Tag: life

Newspapers and magazines…are they going away?

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

Mom kept any sort of newspaper clipping that mentioned anyone in the family by name or in a photo. Honor roll lists, a fuzzy image in a crowd, you name it. This clipping is from my school newspaper when a fellow student interviewed me following our return from a trip that involved a bomb threat on our plane. Yes, we had to make an emergency landing. No, no one was hurt. Yes, it was a little scary when the pilot announced what was going on, but at 15, I was more interested in the cute soldiers on board.

Don’t judge me.

I have boxes of clippings, and I can’t bear to part with them. They represent events that were important in our lives. Yes, they’re faded, and I can no longer read them. But they’re a tangible moment of the lives we’ve lived.

What will the younger generation have? Will they be able to open a box and find articles and photos of over 50 years ago, or will they have to find it on the Internet ? Maybe they can bookmark it? Will Facebook and Instagram exist 50 years from now? No one knows, and I won’t be alive to find out.

But I wonder.

With the digital and social media age, newspaper and magazine circulation have dropped. I often say my dad, a newspaperman to the core, would be turning over in his grave if he could see what is happening to his beloved industry. And magazines…oh, how I loved magazines. Tiger Beat, 16, and Seventeen eventually gave way to Glamour, Good housekeeping, Prevention, and Southern Living, in that order. You could see the progression of my maturing and age simply by looking at the magazines I was reading.

I loved the articles. I loved the photos. I even found the ads interesting.

Yesterday I had a dental appointment, and the small waiting room had something missing, something that was always in a doctor’s waiting room. Magazines. Not one magazine on the tables. No magazine rack.

And why should there be? People don’t read magazines. They scroll their phones. A lot. (Allow me to vent for a moment. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be unable to scroll your phone because of vision issues and surrounded by people who are scrolling theirs, sharing with each other photos they see, talking about what’s on their screens while I sit and twiddle my thumbs? Or when I’m talking to someone in the room and they pause before answering, and I realize they were reading their phone and didn’t hear me clearly? Okay, I feel better. Vent done.)

The world is changing quickly. Technology is improving our lives in some ways and making it worse in others. Newspapers still exist, and many places have digital archives of older newspapers, which is great. But what will it be like if and when newspapers disappear completely?

Something, I’m sure, will take their place, and the people living in that world will accept it without question. I’m sure I’m just being one of those older people who lament what used to be and talk about the “good old days,” which sometimes weren’t that good. Life with dishwashers and microwaves is definitely easier.

I have never forgotten the details of our “bomb threat” flight because of two newspapers–my school newspaper and the local newspaper. The facts are there, so I don’t have to rely on my memory. What was once news is now my story. My history. It’s a segment of my life.

I know digital is better for the environment. I know it is less costly to produce. I know the quality of print and photos is better.

But just for today, I want to recognize the value of newspapers. They have captured and continue to capture events in their local communities. They give room for opinions to be expressed (I know Facebook has plenty of that), they run ads that let us know what sales are going on or what services are offered, and they keep us informed in a variety of ways. They continue to serve a purpose.

So to those of you still working in the newspaper industry and trying to keep your publication alive, thank you. Thank you for your reporting on things that may be boring to you but interesting to someone else. Thank you for going to that high school or middle school game, taking the photos, and writing about it. Thank you for printing announcements, obituaries, and property transfers (ha, ha–not sure about thanking your for the sheriff’s report or police report. I always feel sorry for the family members.) Thank you for producing a quality publication on a limited budget. And…thanks for the memories.

Dreams vs. goals, and looking forward vs. working toward.

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

I did this sketch years ago, and it is supposed to be Elvis as a child and Elvis as a. young adult. I called it “the boy within the man.” In my opinion, Elvis stayed a boy in many ways, but that’s another topic. And I’m not sure you can even tell it’s Elvis, but trust me, that’s who it is supposed to look like.

The reason for posting this photo is because, in many ways, Elvis represents the American dream. Rags to riches, obscurity to fame, everything in the world a man could want…but was that really true?

Like many celebrities, Elvis achieved but ended up unhappy. No, he didn’t become a serious actor like he wanted to do. No, he was never a part of a gospel quartet, which was his first dream. But he had money, friends, and fame, and we can’t understand what drove him to escape reality by taking medications that made him sleep and other medications that made him stay awake.

He, like some, couldn’t handle life once his dream was realized. He could not be happy without a goal.

What is the difference between the two? I think it is that a dream is the big picture, and a goal is one of the steps taken to achieve that goal. For instance, you want to lose 20 pounds, meaning the dream is to drop at least one clothing size or improve your blood pressure or whatever. A goal to go along with that dream is to begin a walking program until you are walking three miles most days. You start with one mile and push yourself until you are comfortable with that. You increase gradually until you are able to walk three miles with ease. But you’ve only lost seven pounds at that point. You’ve achieved your goal without realizing your dream–yet.

Our oldest son and part of his family ate supper with us last night, and we (my husband and I) were talking about how different life is at our age. When I said “You have nothing left to work toward because you’ve achieved your goals,” my son thought I was being negative and saying something like, “There’s nothing to look forward to.”

No, there are plenty of things to look forward to. Being with family, seeing friends, taking trips, and even (for me) an in-person shopping experience at Walmart. Don’t laugh. I live in a small town. It really is an occasional treat but only because I seldom go.

When you’re raising your children and working in careers that are maybe not always what you had hoped they would be, it is easy to feel stuck and discouraged. Retirement and being debt-free can seem a long time away, and you may have to push yourself at times to keep on keeping on. You’re tired from too much busyness, or you’re worried about your children, or you’re living in the sandwich generation, meaning you’re dealing with children and aging parents, all of whom need your help.

You are always working toward something, not necessarily looking forward to it.

I’m the kind of person who needs something to work toward. Whether it’s preparing for a walk/run for St. Jude or working on a writing project or watching educational programs on the History Channel and that sort of thing, I am happiest when I’m pushing myself to accomplish or to learn. Yes, I always loved school. Sure, I looked forward to breaks, and no, I didn’t love Algebra 2 or geometry, but I loved to learn and (believe it or not) to be sociable.

When I was teaching, we always encouraged students to have dreams, but maybe we didn’t do as good a job of showing them how to set goals to work toward those dreams. And maybe we didn’t do a good job of encouraging them to have a Plan B, C, and even D in case those dreams didn’t work out. After all, only a very small number of athletes make it to the professional leagues, and while Sally may have a beautiful singing voice, the likelihood of her becoming rich and famous is slim. Go ahead, Sally, give it your best, but discover something else you love to do that is more achievable and can fulfill you in different ways.

Dreams are dreams. Goals are practical. Working towards something is not the same as looking forward to it. The people who understand those concepts and adjust accordingly are more likely to be content. The ones who don’t may end up like Elvis and others who find little joy in life once they’ve found wealth or fame.

Life Lessons Learned from Vision Loss: Maybe They Apply to You

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

We love the Smoky Mountains, so we go at least once a year. However, I no longer enjoy the beautiful scenery as I once did. I can kind of see it but not really, but guess what? I took this photo from the balcony of our condo and with it uploaded on this site and displayed on the 47-inch television I have my computer connected to, I can appreciate the beauty that area has to offer.

I’m grateful I can at least do that.

My vision loss journey was a long one, but it accelerated in 2019 when I started noticing a fog when looking straight ahead. That fog looked like an actual cloud, and it began maybe 100 feet away from me, maybe farther. I could see everything clearly up to that point, and I could see above and below that foggy cloud, but the cloud obscured what I looked at directly.

I was devastated when that happened, but now I can tell you I’d love to be able to see that well again. Now the fog is everywhere. The only time I don’t feel like I’m looking through a fogged-up window is when I look downward. I’m then able, by using my peripheral vision, to see a slice of the world without fog.

I’m not complaining. I’m just explaining. This description ties in with life lessons I have learned. Some may even apply to you.

  1. No matter what you’re going through, be grateful for the good things in your life. That’s easier said than done, I know. If you have aches and pains and wish you could run around like you once did, be grateful if you can still walk on your own. Just like my fog story, your condition may worsen until you are unable to move on your own, so be grateful you can do so now.
  2. Don’t be afraid to learn how to do old things in a new way. We baby-boomers are sometimes resistant to learning technology, but in the world we live in, it is almost essential. No doubt we won’t ever be as comfortable with it as younger people, but I’ve been forced to learn to use Voice Over, speech to text, video descriptions for movies and television (a narrator describes the action), and how to use my laptop by having it connected to the large-screen TV. I use a screen reader to have all sorts of things read to me. If I can do those things, you fellow baby-boomers can learn to do simpler things, right?
  3. Reach out to others who are going through a similar struggle. You may not need their support, but they likely need yours. I have learned a great deal in two support groups on Facebook. I share tips I’ve learned, and theirs. Every now and then someone needs an emotional boost, so it helps with that also.
  4. Trust others. With my inability to drive , I have to rely on others. I can’t see well enough to be a “back-seat” driver, so I have no choice but to keep silent.
  5. Don’t judge someone by his or her appearance. I can’t tell how someone is dressed, how covered with tattoos they are (that is an issue with many in my generation–sorry, it’s just that way, not saying it’s right), or even what kind of car someone drives. I know we all make assessments of others in many ways, but my assessments are based on the person’s tone of voice, language, attitude, and actions. Even with those assessments, it doesn’t take away from the fact that there are many kind, helpful people in this world who don’t fit the social norms.
  6. If you’re sad, cry about it or be despondent, but don’t take it out on others. Biting someone else’s head off just because you’re feeling down and out or bitter is…unkind, selfish, and childish. Sure, we’re all going to have our times that we snap at someone or say something unkind, but don’t think you make the world a better place by making it revolve around you.
  7. Shut-ins are lonely and bored unless their health is so bad they don’t care or unless they are loners at heart. When my husband was working, I was stuck at home many days because the weather prevented me from being outside or walking to town to the library. I was still learning what I could and could not do with the vision loss. That gave me a new empathy for shut-ins. If you know someone in that situation, at least call every now and then if you can’t go by and visit. And if they’re able to get out a little bit, offer to take them somewhere, even if it’s just a drive around the countryside. They’ll let you know if they’re interested or not.
  8. Despite #7, sometimes you just have to get over it and figure things out. It may take a while, but you have to re-adjust your thinking. If you can no longer do things you once loved, find something else. It may take a while to discover it, but if you keep at it, you will find it. I can no longer read books, but I listen to audiobooks and podcasts. I can’t sketch as I once did, so I draw cartoons with a marker. (I’m still working on that one, though, using my CCTV.) I do bad watercolors that are fun to do. I play with Play-Doh. Yes, it’s not just for kids! You get the idea.
  9. Swallow your pride. The first time I accepted a ride with an 88-year-old woman who offered to drive me to a civic meeting, I was appreciative and embarrassed at the same time. There I was, 25 years younger and almost a foot taller, and she was the one giving me a ride. But I accepted because of her kindness. There are times people have to help me by warning me about curbs and things like that, and while it is humiliating to be the one needing that assistance, it’s often necessary, so I just have to accept it and go on.
  10. It’s okay to be down and out at times, but it’s not okay to stay that way. Allow yourself some self-pity moments or cry, but don’t wallow in it. Drowning in our sorrows does no one any good. There are countless people who have endured unthinkable losses, live with unbelievable disabilities, or endure constant pain who choose to make things better for others. Don’t believe me? Search YouTube for Joni and Friends. Find the quadriplegic young woman who is an occupational therapist and demonstrates how she navigates life. Search for someone going through the same difficulty you are.

Years ago, the Serenity Prayer was a big deal. I think still is. Here’s the version I use: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

And maybe add one thing: God, help me to focus on others more than myself.

These are the lessons I’ve learned. I’m sure there are more I did not verbalize, and you likely have your own lessons you could share. I’d love to hear your recommendations.

My dad’s near-death experience

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

This is a sketch I did of my dad when I was probably in my teens, meaning he was in his forties. For those that remember him, they know the sketch is not perfect but recognizable. It was from a church directory photo with my mom. I sketched her picture also and gave the framed sketches to them as part of their Christmas presents that year.

Dad was a hard-working, dedicated Christian. He wasn’t perfect (none of us is perfect), but he was a good man. He was a faithful husband, a loving father, and a daily Bible reader.

He also had strong opinions. And one of those opinions was he thought people who reported near-death experiences were making it up. Or at least just reporting a dream.

He passed away on February 12, 2012, but the dying process began weeks before that. On Christmas 2011, he fell, slipped into unconsciousness, and ended up in the hospital, where he received a blood transfusion that brought him back to consciousness.

That’s when he told me his dream or vision or whatever you want to call it. I’m going to write this as though he’s telling it, although I know the words are not exact.

“Everything was quiet,” he said. “There was a man in front of me who looked like he didn’t have any clothes on but he did have clothes on.” I questioned him about this until I figured out the man was covered in something like a wet suit, everything fitting tightly but covering all skin. “He motioned to me and turned around and we started flying through a tunnel.” He held out his arms like Superman. “I wasn’t touching anything. We got to a room where there were people sitting in chairs. Nobody was talking. The man turned to me and told me it wasn’t time yet, that I had to go back.”

When Dad was telling this story, he had to pause several times because he was so weak, but you get the idea.

Then began episodes of him seeing people in his room who weren’t there. He talked to my mom’s brother, my uncle, who had passed away earlier. He laughed at things he was seeing that no one else could see. He was disoriented and would try to get out of his bed, saying he needed to go home, even though he was at home and in his own room. He was in a hospital bed since breaking his hip over a year earlier, so maybe that’s why he thought he was in a hospital.

A few weeks later, he lost consciousness again. Back to the hospital. Another blood transfusion.

The doctor talked to us about hospice care, and we agreed. When I read the literature they gave us, I read about the tunnel experiences, which I had never heard of. Dad had many of the episodes described.

I asked Dad one day how he felt during the tunnel experience. “I wasn’t touching anything,” he said. “No,” I said. “I mean, how did you feel emotionally?” His voice was raspy when he answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “I felt peace. Everything was peaceful.”

Since Dad’s death, we’ve been at the bedsides of my mother-in-law and father-in-law as they passed peacefully. My mom was the last one to pass away, and her experience was quite different. She fought death every step of the way, and it wasn’t until she went into an unconscious state that she stopped struggling.

I know this is a morbid topic to most, and I know other experiences with their loved ones are as varied as the people themselves. But I always think of this as the anniversary of Dad’s death approaches, and I remember his words. “I felt peace.”

Peace. I take comfort in that.

Lessons Learned from a Friend

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

I wish I had a better picture of him, but for some reason I don’t. I wish I had a picture that shows the twinkle in his eyes, his contagious smile, even a picture that depicts his famous bear hugs.

This Thursday, family and friends will honor Gregg and his life, sharing their memories, funny stories, and no doubt some serious ones. I’m sure there will be many tears. There already has been.

A few things about him that make him exceptional, especially in the world in which we live. He married his high school sweetheart after he graduated from college, and they recently celebrated 44 years of marriage. There was no doubt he adored her. He had a way with words and was not afraid to use them to honor the people he loved. He was the father of three children and three grandchildren. He was a dedicated employee, working more hours than he should to help the company succeed.

He loved his adopted hometown, and he enjoyed nothing more (other than time with family) than being with his classmates and friends he made growing up here. At class reunions, I always noticed how he talked to every classmate there, whether they had been good friends or not, and how he asked questions about their lives and truly listened.

He and Barry were high school friends, and Barry was a groomsman in his wedding. He and his wife moved away, and the two in pre-email and pre-cell phone days lost touch. But when they moved back to Tennessee just a little over a couple of hours away, they reconnected, and so began years of activities. Weekend trips to the Smokies, week-long trips to the beach, multiple get-togethers with our unit of four couples at different houses. Card games, trivia nights, putt-putt competitions, even an escape room adventure–we enjoyed our time together.

A former DJ at a radio station, he loved music, and I can only imagine how long his playlist is. He loved sports and was a loyal Cardinals baseball fan, unlike Barry who has been a Pirates fan since his Little League days. But they never argued about their difference in loyalty.

He was the type of guy who, if he hadn’t seen you in a while, would give you a big hug and hug you again when he left, as did his wife. He (and she) were always the first to tell us “Love you guys.” He told his friends how much he appreciated them, even in text messages.

Like any of us, Gregg was not a perfect person, and he wouldn’t want us to think he was. He could get worked up about politics at times, and maybe some other things, but normally he was an even-keeled, kind man who was always ready to laugh, to share a good memory, to praise others for the good things happening in their lives.

So what are the lessons learned from our decades-long friendship? We don’t all have his outgoing personality or ability to be open in our affection for others. But we can all smile, laugh, be kind, be good listeners, and value our friends and family. We can all be the kind of people that when it’s our time to leave this earth, people will miss us, say kind things about us (and mean it), and maybe say they learned a few things from us.

His passing was sudden, so it is taking us a while to accept. It is surreal. But how comforting it is to know the last thing he said to us the Thursday before he passed away was that he loved us, and we told him the same. He meant it, I know.

And so did we.

Retirement: the good…and bad

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

Ah, retirement. It’s what we dream about when we’re burned out with our jobs or feeling stuck or exhausted from the hectic pace of life. We envision how wonderful life will be when we are not controlled by the clock or obligations. The freedom to travel, to sleep late, to do what we want to do when we want to do it. What could be better?

That was how I felt when the above picture was taken at The Outer Banks of North Carolina in 2018. I had retired a week earlier, but the reality of my new situation had not yet sunk in. As a teacher, I was used to summers off, so I knew I wouldn’t realize I was retired until school started back in August.

It was a wonderful feeling to be sitting out by our pool on the first day of school. I thought of my teacher friends and how that first day was affecting them. I remembered my own experiences and was glad those days were over for me. I had signed up to be a substitute at the school where I taught, a perfect set-up for me. I could sub if and when I wanted. I had the freedom to choose.

But the newness of retirement wore off. True, I had freedom, but almost all my friends were still working, so I had no one to do things with. My husband was still working, and he was too tired at night to go anywhere, so life became a routine of…boredom. My vision loss soon declined to the point I could no longer sub, which made it worse, but even if I’d had the vision to keep substituting, I think I would have felt the same.

I know plenty of people who love retirement, and maybe I would also if I could drive and go and do things on my own. Yet I know my personality. I’m high energy, very sociable, and goal-driven.

Six years have passed, and my feelings about retirement haven’t changed. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t miss the 5:30 A.M. alarm, the rushing to get ready, the days so full I’m exhausted at night. I enjoy taking my time to drink coffee, listen to a podcast, listen to a devotional, and get my inner self strengthened before beginning my day. I’m in two book clubs, three civic clubs, and the president of our local retired teachers association. I volunteer for activities at our church.

But there are still many hours to fill each week. TV, especially daytime TV, gets boring. Audiobooks are great–for a while. My hobbies–sketching, acrylic painting, doing crosswords with the use of a assistive technology, playing solitaire with cards for the visually impaired, cooking–sound like a lot, but even those things can get to be more of a chore than a pleasure because I can do them whenever I’d like.

When you retire, you lose something. You no longer have the weekends to look forward to, so every day blends into the next. You miss out on what’s going on in your community because you are not around people on a regular basis. If the weather is bad and you’re stuck at home…well, it gets boring.

My advice to anyone contemplating retirement is to know your personality. If you’re ambitious, goal-driven, and all those qualities I’ve described about myself, you might want to ease into it. See if your employer will allow you to work part-time (ideal for me, if I could) or retire from this job and find a fun part-time job. I used to dream of moving away from our town and living in a city so I could work somewhere fun. Something simple like being a docent in a museum or selling tickets at a place like Graceland or the Country Music Hall of Fame or relocating to the Smoky Mountains and working in one of the many tourist attractions there.

But family relationships and other circumstances prevent those “fun” jobs, so that is why I’m writing again. I’d prefer to have an office to go to where other people are working to do my writing. An ideal work schedule for me would be 9:00 to 3:00 three days a week. Anyone know of a job like that for a legally blind gal? Ha ha!

Like I said, these are just my thoughts. There are plenty of people who love, love, love retirement. Maybe I would if not for my vision issues.

I often say I’m an odd duck. I don’t love chocolate, pizza, or hamburgers. I prefer salads and fruit and yogurt and vegetables. I force myself to eat fish and chicken because of the protein. I enjoy walking several miles most days of the week. Yes, that’s right, I ENJOY walking. I enjoy exercise videos and swimming and would love to roller skate if not for my age and would definitely love to ride horses again.

So if you’re an odd duck like me, you might want to rethink your retirement plants. Just food for thought!

Blind, but I’m back!!!

by Pam Harris, "blind" writer

After falling into depths of depression because of my vision loss and giving up writing in any form, I have managed to pull myself out of the canyon of self-pity and despair to connect once again with what I most love to do.

Write.

Write anything. Fiction, non-fiction, blog, essays, you name it. I love to write.

My curiosity about the world and other people prompt me to think others are as interested in those things as I am, and this blog is so random in topics, I’m not likely to attract a huge following. I considered creating a new site with a specific target audience, but I decided I would keep things the way they are. I’m going to write about what interests me, about things in my life, and about the world in which I live.

What does that mean exactly?

It means I’ll write about living life as a legally blind person. I’ll write about interesting people and places. I’ll write about observations. I’ll write about activities.

You know, random stuff. And maybe I’ll entertain, inspire, and inform along the way.

You may be wondering about how I’m writing this as a legally blind person, but I have some functional vision that allows me to use assistive technology to work on the computer. I’ve learned a great deal in the past two years, and I like to think I’m wiser. Older, for sure, but hopefully wiser as well.

If you’re reading my blog for the first time, I invite you to scroll through my previous posts to see if there are any topics of interest to you. I invite you to comment and share your own thoughts and ideas. Most of all, I invite you to be a part of my life as I know it.

I’ll have an announcement soon about a writing project, but until my next blog post, thank you for stopping by!