[stylist] CK prompt response

Mon Aug 3 17:57:39 UTC 2015

Chris,

Simplicity also comes through in your writing. As I read through this, I
have a sense of fresh, calm, clean corners. Whether intentional or not, you
have employed simplicity in every aspect of life. It quite literally feels
like you wrote this at the beach, smile.

I enjoy how you take us back a bit, describing your journey. Brief instances
give us a lot of info.

I also enjoy your description of what many blind people may view as
"treasure." A way to inform without sounding PSA about it.

This resonates with me because Declan is at the age when he colors on
everything and uses every item in the house for some purpose. Ross and I
also understood years ago that our possessions shouldn't be more important
than what we do on and with them. My living room right now is more a giant
play space with the furniture assembled in an optimum fort-building
positions, a large activity table taking half the space and other hard
surfaces acting as table top play areas, and of course, all the crayon
markings on the wall, LOL! It goes against my nature to not have an orderly,
tidy, put-together living room, but when I leave it for the kids, I
definitely feel a lot less stress.

Thanks for sharing.

Bridgit

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of Chris Kuell
via stylist
Sent: Monday, August 03, 2015 10:59 AM
To: 'Writers' Division Mailing List' <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Cc: Chris Kuell <ckuell at comcast.net>
Subject: [stylist] CK prompt response

Here's a short response to Jackie's prompt.

A few months ago wwe discussed 'Enrique's Journey' at book club. This was
the true story of a boy from Honduras who came into the United States
illegally in search of his mother, and what a horrible ordeal it was to get
here. As part of our discussion, we talked about what we would take from
home if we could only bring a few select things. Most people said they'd
want pictures of their family. Since I'm blind, pictures no longer hold any
value to me. My images of family reside in my mind, where they can never be
lost. One woman said her grandfather's clock. Another said a ruby necklace
that belonged to her mother. Another said he'd want his collection of gems
and stones-at least some of them-as they brought him peace and tranquility
and kept him grounded.

As each offered up their personal treasures, I did a mental inventory. While
I do have some keepsakes from my grandparents-my maternal grandfather's
Bullova watch, and my paternal grandfather's eagle handled cane, his Ted
Williams autographed Red Sox hat, and the mug he drank coffee out of 12
hours a day for over 30 years-none of these things make my life better in
any way. After all, they aren't my grandparents--just material reminders of
them. And while they are somewhat valuable, I am not in any way a wealth
centric person. My wife and I live a simple life, and give away much of our
income, because we are blessed and need is endless in this world.

Years ago I read a short book called  'Simple Living' which really resonated
with me. At the time both my wife and I were working, we had a two-year-old
in daycare who was very demanding, we were trying to save up for a house, I
was dealing with health issues, and I felt like I was drowning in stress.
The author, who's name I forget now, promoted first and foremost, getting
rid of your stuff. Stuff, as it turns out, is directly related to stress
levels. For example, if you have a big house full of expensive furniture,
you have to work hard to keep it all clean and prevent the kids from using
your coffee table as a kettle drum or the family cat from using your leather
recliner as a scratching post. There's nothing wrong with a big house full
of expensive furniture, of course. But if you reduce your stuff, and change
your attitude about the stuff you do have (joining in with junior when he's
playing a drum solo on your coffee table, for instance) your stress will
diminish, and your happiness will grow.

The onset of blindness helped me achieve my reduced stuff goals. Many things
that used to give me visual pleasure no longer did. My hobbies changed, and
I realized the less furniture we had, the easier it was for me to navigate.
The less trinkets we have on our shelves, the less crap there is for me to
accidentally knock over and feel bad about.

I do live with sighted people, so my ideal of having nothing on the walls
and no nick-nacks around will never be fully realized. But my wife and kids
have somewhat embraced the idea of simple living, although my kids are
pretty sentimental about some of their things. For instance, when we finally
broke down and got a DVD player about ten years ago, I threw out all the old
VHS tapes. I mistakenly figured they'd outgrown Disney and Space Jam and
Charlette's Web. When my kids learned of the purging, there was much wailing
and gnashing of teeth. "You threw out our childhood!" they cried like little
babies. I gave them the simple living lecture, but I'm pretty sure they
still made voodoo dolls of my likeness and stuck them with pins. 

The things I cherish in this world are people. And more specifically, my
relationships with people. Sure, I love my technology, in that it makes life
easier and more enjoyable for me. But the battery in this laptop or the one
in my Victor Stream will die in a matter of hours, while the memory of the
dinner, and the belly-cramping laughter  at my brother-in-laws house last
Friday will last for years to come.    

When it was my turn to share what I'd bring if I had to flee, I gave the
honest answer of my wedding ring and a nice bottle of wine. Although I don't
need my wedding ring to remind me of the woman I've shared my life with for
the past 25 years,and it certainly isn't worth much (we paid $28 for it at
Service Merchandise), it does feel like a part of me, and it's only been off
my finger for a few hours since she first slid it on.

As for a good bottle of red-there's no sentimentality there, just something
pleasant to enjoy in the moment. While I'm a man of moderation most of the
time, great food and fine drink are one of life's greatest pleasures.
Assuming I ever get   to where I'm headed, I'll have something to celebrate
with. 

I'm writing this, and my responses to the previous prompts, on the porch of
a beach house in Southern Maine. The sun is hot, the ocean breeze is
delightful, as are the squawks of the seagulls and the children playing in
the sand. This moment is my personal treasure.

And now I need to send this off before my battery dies and the record of my
musings is lost forever in the ether.

Peace,

Chris

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