright yellow. Deer are color blind so the bright orange is gray or tan to a deer’s vision.
Turkeys have ability to detect colors but their vision is a narrow field for the best sight. They rely on a sixth sense to identify dangerous shapes. They will retreat from a dangerous situation.
Raccoons, skunks and squirrels are not aggressive by nature but will bite a human if cornered or threaten. They would rather run away.
My brothers and my Dad would go up to the Upper Peninsula to Warners cabins for deer hunting in November. My Dad would recall the last time he and his father went hunting for deer. Grandpa Turnbull wanted to hunt one more time. Dad drove him to the blind, setting up with a seat, coffee and a blanket to stay warm while waiting for the deer to pass by.
“Dad, I will walk a circle and be back in a couple of hours.”
“I’ll be fine Bruce”
With Grandpa’s assurance, Dad started to walk through the woods. When he returned, Grandpa was sipping the last of his coffee. A buck was dressed and hanging in a nearby tree.
“Dad, how did you hang and dress the deer?”
“I had a little help.”
Grandpa did shoot a deer walking by. He couldn’t lift the deer carcass. Another hunter came out of the woods. He had been tracking an injured deer. The hunter agreed to share the deer with grandpa could keep the deer in the tree until my Dad showed up.
My Dad and brothers stayed hunting for a week. I only remember a rabbit dressed in our basement . I have no memories of any deer after Grandpa’s last deer.
My husband John tells a different story about hunting with his Dad and brothers. Dad and the three boys would hunt rabbits in early October. Each of the boys had shotguns. Dad would park on a rural road near state land and lead the boys in a large circle. They would come out within sight of the parked car. Ted, Gene and John would make animal sounds, hit the trees to rouse game scaring any animals to flee. John’s dad stopped carrying a gun, knowing that the boys would scare all the game for several miles. The three meals that the fathers cooked were spaghetti with Ragu sauce. Canned chili and pancakes After a long day in the woods, the boys would eat dinner and then fall asleep. The darkness with oil lamps for illumination encouraged early bedtime.
Going to deer hunting camp was a rite of passage for young boys. Stories of the multi point buck that got away got bigger and the rack grew larger with each telling.
I had my Mom to myself during hunting season. We would take the bus to Detroit to shop for the day and go out to lunch at Sanders sandwich shop.
With many of the hunted animals raging with testosterone, they were thinking of procreating not survival. There are fewer hunters in Michigan’s woods. Though the state land is free to use, the deer population has swelled to two million deer, forcing deer into urban areas. In our little wooded area, there is a doe with twins. We see them coming for seed and water daily.The increase in the number of deer has increased the number of deer/car accidents. Hunters are necessary to maintain a healthy deer population. In the next couple of months, be careful and watch for racing deer.
–*** poem
Deer run
white tail flags interest
two males fence with antlers
The winner gets the doe
If she accepts him.
a racing car puts an end to romance
carolaspot@aol.com September 2, 2024

Growing up in my small town of Northville, we had several opportunities to get ice cream treats delivered to our street. There were two dairies that delivered delights of chocolate covered ice cream on a stick along with milk, butter and heavy cream. The cream was floating on the top of each bottle of milk. My mother would skim the cream and use it in coffee. Twin Pines Dairy and Guernsey Dairy delivered to homes two to three times a week. They picked up the empties and left several gallons of whole milk in the metal rack. But in the summer, we were attuned to the music of the Good Humor truck as it slowly made it’s way through of the town. Exotic confections of chocolate chip cookie sandwiches, orange flavored candy covered bars and ice cream drumsticks with chocolate and nuts toppings. They were more expensive than we could afford for a family of seven. I would watch as others would select and gobble down the cold treats.
One sweltering summer day, I succumbed to temptation. While my mother was in the back yard taking a sun bath, I opened my mothers purse and helped myself to a bill. I was too young to look at the amount but I think it was a five dollar bill. Leaving the house by the front door, I made my way to the corner where the ice cream truck waited. I am sure the neighbors tattled to my mother even as I sat on the corner eating my stolen booty. I had change from the transaction, having no pockets, I dropped the coins inside my top. It had a elastic bottom so the coins wouldn’t fall out.
I went to the front door to put back the change, but the door was locked. Sneaking to the back yard, my mom appeared to be asleep on the lounge. I ran for the door with coins clinking in my blouse.
“Carol Ann Turnbull, come here!”
We all knew that when our complete name was used, we were in trouble. I turned to face the music and Mom. Standing beside the chair, I tried to keep quiet. In one quick movement, my mother grabbed the edge of my top. elastic was stretched causing coins to scatter on the grass.
“Where did you get the money?”
I knew it would be worse if I lied so I confessed.
“From your purse,”
“For what?”
“Ice cream”
I am sure I was punished but my moral dilemma came years later. As a Catholic, we make our first confession in the second grade. I poured over the Boston Catechism . To see if the taking of money was a Venial sin or a Mortal sin. The Boston guidelines stated that during confession if a person forgot to confess a venial sin, they could still be granted absolution. But a mortal sin must be confessed before forgiveness could be given. “Did I steal a 5 or a one dollar bill?” An amount under 5 dollars was a venial sin. “Did putting the change back decreased my sin?”
I tried to forget the incident but every time I went into the confessional, I imagined the sins piling up as sins of omission. Since each class went to confession weekly, The sins were piling up!
I couldn’t take the stress. At the end of one confession, I whispered,”I am sorry for these sins and especially those against the eight commandment.”Father listened and granted absolution . I was off the hook!
**. Poem
absolution
Kneeling in the confessional, I sweated
an old sin weighted on my conscience
taking a bill from my mother’s purse
I had told Mom and been punished
But telling Father?
I tried to find a loophole
amount of money?
I didn’t remember
Could I forget the sin, no way
Finally at the end of my recitation of current transgression
I whispered
“I am sorry for these sins and those of stealing.
Father unknowingly gave the blessing for absolution.
I was off the hook.
carolaspot@aol.com copyrighted 8/26/24

This morning my inner clock reset. This means I slept one to two more hours then normal. This is a documented phenomenon, that is common in blind individuals with little or no light perception. The eye’s perception of light and dark changes helps the brain to set our biorhythm for a 24 hour day. Studies show that a blind persons has a 25 hour day. This means that the individual must have a reset day and sleep in. Normally, this happens on a day I perceive darkness or a dark day, making it easier to sleep and reset my clock. Since retiring, this is part of my normal cycle. When I had to work or participate in a meeting, I had to go to bed early the evening before to receive the needed sleep.
On August 17, we celebrated left handed Day. I am part of this group. Ten percent of the population is left handed. In my family there were three out of seven family members that used their left as the dominant hand. we had set places for meals. My brother Mike and I sat on the same side of the table both being lefties. I always sat on the left corner of any table. So my elbow would not interfere with a person using their right hand. Later, I was seated with my younger brother, Brian who was a lefty like myself.
Mike was ambidextrous . He was able to use both his hands equally well. He played baseball, catching the ball with his right hand and threw the ball with his left. He could draw and write with either hand.
Brian and I were true left handed users. We did all tasks with our dominant left hands.
Tools such a scissors, pencil sharpeners, and table saws are made for the use of right handers. Knitting and crochet patterns are for the same group. Left hander learn to modify, adapt to a right handed world.
Some famous people that are lefties include Barack Obama, Jimmy Carter, Gerald Ford, Ronald Regan, George W. Bush, Whoopi Goldberg, Oprah Winfrey, Albert Einstein, Leonardo da Vinci, Sir Isaac Newton ,Aristotle and blind activist Helen Keller.
A large percentage of people in the creative arts are left handed. Some experts speculate that is do in part to learning to think outside the box. Personally, I believe lefties work daily to find solutions to tasks in a right handed world.
**. Poem
Left To Right
face to face
left to right
left is wrong
right has might
creative solutions
bridges far left and right
carolaspot@aol.com 8/19/24 copyrighted

This past weekend, My brother Bob and my sister is law Peggy, visited and stayed overnight. They were traveling from Hamilton Ontario to the west side of Michigan. They were booked to take the ferry from Ludington to cross Lake Michigan to their home in Wisconsin. With the overnight visit, John and I had hours of conversation with Peggy and Bob.
I had not had the opportunity to have such an in depth conversation with Peggy for many years. While John and Bob sat in the kitchen, Peggy and I explored our early family back grounds and early education experiences. I found out that Peggy was shy, due in part to being the tallest girl in her class and being placed in the back of the classroom despite having difficulty reading the board.
I told her about the issues with getting eyedrops four times a day. My drawings in kindergarten had many drawing of a clock face with the hands pointing to five minutes to four. I had to receive an eye drop at four P.M in the middle of my afternoon play time.
Both of us looked and admired our brothers. Peggy’s brother was a straight A student. Peggy’s vision prevented her from doing the same. I was protected and insulated from bullies by my older brothers.
One neighborhood bully after pushing me down, causing my glasses to break, ended upside down in his trash can.
Hearing early stories from living inTexas and Boston filled in missing pages from her history. We found we had much in common with working to prove our worth. Peggy working as a librarian and myself as a Speech Pathologist teaching mentally impaired adults.
I found that we had many common values.
Retired now, we have reading and writing poetry in common. What a joy to find such a gem within my family. Being open helped that and requesting the men leave the room so I could concentrate on listening with all my ability. Conversation is an active skill.
*** poem
The Art of Conversation
listen respond question
little by little, unraveling
each other’s stories
discover a sister
I always wanted
closer than I could imagine
sisterhood
carolaspot@aol.com Copyrighted August 12 2024

This past week, I felt old. I become tired and slow with conversations but this week was a reality check. During of all things, housework.
I use a Swifter to clean and dust the wood floors in my house. I can’t reach under furniture to clean to the backboards. I decided to clean the floors on hands and knees. I could crawl around with old socks, one on each hand, I had to lay on my side to reach to the wall behind furniture. I was surprised that the metal in my hip replacements hurt when I was on my side. Since both hips have titanium parts, I didn’t think about pain. I was feeling the rubbing of the replacement rubbing against the part of hip still there. I had to find some cushioning for that hip when laying on my side.
I mentioned this to my husband John. He confessed that the same day, he climbed into the crawl space to spray for carpenter ants. He also had pain in his knees while working. He had to go to find knee cushions while crawling under the house.
I scoffed when John installed metal handrails on both sides of the stairs. I thought it looked tacky. This is coming from a blind woman. But in the last months, I have relied on the railings more.
Recently, I purchased a titanium white cane with a ball end. It is able to roll from side to side without leaving the ground. It is better to give feedback on uneven ground. The cane is able to support me is I take a misstep.
Both John and I walk slower with smaller steps. We have given up riding the tandem bike . Neither of us can trust our balance.
Before you feel sorry for us, remember, we are still out walking and working around our yard. Aging doesn’t curtail our activities, just the way we do them.
As for the biking, we use the stationary bike until our balance improves. Learning to adapt is the best mental health medicine.

*** poem
My garden of hanging pots decorate the deck
The birds in the woods are listening
night visitors are seen on the security cameras
an occasional butterfly visits my hand
my memories fill in the rest
carolaspot@aol.com

The first attempt to provide help for veterans and sailors disabled in the Revolution war was in 1777. The Federal Government had no ability to fund this help . They looked to the individual states to implement the provisions of the act.
Over the past two hundred years, laws have been created, implemented and challenged by sections of disable groups. Many of the laws restricted the rights of persons with disabilities. The so called Ugly laws, restricted individuals right to appear in public with a physical or mental impairment. Initially passed to curb begging, the laws were interpreted to restrict people’s ability for employment, travel and education. On August 26, 1990, The Americans with Disabilities Act was signed into law. But do we recall the protests of act 504?
This act provided employment to person to be employed regardless of their disability for federal funded programs. The Secretary of Health and Human Services didn’t endorse it as demanded by the April 4th deadline. Boycotts, sit ins, and protests were held nation wide. But the protest in San Francisco were different.
There, protester were organized and firm in their resolve to unite for all disabilities . Over one hundred fifty individuals stormed and occupied the federal building . A normal tactic to combat this type of protest is to cut the phone lines and not allow food, water or medicine for the protesters. The protesters were prepared for this. Members of the deaf community were able to use sign language to inform others outside the building of their needs. several other organizations such the Black Panthers, Grey Panthers, Salvation Army, and religious groups joined to deliver needed items as well as blankets to the buildings protesters. The sit in lasted until the end of the month. After two weeks members of the protesters traveled to Washington to meet with members of Congress and the news media to push for the adoption of Act 504. This enactment in 1978 lead to the disable Act of 1990 that we celebrated on last Friday.
Who were the individuals responsible? Many were leaders in disability rights. Others were at the rally and joined the walk to occupy the federal building. They were diverse. But the groups that continued to protest and support the sit in were a larger groups from many walks of life. They were in wheel chairs, blind, deaf and had illness such M S, mental and cognitive issues. Or their family members did. They were not asking for charity but an equal chance for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
In this time of differences may we remember the past and look to the future for a better life for all.
*** Poem

Future Generation
I see the future in my daughter’s eyes.
who doctors stated,”She won’t live a year.”
Outlasting their dire predictions.
A loving and accomplished woman, daughter and wife.
I thank God for the gift
of you in our lives.
Happy Birthday Ruth.
carolaspot@aol.com July 29, 2024

Last evening Lynda Lambert and I talked about our colloration of a poetry and art exchange. We have written a poem and made an art pice to send in the mail. We are in our seventh month of a year long project.

The art is discribed and poems are below.

January 7

The first art is a light green background with several black lines near the bottom of the card. The poem for January is in braille on the front of the card.

walking, I pause to watch

a sparrow wrestle a seed from the feeder

Success!

a black sunflower seed

in his beak

February 7

The picture is light pink and orange with a mat finish brush strokes visible. The colors are light to dark.

Settled

floor boards creak

aging, settling

like old bones

March art 7

the art is the cover from a bar of Lindt’s dark chocolate 85 percent coco Both Lynda and I share a love of this chocolate.

Poem 7

Last snow

In my little woods,

I see the outline of the dawn.

Hills and furrows, made by men.

Not the same as nature’s curves.

cozy homes for the birds.

Man looks, seeing empty space.

animals hide without a trace.

Mother Nature steals the show.

blanketed by fresh snow.

April’s 7

Cookie moon

The card has gold coin cover in shades of blues. It appears to be floating. The circle has green brown paint on one edge like a bite.

Cookie Moon

moon’s glow darkens

eerie quiet

bites,

disappearing

May 7

The art is a painting of a flag of green, white and red. stripes like an Italian . flag of Vertical sections of red, White and green. This is for my foster sister Adelia. She was an exchanged student and a part of our family for over 50 years.

May , poem 7

Brazil

accordion, guitar

sweet tenor croon

words of love

in Portuguese tongue

strong elixir

amor

June 7th

colors of pink and orange

drift into green with bits of periwinkle.

Brush strokes create the image of motion.

June Poem 7

Windy

tree tops dance

petals blown off stems

birds stay put

one young turkey

leans into the wind

to climb steps

quiet descends with dusk

mouse scampers across rocks

July 7

The art was inspired by a raccoon caught in a security camera

Painting is black, purples and grays.

July 7

Night visitor

Out of the shadows,

He walks the wall

To the dark watery pool

It calls

inviting him

stepping in enjoys a long drink

The recording of this exchange will be availible in the near future on the Behind Our Eyes website.

My writer’s group was given the word cone to write a six line story or poem using the word at least once. It started me thinking of some of the treats, snacks we enjoyed in the summer.
My Mon had a tupperware set of six popcycle shapes with holders and a tray to keep the popcycles upright in the freezer. They were either lemonade or orange juice. I would suck the juice or flavor out of the treat and enjoy crunching on the ice that was left. The forms and holders were returned to the dishes to be washed and reused over and over.
After my Dad had cooked hamburgers or hot dogs on our round grill, we would cut green sticks from the apple tree to toast large marshmallows over the coals. No grams or Hersheys chocolate just the hot melting marshmallow toasted to a golden brown. That was the goal. Mine were either burned to a black as the sugar caught fire or the marshmallow became so soft that the whole piece melted falling into the coals. After one or two attempts, I gave up popping the marshmallow uncooked into my mouth. During Girl Scout Camp, I finally perfected the toasting with the adding of a chocolate piece smashed between two graham crackers.
The freezer also held a box of frozen petit fours. They had been hidden in the far corner of the freezer from the holidays. Upon finding them, I would take one from the package and move the rest around so my taking the treat would not be noticed right away. I could hide a half dozen stolen candies before discovery.
The raspberry patch was a favorite place to hide and munch on the lowest berries. I would lay between the bush and the picket fence eating my way down the row. As we became experts in leaving some berries after the first picking of the day..
Green apples grew on the two old trees in the back yard. They were small and could be wormy. I would examine one or two before biting into one. They were tart . One had to check the bitten apple to see if there were worm holes or worse a half of worm.
Our neighbor on the corner had a large mulberry tree. We knew when the fruit was ripe when the sidewalk was spotted with purple from fallen berries. I would reach for the darkest berries to munch on on my way home. My lips and fingers betrayed what I had been up to.
Finally, Mom would allow me to go into the fridge to take a couple of cabbage leaves to munch in my tree. I would pretend that the tree was my personal island. The grass was water. I could live in the tree and eat my cabbage. If I had to leave the safety of the tree, I would pretend to swim to the back door of the house.
I hope that you have special memories of your own summer treats.

---

Today’s poem
Treats
Egged on by friends, we searched for frozen petit fours.
It was easier to pick berries from the patch.
Lemonade popcycles and toasted marshmallows were a rarity.
I was allowed to grab cabbage leaves any time.
carolaspot@aol.com July 15, 2024