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“Family is everything.”

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

A decorative sign saying “Family Is Everything” that was gifted to me several years ago hangs in our bedroom.

I understand the meaning behind it. For most of us, family is what gives our lives purpose. They fill our lives with joy and friendship, but sometimes family can be the source of our greatest sorrows. Sometimes a family member is someone who is “better loved from a distance.”

The devout and faithful of religions honoring God souls argue that God (or Jesus, the Holy Trinity, etc.) is everything. Some would argue that self is everything. Others would say that friends and social connections are everything.

When my oldest son was being recruited to play college football, the coach told us his order of priority was “faith family, football.” He knew our culture and knew what to say. Unfortunately, his actions did not reflect that philosophy, so lesson learned: don’t believe what people say when they’re trying to get something from you. They’ll use whatever persuasive tactics they can.

What have I learned about family over the years? First, they are not perfect. I write this a lot–I’m not perfect, so neither are they. Next, some are closer than others. This is due to common interests, personality, and proximity. Third, the more distant. the family connection, the more distant the relationship. For example, second cousins are not as close as first cousins. A great-aunt or uncle is usually not as close.

I’ve also learned that siblings are not always someone we can count on. They’re not always someone we hang out with or share our thoughts.

When I was growing up, I adored my only sibling, a brother nine years older than I was. That adoration was made even stronger when he became a father when I was only 12, and I adored my niece. We didn’t live in the same town, but we did get to see each other for weekend visits.

When he and his family moved to California, we only got to see them once a year, and because of Dad’s work schedule, that visit was usually just over a week long. So we filled in with letters and phone calls, but of course, that wasn’t the same as spending time with them in person. There were times over the years that we did spend more time with each other (talking about my niece), but where she and I landed permanently and our individual circumstances sometimes caused us to go years between visits.

That is one of my biggest regrets.

My brother changed over the years, and although I always loved him, spending time with him was not as enjoyable as it had once been. He and I differed in too many ways, including our moral codes, attitudes about life, and faith. My youthful adoration was shattered, but my love for him remained.

Each family has its own dynamic. A friend once joked “We put the ‘fun” in dysfunctional,” and probably most of us could say that.

I’m going to be honest. (My husband would say, “Oh, really?” as a joke meaning why would I be dishonest?) I always wanted siblings. I wanted sisters and brothers close to my age. I loved books like “The Five Little Peppers” because there were five children. I loved “The Sound of Music” partly because of the large number of children. One of my friends when I was growing up was one of five–and I envied that.

Idealistic? Sure. But that was what I wanted.

This photo is of my mom ( seated center” and her brother and two sisters. They were very, very close. Growing up on a farm, they were each other’s playmates, co-workers, and confidants. Yes, they argued at times. But they were there for each other through thick and thin. They loved spending time together.

I am thinking about family today because of a get-together last night with my husband’s aunt and her extended family. She, the great-grandmother, with all three of her children and their spouses and some of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Plus a couple of friends of her son and us. It was great being with all of them and sharing in the celebration of July 4 by doing the very American activities of grilling hamburgers and hot dogs, and having plenty of sides and desserts (including homemade ice creamK) along with newer American activities like playing corn hole and watching France play (and defeat) Paraguay in the World Cup competition.

Since vision loss, I have wished even more for a sister or two or three. Only a sister (or daughter, which I don’t have) could be the pal I want to go shopping, take me places, listen to me when I want to discuss something relevant to women, and that sort of thing. At the same time, I know there are many women with sisters and/or daughters who don’t have the kind of relationship that would allow them to do those things.

So, maybe “Family is everything” is better said “A family that is the kind it should be is invaluable.” Not perfect. Not ideal. But people you can count on and always, despite your differences, love.

By the way, I have had my screenreader read this blog to me twice, and I’ve tried to catch mistakes, but my vision is getting worse all the time, and it’s a struggle to do this today, so I’m going to be lazy and let the mistakes remain. No doubt you can figure out what I’m attempting to say!

Age is just a number. Really?

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

I can’t remember if I’ve posted this photo in a previous blog, but it fits today’s topic.

I heard a speaker last week say, “I’m 80, but age is just a number.” He’s right…in a way. He’s wrong in another.

Age is more than a number. It’s your health, your attitude, your genetics, your abilities. An 80-year-old, no matter how healthy, is not as strong or young-looking as he was at 30. But even some 30-year-olds are “older” than others their age.

I’m fortunate to be physically fit, and I often say I can out-walk most 40-year-olds and am proud of the fact I can bounce up from sitting on the floor without any problem. But I can’t do without sleep as I used to be able to do, and the fact that my hair is graying, and my skin is thinning demonstrates that I am, indeed, not 40 anymore.

Lifestyle choices affect the aging process. The 50-year-old who has made unhealthy choices such as smoking, drinking to excess (new research shows that even one alcoholic beverage a day, wine or otherwise, will damage your health and make you more at risk for cancer, dementia, etc.)), not exercising, and eating an unhealthy diet may not see the results yet, but when he is 65, he may be more like an an 85-year-old while a peer who has made healthy choices is still full of energy and living an active lifestyle.

Genetics play a huge role, in appearance, health, and longevity.

But, still, age is not just a number.

It’s also a mindset. I feel much younger than what the calendar indicates, but other things remind me of my age. One thing that makes me feel older than I am is my vision loss.

You may wonder why that’s a factor. There are several reasons. First and foremost, I’ve lost my independence. Being unable to drive has robbed me of my independence and of many of my joys in life. That’s okay, I accept it. But it doesn’t change the fact how it feels to rely on others for transportation. My mom drove until she was 87. When she was 85, she was driving herself to radiation treatments. I can’t do something as simple as get in the car and drive to the Dollar General a couple of miles from my house. I stopped driving at the age of 62, and it has been the most frustrating, discouraging, and humiliating part of this vision loss journey.

Like the time the 90-year-old gave me a ride home after a civic group meeting. There I was, all five feet seven inches of me sitting in the passenger seat of an older car driven by a very sweet woman who was maybe four feet eleven inches tall. Such a sweet gesture. Such kindness. Such a kick in the gut.

I often say I’m not complaining, I’m just explaining. Well, in this case, I’m complaining. I’m appreciative of all the people w who drive me places, more than they know, but I admit that the loss of independence is … well, you get the idea.

These ladies in the photo agree. Unless they have a family member to take them places, they are stuck in the facility or on the grounds. One of the ladies told me, “The days sure are long.” They’re such sweet ladies, and they tell me I’m just a baby. I tell them that’s why I like hanging out with them, ha ha!

I suppose I’m rambling with this blog, but when the gentleman made that comment last week, it weighed on my mind. He was not the eloquent speaker he once was. His voice was weaker and shakier than it used to be.

Don’t get me wrong, I think his attitude is great. But to say age is just a number is, to me, an inaccurate statement. And maybe what people mean by that is you’re as young as you feel. If that’s the case, we all feel different ages during the course of one day!

What makes someone “weird?”

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

The definition of “weird” involves suggesting the supernatural or uncanny. We use it that way, but we often use that word when it would be more accurate to say “odd” or “different.”

But, how do you determine what is odd?

The fact is we often see people who are different from us as being odd. Cultural norms in another country strike us as odd. Greeting someone with a bow instead of a handshake? Eating fried grasshoppers? Believing in aliens or reincarnation?

How odd. Unless you are one of those people.

“Different” often has negative connotations, but each one of us is unique. We have our mannerisms, our fears, our quirks, our likes and dislikes, and our value system. We want people to respect our differences, but sometimes we are not respectful of theirs.

I like to think I respect other people’s differences, but sometimes I’m guilty of not understanding. I’m not judging. I just don’t get it.

This morning I was kidding my husband about something and told him he was weird. But, when thinking about what we were talking about, I am more likely the weird one because my stance on that topic is less common. His is more normal. (Can you tell I’m apologizing to him?)

I admit to being different. My taste in food and music, my “never meet a stranger” attitude, and my desire to express my thoughts as I’m doing now are not the norm.

You may be wondering what the specifics are of my “not the norm” components. Well, here are just a few.

I’ve always preferred vegetables and fruit, even as a child, and hamburgers and pizza are at the bottom of my foods list. I don’t love chocolate.

I don’t mind eating in restaurants by myself. I’ve done it many times over the years.

When I could drive, I never minded driving on the interstate, even the horrendous, semi-dominated I-40 that crosses our state and puts fear into the hearts of many. In the past, I drove cross-country without a thought.

I don’t mind doing things alone. If there’s a movie I would like to see and no one would be interested in going with me, I’m the type that would go on mown.

I like change. I worked in banking for 8 years then switched to teaching. I switched to a different school after working in one high school for 18 years–a decision my husband thought was a mistake– and took a principal’s job without having served as an assistant principal to “learn the ropes.” I stepped down from that after seven years because of my aging mom needing my help more frequently and got a job in another school district before returning to my home county.

Most teachers I know stayed with the same school their entire careers.

Other quirks include hating unloading the dishwasher, wanting a perfectly made bed even if we are the only ones to see it, and a hatred for fried catfish. Let me change that. I hate catfish no matter how it’s cooked. On the other hand, I love broccoli.

My point? I need to respect other’s differences just as I want them to respect mine. We don’t have to agree. But we can accept. No, not accept everything. We shouldn’t accept what is wrong or participate in it, but accept differing viewpoints about life. We can seek to find common ground instead of focusing on how we’re different.

Those sweet girls in the photo are sisters, but their personalities are not similar at all, other than their hugs are extra special and sweet. One is shy and imaginative. The other is outgoing and a daredevil. Is either one odd? Of course not. They’re just different. Each one is unique.

This post is, primarily, to remind me to practice what I preach. While I may not understand why one person is an introvert or a loner and not understand why someone handles grief differently than I do, I don’t need to think of that person as odd.

My husband often says “We’re all different.” He’s right.

Thinking of retirement? Here are some questions answered.

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

I’m not sure who sent me this photo. I may have taken it, but I doubt it. I am not sure if it is a sunrise or a sunset. I’m guessing a sunset. I’m not sure if a storm later developed, a storm had just happened, or if those clouds will simply dissipate.

This photo, then, serves as an analogy for retirement.

Retirement can be the end of a good or bad situation, or it can be the beginning of a good or bad one. It all depends on the individual’s circumstances and personality.

I’m not going to give financial advice. That is up to you and maybe your financial advisor. I am, however, going to give you the facts as I see them.

The reason I decided to blog about this topic was because of a conversation my husband had. Some friends that play pickle ball with Barry asked him the other day about retirement, whether he liked it or not. They are approaching that age, and their concern is not financial. Their concern is quality of life. Will they enjoy it?

Many people I know absolutely love it. Probably most. Based upon my observations, here are the reasons I think they love it:

  1. Their children and grandchildren live in the same town and keep them busy. They go to ballgames, chauffeur and baby-sit when needed, and have “the kids” over for meals.
  2. They have a hobby that is more of a passion, and now they have plenty of time to enjoy it. Golf, pickle ball, painting, sewing, whatever–they have the time.
  3. They enjoy just being at home. Whether it’s watching Netflix or reading a book or sunning on a float in a backyard pool, they are perfectly content doing their own thing.
  4. They’re involved in volunteer activities and civic clubs. They are busy because they choose to be, not because they have to be. They now have more time to help others, and doing so gives them a sense of purpose.

Now let’s talk about the people who don’t like retirement as much.

  1. They miss being around other people. This is especially true for the divorced and the widowed. Living alone is difficult for them, and retirement makes it even worse.
  2. They struggle financially because they didn’t plan well for this stage of their lives. They can no longer enjoy things that cost money because of budget concerns.
  3. They miss having a purpose in their lives. They’re not “joiners,” so civic clubs are out of the question. They don’t enjoy television with a couple of hours each evening being more than enough.
  4. They’ loved the work they did, and they miss doing it. They retired before they burned out, or their burn-out went away after just a few months of leisure.
  5. Their spouse is not on the same page as they are. One wants to travel or even move away while the other wants to stay home more and stay in the same home they’ve lived in for years.

I have to admit, I don’t love retirement, and I’ve been retired for eight years now. I had to retire earlier than planned because of the vision loss issue. I was still able to drive, and I worked as a substitute teacher for about four months. That was an ideal situation for me. The downside? Most of my friends were still working, and I didn’t have anybody to do anything with. My husband was working, and although I did quite a bit taking care of my mom, I was bored much of the time. The boredom magnified times ten when I became unable to drive, so I’m probably not the best person to write about this.

But I think, even if I had perfect vision, I would have been much happier doing part-time work when I retired. Like most people, I used to dream about retirement, but I never dreamed about a do-nothing retirement. My idea was to retire from education and work part-time in a fun job. Unrealistic, I know, to think of selling tickets at Graceland so I could be around Elvis stuff three days a week. Unrealistic to think I’d be writing one novel after another and making the best-seller lists. Any idea how many people are writing books these days and how few actually make money from it?

My advice then?

See if you can go to part-time work before you quit work for good. Figure out how much you need from your 401K or draw your pension and social security and supplement with your part-time income. This will help you make emotional and financial adjustments.

Be sure you consult with a financial planner to see if it’s even possible. If you haven’t planned for this season of life, you may have to delay retirement much longer than you had intended.

Know yourself. Don’t let your hatred of your job or your burn-out to cloud your judgment. Countless teachers are ready to quit teaching every year in May, but time off in the summer revives their spirits, and they find the strength and regain their enthusiasm for what they do. And, folks, I’ll say it again. Teaching is the hardest job I ever had. My favorite jobs in order: banking (loan officer), middle school principal, and teaching. Teaching, if done right, is challenging. I hear it’s worse these days because of complaining parents who don’t think their children should be held accountable for anything, even grades. Well, that’s a topic for another post.

A final thought. Regardless of how you feel about your job, know your strengths and abilities. There comes a time when you can’t do the job you once did. There comes a time when your co-workers and you have nothing in common and do not work as well together. There comes a time when you’re the “older” one who no longer garners respect from your co-workers. A clue? If they call you “sweetie” or “honey.” If they’re calling each other that, fine. If they’re just calling you that, it means they think you’re…well, old. They’re treating you like a child.

And, if you live in the South, you know the differences in the “Bless your heart” comments. We can tell what they mean.

If you retire, I hope you love it. I hope it is everything you imagine. I hope you enjoy this season of life as much or more than you’ve ever enjoyed any stage.

And I hope no twenty-something has the gall to call you “sweetie.”

Riding the Roller Coaster of Life

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer
People enjoying a roller coaster ride with hands raised and excited expressions
I know I just blogged on Sunday, but writing seems to be my go-to when I’m bored or restless if I have no other option. I have about an hour to kill before I go to the wellness center and to the assisted living facility where I do a program once a month, so I’m thinking about everything from grandchildren to the weather to technology.

Speaking of grandchildren…our five-year-old granddaughter did a FaceTime call to us last night, and it was so cute. She showed us some toys, demonstrated a dance from “Lilo and Stitch” (although we couldn’t see the actual dance because she was holding the phone), and reasoned with her younger sister. So, so adorable!

Okay, off the proud Gigi share and back to the topic

I think most of us experience highs and lows in life with plateaus in between, but I must confess retirement has brought more lows than highs for me.

Before you judge me, please understand I don’t want to go back to work full-time. I don’t want to be locked into a schedule, but the only reason I don’t want to be working on a schedule is because I want the flexibility to go see those grandchildren or have them here when their parents need us. If not for those girls, I would be looking for a part-time job.

But who wants to hire a (number) -old with vision loss? Nobody.

Okay, so maybe we can travel more. Hmmm…do I really want us to spend our savings that might be needed for future healthcare? Spend some, sure. Spend it all or most of it? No. We may never need it, but we want to be prepared. Besides,

Move to be closer to the grandchildren? Not an option. With my inability to drive, a new place in a new city would be tough to learn. Plus, those girls are going to get older and not need or want to be around their grandparents so much someday, so maybe we need to stay where our friends are.

It is funny how, in my situation, the smallest things can bring me the greatest joy. Like when my family comes to visit–all of them–or we go visit them at their homes/towns. I admit to being jealous of people whose families live in the same town, but I’m glad you have that perk. Maybe it’s not the perk I imagine. Maybe you wish your children and grandchildren lived at least 30 minutes away? Ha, ha!

Last week, a friend asked if I wanted to go along with her and her daughter to Sam’s in Jackson, about an hour away. I accepted immediately. We went to Walmart where her daughter did much of her grocery shopping and to Sam’s, where I bought some salmon, and came home. That was it. But we talked. We laughed. And it was the highlight of my week.

Who would have thought going to Walmart and Sam’s would be a highlight? Obviously, it wasn’t the destination. It was the company.

My husband injured his foot recently while playing pickleball, and the PA put him in an air cast for activities and prescribed a steroid pack. He has had incredible energy, and after walking the dog two miles yesterday morning and playing pickleball for 2 1/2 hours, he came home still full of energy. I think he’s going to miss that medicine.

I told him he knows now how I feel most of the time. I have the blessing (and also the curse) of having boundless energy because, as of right now, I’m in excellent health. I confess I did take a nap Sunday afternoon, something I rarely do, so maybe age is catching up with me, at least a little.

As I often write in my blogs, I’m weird. I’m not like most of you who love and thrive in retirement. I do not find this season of life to be the best season.

But, you know what? If the worst problem I have is perpetual boredom, I am very fortunate. If the worst low I have is frustration because I can’t go and do what I want to do when I want to do it, I’m fortunate. And if I don’t love this season of life, I can be grateful I’m still here and appreciate the perks it offers.

Like no alarm clocks, although I now wake up early anyway. Like no stress from a job. Like not being so busy I can’t enjoy something as simple as reading a book.

I have a feeling I’m not alone in thinking of life as a roller coaster. As someone who was never a thrill-seeker, I didn’t like roller coasters. Not because of the height or being scared, but because of that dropping sensation. I don’t like it. Thankfully, the emotional roller coaster ride doesn’t create that. It may bring tears at times (for which I’m ashamed), and it may create a state of being “blah,” but that’s okay. It could be worse.

To the few of you who read this, thank you. If no one reads it, that’s okay. It helped me sort my thoughts, and if someone else can relate or benefit from it, it’s worth my sharing. If you know me at all, you know I’m introspective and think about what makes us all tick. I don’t know why I’m like that, but it is who I am.

We have no control over the future, and if we are wise, we will just appreciate and make the most of each day. That’s what I’m going to do. I hope you can do the same.

Sunday thoughts

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

I may lose some followers with this blog, but that’s okay. It’s been on my mind for a long time. And, no, it’s not about Sedona, although the photo would lead you to think so. As usual, I will tie in the photo with this post at the end.

As I write this, my mind is spinning. How can I express what I want to say in a loving respectful way? How can I get my point across? How can I explain why I feel as I do?

Here is what I’m thinking. As a Christian, I believe in honoring the God I serve, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. I know some of you reading this do not believe that way, and that is your right. This blog post is not intended to convert you to my way of thinking, although I would love to share my faith with you.

The purpose is to make Christians and non-Christians think about what they’re saying.

TV shows and movies are full of people profaning the name of God and Jesus. Every time I hear it, I cringe and am offended. Yet those same actors would never use “Allah” or “Buddha” or any other deity/prophet of another religion.

I get it. We live in a country of free speech, so I’m not suggesting we have laws to prevent people from saying “GD” (the words, not the letters) or “JC” in a profane manner. We once had that kind of censorship, but now anything goes.

“You don’t have to watch those movies or shows” you say. “It’s your choice.”

The problem is, those words have infiltrated network programming. We were watching “Chicago Med” the other night, and one of the doctors used “GD” (the words, not the initials). In a 7:00 P.M. broadcast, which used to be the family friendly time.

I won’t go into the culture we live in today that is violating other Christian beliefs and is displayed without shame and with pride in our programming, but it may be getting to the point Christians who feel as I do may be relegated to children’s shows and Angel Studios because of the themes and language in other programs.

“You’re showing your age,” you say. “Everyone talks like that.”

No, I’m expressing my faith. I know the “F” word is rampant, and although I don’t like it and find it a vulgar/gross word to throw around like it’s nothing. It’s ironic to me that programs will bleep out that word yet allow the “GD” and “JC” multiple times. They even bleep out the “sh” word. But not taking the Lord’s name in vain.

A lesson in theology in case you don’t know it. The name “God” is our English terminology for al the names of God used in the original writings: Yahweh, Adoni, Elohim…there are many names. And maybe you’re thinking that since “God” is not his actual name, you’re not really profaningGod’s name, but since we think of God in that way and not the others, to me you are.

Please understand. I realize each person has the right to his or her beliefs. But in this politically correct climate in which we have to be careful about using words that offend, it’s interesting to me that no one worries about offending people of the Jewish and Christian faiths. Those same script writers would never offend Muslims and other religious groups…or would they?

So, why the photo of Sedona for this post? Sedona is an area known for its almost supernatural feeling, and obviously, a belief in God is the epitome of the super natural.

I know I can’t change our culture, but with the blessing of free speech given me by our laws, I am expressing my viewpoint. You either agree with me or you don’t. That’s okay. But if I’ve given you food for thought today before I get dressed to go worship the God I believe in, I wanted to stand up for him in my own small way. You either believe in him or you do’n’t.

I do.

Developing an Attitude of Gratitude

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

You may not be a Christian. You may not be a person of any sort of faith. But I strongly believe developing a grateful attitude is an important component of finding contentment and peace in this troubled world in which we live. No doubt there are other factors, but having a grateful attitude, no matter what the circumstances, can help.

I was privileged a couple of weeks ago to lead our ladies’ class at church in a devotional and discussion about this topic. The reason? My own journey and what I’ve learned.

Why have I finally learned to grasp the full meaning of gratitude? Call it having lived long enough to have experienced many of life’s ups and downs.. Call it having a lot of time on my hands to reflect. Call it being a deep thinker.

It’s all of that and more.

The truth is that it’s easy to be grateful for our blessings and good things in life when things are going well. Yet even when they’re goin well, we often are guilty of not appreciating what we have. For example, are we not only grateful for our food but also for the fact we get to choose what we want to eat? In the United States, people relying upon assistance to buy groceries cannot afford the healthier options, but even they have more choices than people in many third-world or developing countries. In Cuba, for instance, residents are given a ration card that allows them to have one pound of chicken per person each month. They are allowed five eggs per month per person, but that has been unstable, and they often don’t get eggs at all.

Cuba is just one example.

We’re spoiled. We have heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer. We have enough clothes that we are concerned with fashion instead of clothes to wear for modesty and comfort. Most of us sleep on a comfortable mattress at night instead of a thin pallet on a hard floor.

You see where I’m going with this. We take things for granted until or unless we don’t have them.

Like income until we lose our job. Like health until we get the cancer or another life-threatening r diagnosis. Like walking until an accident or health issue robs us of that ability. Like family and friends until death takes them away from us.

Yet even in those times we can have gratitude. Maybe not at first. We are grieving, and there is nothing in the Bible that tells us not to grieve. It is a human emotion, and God doesn’t expect us to be a Miss Pollyanna about everything in life. It’s okay to hurt. It’s expected. It’s okay to grieve. It’s normal and part of the healing process. Even if it takes years.

Experiencing loss of a loved one? Grieve, but be grateful for the friends and family who are there to support you. Diagnosed with cancer and enduring harsh treatments? Be grateful there are medicines available now to treat the condition. Being grateful for those things doesn’t make the struggle you are enduring go away, nor does it make you feel better in the moment. The weight of your struggle far overshadows the good things we are guilty of taking for granted. But maybe, just maybe, counting your blessings and expressing gratitude for them will help.

Christians know about the apostle Paul, who penned the verses I have written on the handout pictured, He endured beatings, imprisonment, rejection, public ridicule, and shipwrecks. He eventually was killed because of his Christian faith. Yet he wrote that the people of Thessalonica, and us as readers of his letters, should give thanks in all circumstances. He practiced what he preached.

You know what I’m thankful for with my vision loss? I went through two or three years of true depression. I cried. A lot. I never asked, “Why me?”, but I desperately wanted my independence back and my ability to see the world clearly. I started praying for the ability to accept and adapt, and that is what happened. I didn’t receive a treatment that would fix things. I didn’t get normal vision back. But I found a new purpose in life.

My purpose is to help others going through vision loss. I have made friends with legally blind and completely blind people from California to Arizona to Kentucky to Virginia to all parts of Tennessee. I am so grateful for those friendships. I am grateful for the opportunities to share and to help.

Please don’t tell me you admire me or that I inspire you. I’m just a person being true to who I am. It is nothing special. And my functional vision allows me to live a very normal life in most ways. The people that inspire me are the ones who have endured much worse, such as the loss of a child or spouse or health, who endure what I cannot imagine.

And the truth is, I may join that number someday if I live long enough. The vision loss has made me more empathetic to others, and I’m grateful. It’s made me more appreciative of the sounds of birds in the early morning, m ability to walk for miles at a time, of friends and family who drive me places or serve as my eyes when needed. I’m grateful for technology that allows me to do what I’m doing right now–writing–since that has been one of my greatest joys ever since I picked up a pencil and learned to spell.

I hope you no matter what you are enduring, can feel true gratitude for the other things in your life that are good. I hope you can find the peace I’ve found. I’m not always content, I’m ashamed to say, because I am restless and get bored easily, so when I can’t go and do what I want to do when I want to do it, I can get down and out.

Then I think of some friends and family going through much worse, and I’m ashamed for my feelings. How minor they are in the scheme of things.

Gratitude. True gratitude. Maybe it’s the first step toward true peace and contentment.

Do you feel blah on “gray days?”

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

I do. I admit it. Some people may call it SAD (seasonal affective disorder), but where I live, it’s not seasonal. It’s any season at any given time, so I just call them “gray days.”

January, however, is the worst. Anyone own a beautiful home in Arizona we can rent cheaply for the month of January…and bring our 70-pound dog who thinks it’s his duty to find every underground creature in existence, even if it means digging all the way to China?

I didn’t think so.

When I was working, gray days didn’t bother me as much. I was working in a school with artificial lighting and was very busy. Retirement, however, means I am home almost every day, and according to my research our state has 116.1 days of rain, on average, and that’s not counting those days that are just cloudy.

Some people love cloudy days. Kudos to you. Wish I did. Once every couple of weeks is okay. But I have no control over any of that, and I realize we need the rain to support life as we know it. (Like how I brought in a reference to the title of my blog? Speaking of which, I normally blog once a week but because of family being here this weekend, I was compelled to blog today.)

Back to gray days. If you are prone to that blah feeling, you have two choices. Curl up with a book or in front of the TV, drink some hot tea, and wait for sunnier weather. I can’t do that. I hate…let me repeat, I hate…inactivity during the daytime. Sure, I don’t mind taking my time getting started in the mornings, but to sit around and watch TV or listen to audiobooks all day is my idea of torture. It’s almost as bad as sitting with someone in a hospital, and while that is sometimes necessary and the kind thing to do, I don’t know of anyone who actually likes it.

So what do I do to counteract the gray days? I ask Alexa to play music from the sixties or seventies, and when I hear songs that make me want to move, I get up and move. I might do an exercise routine or simply dance around the room (thank goodness no one is watching). If it’s not raining, I take that 70-pound dog for a long walk and sometimes drop him back to the house and continue the long walk. I call shut-ins, thinking they may be experiencing the blahs more than usual on a gray day. Sometimes I reach out to a friend to go to lunch. I dig out old photos and look at them using my DaVinci CCTV or while waring my IrisVision headset, but to be honest, that is so much work with the vision issues, I can’t do it for long. I still can’t see them very well, and it can be exhausting. I do art projects. I play solitaire with large-print poker cards Barry gave me years ago.

You may not care about gray days or my suggestions, and that’s fine. We each handle things in our own way. And maybe I’m blogging about this as a form of therapy to sort out what I will do with myself today while my husband is at work and I have no transportation to go do things away from the house. Don’t tell me to call a friend and ask her to take me places. It’s not happening. I only call friends to take me places when it’s absolutely necessary not just because it’s a boring, gray day. And, you know what? Even if my husband were not working, I wouldn’t ask him to drive me around while I do…what? He is always willing, but it’s just not the same as when I was able to get in the car and just do my own thing.

Not complaining (well, not much), just explaining. It is what it is. There are people dealing with many more serious problems–physical, mental, emotional–, and this minor bump in the road is nothing compared to what they’re going through.

You may be wondering about the photo. I took it a few minutes ago to show the gray sky, but while I was doing so, I was reminded of how much I love sitting on my front porch. It is one of my happy places. In the early mornings, the birds make beautiful music I can hear so well because there is no traffic at 6:30 in the morning. When it’s raining and not lightning, I can enjoy the sounds of the rain. I sit out there and listen to audiobooks at times. I chat on the phone with friends. Sometimes I just sit and listen.

Everyone should have a happy place, so I hope you have one. Thanks for allowing me to write (one of my joys) and sort out my thoughts. I think it’s time to move to some music by The Beach Boys and other groups from the past then pull out the watercolors and do something abstract, then walk that dog of mine. I’ll just have to make sure no rain is on the way when I do.

Happy gray day to those of you experiencing what I am, and happy sunny day to the rest!

Accepting your limitations doesn’t mean giving up

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

Oh, my, I can’t believe the irony of trying to get this post done! I typed the title then encountered several tech problems, and I was so frustrated I was talking out loud to my laptop and TV to which it is attached–really! But I didn’t give up, so here I go.

First, let me clarify the title. This is not a “Michael Jordan didn’t make his high school basketball team, and look how his perseverance paid off!” type of blog. Nor is it a “you can do whatever you set your mind to do!” That is the biggest lie we tell our children and the biggest lie we tell ourselves.

Don’t get me wrong. We should aspire to achieve. Well if we are made that way. The truth is, many people don’t care about ambition or achievement or success. They are perfectly happy living their lives more simply and are satisfied with the amount of money they earn, the place they live, and the life they’re living. But even they may find themselves giving up when facing an obstacle that seems insurmountable.

What I’m talking about is giving up on yourself. Giving up on doing the things you love. Giving up because you feel you don’t have what it takes to do certain things.

Another clarification: There ARE things in life we can’t overcome. My friend who has been paralyzed for over 30 years can have all the positive thoughts she wants, but those thoughts won’t make her walk again. I can will myself to see better all I want, but those retinas aren’t going to do what I will them to do. I can’t drive anymore. I can’t read books to my granddaughters. I accept those facts.

The interesting comparison of my friend’s disability and mine? She, the paralyzed one, can drive using hand controls. She can move about in her wheelchair. I can’t drive, but I’m strong and healthy and can walk long distances. She can read to herself and to others. I rely on screen readers and audiobooks.

She and I both had choices to make. We could be afraid to learn something new and wallow in our unfortunate conditions or we could look for ways to overcome.

You don’t have to have a disability to give up on yourself. I’ve seen it far too many times. The talented singer who is afraid to sing in front of others yet wants to have a recording career. The student with average intelligence (she thinks) who is too intimidated to go to college or to train in a job that is interesting to her. The overweight adult who wants to lose weight but refuses to exercise or eat a healthy diet because it’s too hard.

They’ve all given up on themselves.

I did that a few years ago. Before I knew about the resources and technology that would help me live a more normal life, I gave away all my art supplies because I thought I’d never be able to paint or sketch again. I cancelled my WordPress subscription. I even cancelled my Microsoft Word subscription.

Bad mistake. I grew even more depressed. It was bad enough being stuck at home with limited things to do, but to deny myself the two activities in life that I love the most–writing and art–was much like you sports fans who stop watching ballgames and golf just because you can’t play them anymore.

Hmmm…I’m not too sure about that analogy. There are plenty of sports fans who never played sports or who were never super good who still love to watch them, so…oh, well, I think you get what I’m trying to say.

I missed art, and after about a year, I bought more supplies. My neighbor is a talented artist who has an art studio in which she hosts art classes. She teaches techniques, but she allows each person to work on their own projects, and she is available to help when they have a problem. I went to her classes off and on for about a year before I decided my amateur attempts with my vision loss were not worth the small amount I paid to use her expertise and facilities.

That doesn’t mean I stopped painting. I do my own thing, and even though my projects (two are in the picture) will never grace anyone’s walls but my own (or actually shoved away in a closet), that doesn’t stop me from “channeling my inner Picasso.” Would I love to be a serious student and produce good quality work? Of course. But I can’t, so I do what I can.

I renewed my subscription to WordPress and Microsoft Word, and I began to write again. It didn’t matter to me if anybody read what I wrote or not. Writing was, and is, just something I have to do.

A good thing to come of that? My book about vision loss. I’ve given away as many copies as I’ve sold, so it’s not a money-maker, but it has helped people.

I have a feeling some of you reading this have given up on yourself in some way. You’ve told yourself something is too hard to do or you don’t have enough talent or you don’t have enough ability. And I’m not saying you will achieve whatever you want in life if you work hard enough. You might. You might not.

Accept your limitations. Accept your circumstances if they can’t be changed. But don’t give up on yourself. Find joy in the journey.

A legacy and a recipe–thanks, Mom

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

She thrived being a homemaker. Working at “public work,” as she called it, was never her cup of tea until she went to work part-time at Walmart in the fabrics department when she was in her sixties. She loved that job.

She kept a clean, almost immaculate house. She cooked, sewed, ran errands, taught children’s Bible classes, and, to supplement our family’s income, baby-sat three children, sometimes four, back during a time when daycares didn’t exist and women working outside the home were in the minority.

She never was the type to sit around and watch TV in the daytime. My earliest memories of her involve the things I’ve mentioned plus letter writing. Lots of it. We had moved from Tennessee to Arizona when I was three, and she wrote letters each week to her parents. She also wrote to her sisters and brother, but I’m not sure how often she did that.

Did I mention she took in ironing for other people? My dad worked in the newspaper industry, and there were times he picked up second jobs, so they both worked hard to keep our family of four living simply yet comfortably.

It was the sixties. When we moved back to Tennessee, my dad was earning ore money in a managerial position, my older brother was married, and I was in junior high. She continued to cook, clean, and sew many of my clothes. She continued to run all the errands.

One things she did that I haven’t mentioned yet is she was always teaching me. I learned to cook at an early age. The story I’m about to share is true.

When I was four, I became very sick with amoebic dysentery (we were in Arizona, a state not even 50 years old at the time). I got better, then she got it and ended up in the hospital. After she came home, she was still very weak, so somehow, for some reason, I decided to make homemade biscuits.

Yes I was four. Yes, I had my dad’s help, but she gave directions from her bed, and in my mind, I made them.

After the biscuits were made, she took a couple of bites and then asked what bowl I had used to mix the biscuit dough. I told her, and she said, “That’s the bowl I use to change the water in the fish bowl.” In other words, that was the bowl she put my goldfish and fresh water in while she cleaned out and added fresh water to the actual fish bowl.

She remember end laughed about that until she died.

When I was nine, she started teaching me how to sew. She had a treadle sewing machine, and at the time you could purchase material with the patterns in black lines for Barbie clothes. I’m sure my first attempts were horrible, but I learned. My freshman year of high school I took home ec and learned more about sewing and cooking. Both became mainstays of life for me. My high school graduation present was an electric sewing machine, and I used it until my vision got so bad I couldn’t sew anymore. That machine was used a lot and lasted…well, let’s not go into how many years.

She was not a perfect mother, just as I’m not. She wasn’t a perfect person, just as I’m not. But she loved her family with the fierceness of a mother bear, a love that was sometimes smothering, but it came from a good place. I have tried to emulate her in the good ways and avoid the not-so-good aspects of her mothering, and I am sure I’m not the only mother who has tried to do that.

A sidenote: (you know I always have a sidenote) Mom was not the kind of mother I could confide in about my problems. For example, her response to. me when a boyfriend broke up with me or maybe just a boy I had gone out with once or twice and he never called again, was “I wouldn’t want somebody that didn’t want me.” Or when I came home crying from school in seventh grade because kids had called me names because of my too-thick glasses and too–skinny body, her response was, “I’d tell them they’re not so good-looking.” Not, “Pam, you’re beautiful.” She didn’t say that because she didn’t think it, ha ha! She was always trying to “fatten” me up. But one activity I hated doing with her when I was young but enjoyed doing with her when I was sixteen and older was shopping together and going out to eat. Those events brought her the greatest joy, and we continued doing them as longs she was able and I had the ability to drive. To all you daughters, I hope you know how much your mother wants to spend t time with you. Mother’s Day is a great time to honor mothers, but honor your mother all year. You’ll regret it someday if you don’t.

Back to my topic now. I am grateful for all Mom taught me. She was known in our family for several of her creations, especially pecan pie, minute steak, and coconut pie. Here’s her recipe if you want to try it out.

Coconut custard pie

2 frozen deep-dish pie shells, thawed

1 1/2 cups sugar plus 2 tablespoons for meringe

2 tablespoons flour

3 cups 2% or whole milk

Six large eggs, divided (put egg whites in a bowl that cane be used with an electric mixer)

1 tablespoon butter

1 tablespoon vanilla flavoring

Approximately 2 1/2 cups flaked coconut

Instructions:

After pie crusts have thawed, use fork to poke holes in the bottom of each. I do this five or six times. Bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for ten minutes

For the filling, you will need a double boiler.. In the top pan of the double boiler, stir together 1 1/2 cups sugar, flour, milk, and egg yolks. Fill bottom of double boiler 3/4 full of water.

Cook on high, stirring occasionally and adding water to the bottom pan until mixture coats a wooden spoon. This may take as long as an hour and a half. I sometimes use a whisk to make sure lumps do not form. Remove from heat and add butter and vanilla flavoring. Stir well. Stir in 1 1/2 cups of coconut and pour evenly into two pie shells.

In a separate bowl where you have placed the egg whites, add a few dashes of cream of tartar or a few dashes of salt and beat until stiff peaks form. Add two tablespoons sugar, then spread meringue mixture on top of custard. Sprinkle coconut on top of meringue, using as much or as little as you’d like.

Place in 350o-degree oven and bake until meringue is lightly browned. Cool pies completely, then cover and place in refrigerator to chill. My dad always preferred coconut pie served warm, but if you do this, the custard filling will be thin. It is best to chill for firmness.

Happy Mother’s Day!