[stylist] CNF/blindness prompt (Aine)
Aine Kelly-Costello
ainekc at gmail.com
Tue Feb 12 08:02:08 UTC 2013
Hi Jackie,
Sorry for my lack of response, I've been rather
busy lately trying to finish up with everything in Spain, pack
and sort out things for University (I move into the hall of
residence in two weeks) all at once.
That's a shame that what was supposed to improve your vision made
you unable to read from a CCTV.
No, I've never seen colours. I wouldn't mind being able to check
them out, though, to be honest. I had quite a lot of trouble
remembering all the colours of the various elements, compounds,
ion tests etc we had to know for year 11 (third-to-last year of
school) Chemistry.
That's great that your son is still able to swim several times a
week. I've retired now, and won't be able to swim at all really
this year as there's no easily-accessible pool from where I'll be
living at university.
Mmm yes thankfully New Zealand doesn't get as hot as Australia.
I've been told this has been a particularly hot summer in NZ
though (for us anything above 30dgC, which must be high 80s in
fahrenheit, is hot). New Zealand's very humid.
I'm writing to you at the moment from the plane. I have a lot of
time to kill!
By the way, I really liked the stuff you shared on Gwendolyn
Brooks (can't remember if I'm spelling her name correctly now),
and the poem you wrote in imitation of her style.
Best wishes,
Aine
----- Original Message -----
From: "Jacqueline Williams" <jackieleepoet at cox.net
To: "'Writer's Division Mailing List'" <stylist at nfbnet.org
Date sent: Wed, 6 Feb 2013 11:19:28 -0700
Subject: Re: [stylist] CNF/blindness prompt (Aine)
Ain,
So nice to get your reply. I will make this brief from necessity.
I don't recommend bungee jumping since finding that the retina
can detach
it there is too much of a snap at the bottom of the jump. In
fact, the
gentleman who did it said that he would never repeat it.
My visual condition is a mix of dry and wet macular degeneration,
and
surgery and poor results from cataract surgery. I have a little
peripheral
vision in my left eye. In the right, little flecks of vision that
when I
scan, I can pick up information. I could use a CCTV after that
surgery,
until they replaced a cataract in an effort to maximize my
vision.
Thereafter, the left and right had totally different planes
making me unable
to decipher letters. They gave me a pair of glasses which failed
to do
anything.
I took Braille for about three years, but because of peripheral
neuropathy,
it was jumbo Braille, and then still taking 12 minutes for a page
that had
to written by my instructor, and increasing numbness, I gave it
up. I am
still a great supporter of Braille education.
I am so glad you have at least a little light perception. I count
my
blessings every day that I do have that. Have you ever seen
colors?
My son who is fifty-three now still swims at least every other
day, and has
taught swimming to many children including his son. He recently
had a
melanoma removed, and has to be vigilant now. I know Australia
has a sun
like Arizona!
I do use JAWS and will soon learn to use an upgraded system for
everything.
So I am winding down on e-mails for a time, but probably will not
be able to
resist reading selected ones. I hope the learning curve does not
take too
long.
My greatest good wishes for both your music aspirations, and a
full life.
Jackie
-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of
Aine
Kelly-Costello
Sent: Monday, February 04, 2013 4:43 PM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: Re: [stylist] CNF/blindness prompt (Aine)
Hi Jackie,
Thank you very much for your kind words. I'm particularly glad to
hear you were able to comprehend the piece about being a blind
musician without actually being a musician. :)
Wow yeah, I can imagine what your son was going through, all
right ... It's tough.
Yes, I'm completely blind (well, with a little light perception).
I do have a laptop with JAWS on it that I use for some things,
primarily web-surfing, but I mostly use a BrailleNote. How about
you, do you have any vision?
Hmmm yeah there are some reasonably good services for blind/VI
students in New Zealand. All with there good points and bad
points of course but overall I'd say I've been very lucky.
Gosh that is brave of your friend ... Jumping off formidable
heights is one thing I must admit to being rather afraid of but I
might just have to give it ago some day!
Best wishes,
Aine
----- Original Message -----
From: "Jacqueline Williams" <jackieleepoet at cox.net
To: "'Writer's Division Mailing List'" <stylist at nfbnet.org
Date sent: Mon, 4 Feb 2013 16:04:28 -0700
Subject: Re: [stylist] CNF/blindness prompt (Aine)
Aine,
I have just read both your CNF piece, and your blog. It is hard
for me to
comprehend your age when compared to the wonderful quality of
your writing,
and how it so clearly projects the strategies of a blind person
in a
specific field.
I am at the far end of life's arc, have no music education in my
background,
yet this completely absorbed my attention. I learned so much
about
preparation for playing, and how it all goes together.
Your blog reflects a great maturity in how you made your decision
for either
swimming or a music career. My oldest son won first place in the
breast-stroke in Mesa, AZ in high school. He was almost as strong
in
free-style. He was under extreme pressure to train with the
Olympics as a
goal. He told my husband and I that he did not have the heart to
be at
practice at four a.m. every day and then again afterschool.
He opted
for track activities instead.
Do you use JAWS? New Zealand was on my bucket list for years. I
did not make
it, but have read much about it, and got a friend of mine
together with
another friend from there together for a week. He loved it He
took a dive
off of a bridge, famous for its bungee jumping. He was
seventy-two at the
time.
If you are completely blind, it must speak to excellent education
for the
blind in New Zealand, with a large dollop of natural
intelligence and
aptitudes thrown in!
Jackie
-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of
Aine
Kelly-Costello
Sent: Saturday, February 02, 2013 9:23 AM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] CNF/blindness prompt (Aine)
Hi everyone,
Sorry for my absence of late from the list. I only now bothered
to take the 5 minutes required to change my subscription address
so that I can send e-mails to it (my other one decided that while
I am overseas, I can receive e-mails but not send). I've
thoroughly enjoyed reading all of the CNF blindness prompts and
can of course relate to many of the experiences. It's nice being
able to share them with each other. I've attempted a prompt of
my own (below and attached). Feedback is most welcome :)
Also, if I ever wanted to try and get it published, does anyone
have any suggestions of places I could submit it to, or any
things that would definitely need improving on before it goes
anywhere?
Thank you :)
Aine
A DAY IN THE LIFE
The end of one more jam-packed day of music-making was
approaching. It had started off rather well, as I munched on the
daily two pieces of toast with peanut butter and honey (my
favourite), and partook in the daily morning chitchat. This
naturally progressed to that tooth-brushing, hair-brushing and
generally tidying up stage normally encountered before the day's
first commitment. All was coming along just as it should until I
realized I was the only person left in our accommodation
building. I should also mention here that I'm totally blind.
Now, the isolation wouldn't be a problem if I had spent a large
amount of time at this complex. However, I was in fact attending
a short summer course based at one of the largest private schools
in the city. This, quite frankly, is somewhere you do not want
to get lost, not least because practically all of the buildings
minus the one you want to enter will be locked for the holiday
period. And there are A LOT of these buildings.
Anyway, delaying was not going to be the solution. Nor, I
doubted, was rushing. I grabbed my cane and casually wandered in
the direction of the exit. I passed through the lounge, which,
at any non-rehearsal time would have contained an almost
suffocating mass of musicians magically transformed into sports
fans, gamers and people like me wishing they could relax. But
right now, only silence. Either someone was sitting in a corner
eyeballing their smartphone and ignoring me, or the room was
empty. I decided on the latter after a 30 second circuit, and
passed into the entrance way. More silence. That sort of eerie,
echoey air of solitude which has you know in know uncertain terms
you are the only sole alive in the vicinity.
There arose a further difficulty here, though. I had always
left the building with the throng up until now, and typically
hadn't paid the slightest scrap of attention as to where exactly
I was going. So once in this glaringly bright glass dome of an
entranceway, it was necessary to uncover the mystery as to which
of these identical-looking pieces of glass was in fact a closed
door. If you are me, and happen to possess the locating skills
of a chick who hasn't quite learned that crashing into
transparent solid objects hurts, this is an extremely
time-consuming job. If there was a security camera right there
and someone was watching it, I'm sure they would let you know my
sanity was highly questionable. On my fifth circuit of the
entrance way, I thankfully managed to locate a functioning door,
and stepped out into the humidity. Just as I was making up my
mind as to which direction I would tackle first, I heard the most
beautiful sound in the world. Plod, plod, plod ...
"Excuse me!" I cried. My saviour was still too far away to
hear my plea. "Excuse me!" I cleared my throat and tried again.
This time, I got a response. Not only a response, but a willing
guide to the rehearsal. Tardy students sure have their uses.
An orchestral rehearsal is not somewhere where turning up late
is taken lightly, though. Especially not when you have to
traverse the maze of not only music stands and instruments, but
also chairs with humans on them-humans with appendices sticking
out in all directions supporting their fifteen thousand-dollar
babies. When I finally took my seat beside my co-principal
flautist, I almost relaxed. Maybe we hadn't rehearsed this piece
before, and maybe I wasn't quite sure of all my cues (it was a
world premiere-so recordings were non-existent), but at least
there were two of us on my part. If the sound energy emanating
from my flute and the score sitting on my lap had a disagreement,
it probably wouldn't be too obvious.
Said security evaporated as quickly as it had arrived, however,
when my partner suddenly, mysteriously was felt ill, promptly
vacated his chair and melted into the back recesses of the
cathedral. The orchestra never stopped. We had just gone back
to the beginning, and I had been blending in rather nicely with
my fellow wind players. However, this particular piece had a
very relaxed beat. So relaxed, in fact, that counting bars of
rest turned from a mathematical chore into a guessing game. I
had barely played two notes of a flute solo succeeding a 14 bar
rest when I realized the orchestra was being stopped. "Flute,
one bar too early." (Why did it have to be me? Everyone had
already stared at me when I walked in late). "Sorry, sir," I
mumbled, while my face dutifully aimed to break a redness record.
"Oh, don't worry, I see we have no first flute." Huh? It took me
a second to realize he must have thought I was a second player,
sight-reading the unwell first boy's music, never mind that my
eyes didn't work. I was rather relieved at his forgetfulness but
still felt slightly ashamed.
I was pleased when lunch time eventually arrived. The world is
a much less stressful place when you are sitting around a table
with friends - and food, of course. The respite was not allowed
to last long, however. A ream of chamber music for this
evening's rehearsal was awaiting memorization, and if I didn't do
it now, then it would be sort of like a class trying to tell the
story of cinderella without mentioning the ugly sisters. I can
think of easier tasks.
After a dutiful stab at the memorization, it was time for a
workshop on Music pedagogy. This, apart from the stuffiness
which tends to send one to sleep (and actually caused one poor
girl to almost faint), passed without any great event.
Sometimes, normalcy is the best. I did however manage to note,
despite my semi-asleep state, that the suggestion the string
teacher offered for teaching bow-holding involved something about
positioning the hand in such a way that the fingers represent
parts of an elephant - his trunk and ears, if I recall correctly.
Just one slight problem with that, miss. I wonder whether you'd
take the time to invent a new strategy if you were teaching
someone without sight. Because your average four-year-old
blindy, probably has zilch conceptual understanding of the layout
of this monster's facial structure. It's not like your going to
find one loose in the zoo and idly wander up to it to give it a
hands on facial exam, is it.
Our mid-afternoon snack was more short-lived than expected,
interrupted by an announcement that we were not, in fact, really
supposed to have had a break at all and should currently be in
the court-yard, listening to some philharmonia players tell us
their life stories. Okay, it wasn't that bad. I actually found
it quite interesting, as, just like all the other students there,
I longed to experience the thrill of belonging to an orchestra
like that one day. But the downside was that 15 minutes into the
hour, I had a strong urge to go to the bathroom. There was no
getting out of there, though. You would have had to be
incredibly crafty to pull it off if you happened to be sitting at
the back and sighted. So what were my chances, in the middle of
the crossed-legged mass on the floor, and blind.
The hour of bladderly torture ended eventually, to be replaced
with the aforementioned evening chamber rehearsal. I genuinely
enjoyed the first 20 minutes. We were going over a movement we'd
started work on yesterday, a quirky, not altogether predictable
tune that none the less had a sort of charm to it. Then we came
to one of the movement's I'd learnt two hours ago. If you are
one of the few who are blind and also have the misfortune of
being required to memorize large quantities of music on a regular
basis, you will know that rehearsing something newly memorized
before you have the chance to sleep on it is extremely dangerous.
But if you are sighted, and a highly-esteemed professional
clarinetist, the fact that the late handing out of the chamber
music might cause the blindy problems may well have never
occurred to you. Such was the case now. Those momentary pauses
where I had to stop to recall my part were consistently enough to
mess up our trio, and send us back to the beginning of the
section. And our coach, nice as he was, was in no mood to
appreciate that my lack of rhythmic correctness had nothing to do
with a lack of effort. It in fact had everything to do with
being overworked, and, quite frankly, rather fed up.
I really put my foot in it when we went on to what what had to
be the simplest movement of all. My part went "da-da-daaaaah,
dee-dee-deeeee" 11 times. Then 3 bars of dah, dah, dah, dah, dah
, dah ... Before ending once more with it's repetitive refrain.
Now, for the choice of a piece of music needing to be memorized
and rehearsed there and then, that had to be a dream come true.
But to my dismay, I soon discovered I seemed to have newly
acquired a mental condition in which my brain couldn't quite
manage to distinguish between the numbers 8 and 9. Of course the
harder it tried, the more it switched off. Obviously counting to
eleven, was out of the question. I'm normally a top math
student, and I could count well past eleven at the age of two, so
I knew explaining my current ineptitude to my coach and fellow
players was a lost cause. By this point, I was also faint from
the lack of food. All I wanted to do was curl up in a nice
me-shaped hole, and hibernate.
Over dinner, my mood improved fractionally (the knowledge that
you no longer feel like keeling over tends to have a positive
effect on general well-being), but I still couldn't wait to be
alone in my room. No such luck yet, however. One practice
remained, and that was Sight-Reading. It's all in the name,
really. But whoever said blind people can't sight-read and play
an instrument with two hands at the same time!
This was our third sight-reading practice on the course, and by
now, I had my technique down pat. First, what you did was you
insisted they tell you the names of the ten odd pieces
beforehand. You went on to youtube and listened to them all on
several consecutive days. By this time, according to my tried
and tested theory, some of there notes would have subconsciously
seeped into your brain sells.
This day, we unfortunately ended up beginning with something
you weren't going to find on youtube, seeing as the composer in
question was also the conductor and had only put the final
touches on the score that morning. Well, that was when stage two
of my theory went into practice:
* Ask adjacent player for the starting number of bars rest and
first note, before beginning
* Pay attention to when they put their flute up (usually given
away by a sticky key or shirt-sleeve rustle) and copy
* Use perfect pitch to finger along as they play, 0.1 seconds
behind them
* Be brave enough to play in repetitive parts, but always with
great caution.
(A dodgy plan perhaps, but to this day, it has never failed).
Near the end of the practice, during Beethoven's Pastoral
Symphony, I was happy to have the chance to put into practice
both stages of my secret method. I found it a nice catchy tune,
and I'd done the youtubing homework. We were going along very
nicely. I was even able to play several forte bits at volume,
and enjoy listening to the orchestra delight in the myriad of
tone colours the music evoked. The melody was being passed from
the violin, to the oboe, to the clarinet, to the cello, and I was
pretty sure our turn came next. Up went my flute. But at the
moment of truth, my fellow first flautist did nothing. Okay, I
don't know if he did nothing, exactly, but what he definitely did
not do was play. I turned to him with a question-mark on my
face, hoping he'd get the message. He did, in fact, but not in
time. Never mind, there would be plenty more opportunities to
play that soaring line in such a famous piece.
I was actually enjoying myself so much that when the time came
to pack up, I was sorry. The adrenaline must have kicked in by
then. I laughed and deplored over the oh-so-strenuous life of a
high-school musician with my friends. It didn't matter any more
that I turned up to the morning rehearsal late or had to take
time from lunch to memorize or that I almost cried at the chamber
rehearsal.
"You know that entry in the Pastoral," my co-principal flute
buddy was laughing with his best friend. "She knew where it was
and I missed it!"
In the momentary gap between dreamland and my head hitting the
pillow, there was just enough time to reflect that maybe being a
blind kid in a sighted world of musos wasn't so bad after all.
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