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February 3, I998 Dear Helen Keller:
I'm writing to you because I'm having a bad day. I could spare you the details. But the whole point of writing to a dead person is that you don't have to worry about boring your reader. And if this is to have the therapeutic effect I'm hoping for, I need to get it all out, exorcise everything. So indulge me. I'll make it worth your while.
It all began with snow. Slush to be exact, a heavy wet snow about ankle deep by the time I left for work. I have nothing against snow, in the abstract. All things being equal, I'm happy to live in a climate that has the occasional snowfall. Snow in the abstract is pretty. It makes the world fresh and silent. But snow in reality makes it harder to get around. Especially when you're blind. As far as I know, you didn't use a white cane. But I do, and let me tell you, a white cane in snow is something of an adventure. You can't feel the texture of the surface underfoot. You lose landmarks. You can begin to feel disoriented. On top of this, I discover my waterproof boots are not what you'd call water-tight. Every third step I feel water seeping through seams. When I get to the bus stop, my feet are soaked. Then the bus is extra crowded, because of the snow. Which is probably why the driver forgets to announce my stop. Once she remembers me, I have to backtrack four blocks to start my regular route to my office. So by the time I get here, I'm damp and nervy. But weather is weather. And it's not the first time a bus driver has forgotten to announce my stop.
Then I find a message on the machine from the student I was supposed to be meeting. He can't make it. His car won't start. Needless to say the thought of taking the bus never occurs to him. This is car culture. The only people who take the bus are people who can't afford a car or can't drive. Suggest the bus to anyone else, and they get insulted.
But I'm here-early, damp and nervy-but I'm here....