A genuine spork
I’m a real, true, genuine spork. “Huh?,” you say. A spork — one thing that does two jobs, i.e., a spoon and a fork merged as one utensile. [Here's a titanium one from ThinkGeek.] I recently read this in a post:
If someone professes to be a designer and also offers to edit the book, question whether this person is a competent book designer (not all design is the same) or editor. Many of these sporked designer/editors will produce a finished-looking, laid-out product that in all ways resembles a book, but have not edited the book as an editor would (i.e., thoroughly considered the organization of the content, checked for consistency across chapters, ensured clarity and a targeted message to an audience, etc.) or designed the book as a book designer would (i.e., made the interior and exterior design appropriate for the genre, used technologies that will be eye catching from a bookstore shelf, etc.).
Avoid the Spork, http://www.editormuse.com/blog/avoid-spork
Maybe it’s because the deaf community is small, and money is scarce in the non-profit world, so one person has to do more. Or maybe it’s because I have a tiny touch of ADD in my DNA and get bored easily. Or maybe I’m just a “modern-day Renaissance woman” or a Jane-of-all-Trades. Whatever the reason, I am a genuine spork.
It is true that I’m not the best writer in the world, or even in the deaf world. Nor am I the best designer. But I’m good. And I’m good at both. I’m probably better at editing and writing than I am at art and design, simply because it comes more easily to me. Being contrarian, I prefer doing art and design. Such is life!
Book, magazine and newsletter production– writing, editing, design and layout– is the ideal profession for me, and I’m glad I lucked into it.
What about you? Are you a genuine spork?
Mother of Lesbos
Mother of Lesbos by Betty G. Miller
29″w x 23″h • 2001 • acrylics/collage • $3,000
Framed original painting on canvas by Betty G. Miller, signed “Bettigee” twice, in ‘00 and ‘01 so it must have been reworked between those two dates. It was shown in the Sept-Nov 2008 NTID Dyer Show.
This painting shows two women with semi-transparent nude in the background, other women’s shapes, and collaged happy faces of women at bottom. Also, an image of woman’s eyes looking out from behind wooden barrier, which is from a postcard advertising a show by a Greek woman artist. Additionally, it has buttons– clothing buttons– that show a pink triangle, and small stickers of hearts.
“Mother of Lesbos” came out of Betty’s personal experience, and the painted image of the two women were suggested by a photo of Betty and her mother, Gladys, taken at Spectrum in 1977 or 1978. It’s a very rich and complex painting, one of the few that show her experience as a lesbian rather than as a deaf person. There is a lot of tension in this painting, shown by the contrast of the central two women’s expressions with bright and happy colors. While Betty’s parents knew she was lesbian, it was something that they didn’t– couldn’t– talk about. The bottom, a small part of the entire canvas, shows two women happy together. So while this tension and regret hovers over them, love finds its way.
This is one of my favorite paintings by Betty, and I hope that when it sells, it goes to a good home, one where the straight and gay members of the family love and cherish each other. This painting serves as a reminder of the pioneering spirit of gay men and women who found a way to step out of the closet and into light and love.
The ASL Flag
"The ASL Flag" by Betty G. Miller
23″w x 28″h each (two pieces) • 1999 • acrylics/mixed media • $4,250
Framed (painted balsa wood) • original painting on canvas, by Betty G. Miller, signed “Bettigee.” 1991.
This is a diptych, with two separate canvases creating one image.
Betty has done a series of paintings featuring the American flag through the years. The first one was the “Ameslan Flag” (1974) that is owned by the National Association of the Deaf. The basic, recurring theme of the flag paintings is that even though we live in America, the land of the free, we still suffer from oppression born of fear and lack of understanding.
This particular painting came after a discussion that Betty and I had about artwork by an old friend of mine. He deliberately did “pretty pictures,” or so they seemed. When you looked more closely, you could see other, more real, emotions under the surface. In his paintings for example, he would do a portrait of someone and from across the room you are drawn to look more closely at the painting because it’s attractive. Once there, you’d see that the sitter was in a bad mood, or thinking angry thoughts.
In this paining, Betty used light, pastel colors for the American flag with hands and eyes, the two features most important to deaf people, replacing the stars on the flag. She then rewrote the words to our national anthem, the “Star-Spangled Banner,” to show both the beauty of ASL, and the oppression deaf people still face:
“Oh can’t you seeee…. by dawn’s early light
what proudly…. we Deaf wave at visual beauty
we see in sign language burst in air…
no matter people hearing stare…show proof that…
Deaf and ASL still here… oh why Deaf people opressed?
over the land of the free…. and the home of the brave…??”
At home, we normally hung the two canvases on slightly different levels to enhance the feeling of a waving flag. This painting was on loan for several years to the National Association of the Deaf Law Center, and was exhibited in Betty’s Sept-Nov 2008 NTID Dyer Show. As a side note, it may not be clear in the low resolution photo online, but the hands in the flag are actually stickers of mime hands, and the eyes are also stickers, but the kind that are a clear blister with a “pupil” inside that rolls around.
This painting is available on T-shirts and other products in our Cafepress store. Or see all our products at Purple Swirl Arts Mini-Mall: http://purple-swirl.com/shop.
Nobody thinks to tell you…
Betty’s Cataract Surgery, Part 3
Betty sporting an eye patch after surgery
Betty and I are still getting used to her new eyes. Her second surgery was last week and Betty has new habits to develop. First, she’s learning to stop looking for her glasses in the morning. It’s such a deeply ingrained habit to put them on as soon as she gets up. Second, we chose single lens, distance vision for her implanted lens, so her eyes are now the opposite of what she’s used to. This means she can watch captioned TV and do most things in her life without glasses, but now she needs to remember to carry her reading glasses around.
One of the things I learned is that friends who had the surgery some time ago got clear lenses, and have to wear the same glasses after their operation. Now, the lens is made to your prescription, like a contact lens, and there are a number of options available. Betty may need prescription reading glasses after her eyes are fully healed, in part to correct for her astigmatism. But they will be a lot cheaper than the tri-focal, no line progressive lenses she has now. I mean, had before.
Eye surgery is a field that seems to be changing rapidly, which gives me some hope. Because I told Betty’s doctor that I didn’t want to go through this myself, so I’ve been reading up online, and to slow down the hardening of the lens, I should be taking Vitamin C, Vitamin E and Coenzyme-Q10, right? He said I have 3 choices: 1) don’t have many more birthdays, 2) let my lens cloud up and struggle to see, or 3) have cataract surgery. Right now the hardening and discoloring of the lens is a product of aging and most of us will need to have this surgery. But I’m 19 years younger than Betty, so maybe by the time I need it, all that will have changed.
I hope so, because I can’t give myself eye drops– I’m phobic. That’s one of the things nobody thinks to tell you– that there are lots and lots of eye drops involved in this process. Betty needed two different prescription eye drops for three days before the surgery, and three different drops for up to six weeks after the surgery. It’s a complicated schedule, too, with the right eye needing less drops now that it’s been three weeks, and the left eye needing more because the surgery was more recent. And some of the drops need to be taken 7 times a day! Plus she needs to use artificial tears several times a day from now on, to help prevent problems. Luckily, Betty isn’t phobic and can give herself the drops. I just don’t look.
Another thing nobody thinks to tell you, these eye drops are expensive. We spent about $110 on two prescriptions, that’s just the co-payment, after the insurance company’s payment. And it was for one eye– two weeks later we paid it again for the left eye. We had the money this time, but if this was two years ago, when the bottom fell out of the US economy, we couldn’t have paid.
Betty doesn’t look much like a pirate in the photo, does she? That’s another thing nobody mentioned. When our friend Sheila went through this about a week or so before Betty, she mentioned (on Facebook) that she had an appointment the next day to take off her eye patch. Eye patch = black = pirate, right? As you can see, that assumption was ever so wrong. The clear plastic shield was taped to Betty’s face, and she could see through it. On the drive home the first time, she kept talking about how clear everything looked.
And the last thing nobody thinks to tell you is that you’ll see the doctor and his staff pretty often. There are lots and lots of followup visits, at least three for each eye and maybe more. You need to see your general practitioner too, especially before the first surgery. I’m glad we found doctors, and their staff, that both of us like and trust. Thanks to all of you!
A stressful day with a happy ending-2
Betty’s Cataract Surgery, Part 2
The day of the surgery we had to be at the hospital at 10 am, and I’m a night owl, so between my wide awake tendencies and my anxiety, I’d only gotten about an hour’s sleep. That was the first stressor. Our friend Carolyn came with us to take care of me– the hospital took care of Betty, it was me Carolyn was focussed on. And I needed it. We got to Bryn Mawr, and I dropped off Carolyn and Betty half hour early then went to park. I had trouble finding the parking garage because the signs were confusing, got directions, and then ended up parked at the top, outside in the sun.
The three of us got to the reception desk at exactly 10 am. No interpreter. The receptionist said, “she’s coming, sit down and relax.” But after 15 minutes, Carolyn pushed me to find out more. It’s not normal to wait for a scheduled interpreter because their training emphasizes being early to all appointments. Sure enough, the receptionist called and was told there was no record of a request. So she called over the pre-admissions nurse who wrote out what I couldn’t lipread– yes, they had arranged for an interpreter, but they (the agency or the interpreter herself, I’m not sure which) misplaced the paperwork and so no one was coming. But the hospital had already called a different agency. For awhile, I thought of canceling and rescheduling the surgery but there was a lot of pre-op prep to go through and we’d have to do it all over again. So we stayed. Waiting was the next stressor.
It wasn’t until 1:15 that the new interpreter showed up. The staff at the hospital were apologetic, but it wasn’t their fault. The hospital and the doctor’s office did everything right. But stuff happens. We moved on. While waiting, Carolyn had told me about a time she was in the hospital and she woke up from surgery without an interpreter. They wouldn’t let her husband, Larry in the recovery room (this is standard, I think, but my knowledge comes from watching TV), but that meant there was no one she could tell about her pain. So I asked that Jessica stay with Betty until she was “under” and then be in the recovery room before she woke up so that Betty would be able to communicate and be less confused and scared. That’s exactly what they did– and it worked out well. By the time Betty was in the operating room, I was so tired, the nervousness about “eye surgery” had faded into the background a bit.
Everything went well in the operating and recovery rooms, and I was glad Jessica came at the last minute because there were post-op instructions we had to understand. I suspect that people, including me, can be unaware of how much communicating we do. I would have hated being so nervous about surgery and dealing with doctors and nurses entirely by writing. Yeah, I can read lips, but if I’m upset or tired, those skills go out the window.
Now it’s time to go home, and all the nervewracking things are over, right? Wrong. I found my way to the car, and it wouldn’t start. The parking garage was so dark after the brilliant sunlight that I had turned my lights on, then I parked up top in the sun and didn’t remember to turn them off. But the hospital was prepared. I first talked with the cashier and she told me to call security, so I went back to the recovery room to tell everyone what had happened and ask them to call. Not only did the nurses call, but it was so obvious that I was having a difficult day, that I was given a sticker for free parking. Little kindnesses like that really do help, and I was grateful. The jump was interesting too– the security officer didn’t need to use his car battery, he carried a portable thing-a-ma-jig and hooked it to the car. I hadn’t seen that before.
Thing is, when your car is jumped you’re supposed to drive it for at least 15 minutes, and the spot where I was picking up Betty and Carolyn was only 5 minutes away. But the recovery room’s windows are right there. So I left the car running, went up to the window and signed that I was ready and waiting but didn’t want to turn off my car. I couldn’t see in, but Betty saw me so they came out. The nurse escorting Betty pointed to the ground at my feet. I’d been carrying Betty’s eyeglasses cocked in the neck of my shirt, and forgotten about them. Seems the seatbelt had loosened a lens and it fell to the ground. Weirdest thing was, it was the correct lens, from the right eye that had just been operated on. We didn’t have to figure out what to do with Betty’s glasses, they decided for us!
A big Thank You to the people of Bryn Mawr Hospital for both their professionalism and their personal concern and efforts to make things better for us. They do this operation so often that it could be easily be dehumanizing, but I never once felt like we were going through a production line. And we get to do it all over again in a few days, on Betty’s left eye. This time we all know the system, and I won’t be so nervous.
A stressful day with a happy ending
Betty’s Cataract Surgery, Part 1
Betty had her first cataract surgery, on her right eye, earlier this week. It was one of the most nerve-wracking days of my life, but the surgery was a success and she can see again!
I’m phobic about my eyes. I can’t give myself eye drops or sit still for glaucoma tests. When I was 14, back in the mid-60s, my mother convinced me to get contact lenses because she couldn’t stand the way my eyeglasses made my myopic eyes look smaller. I spent three miserable years trying to put them in my eyes. It would take me hours, sometimes as long as three hours, to get them in with a lot of crying and distress. But they came out so easily! They were hard lenses and all I had to do was stretch my eye out and blink. Soft lenses became available a few years later and my mother wanted me to try again. I thought about it, until I saw someone take theirs out. They had to put their fingers in their eye and pull it out! That settled it for me, and I’ve been using glasses ever since.
Betty has needed cataract operations for several years. At first doctors in DC said her eyes weren’t ready, her natural lenses weren’t hard enough to remove safely. Then in Philly, the first eye doctor and I didn’t get along, because of my request for interpreters, and I didn’t like how his staff measured Betty’s eye. His technician had to run something over her eyeball and it took a long time. She answered the phone, talked with someone who came in the room, and changed hands on the equipment, all while running this thing over Betty’s eye while I was squirming in my chair trying not to look. (Three years later, the new doctor’s technician didn’t use the same technique, but we had an interpreter then so I could leave the room.) Betty’s new eye doctor is great! And he explained that the surgical techniques have improved so much in the past five years since we left DC, that cataracts can be removed earlier, without the need to become hard, almost blinding the patient.
I had asked the doctor’s office to contact the hospital and ask for an interpreter for the surgery. I told them the hospital already has procedures in place for interpreters, but I didn’t know what office to call, and asked that they make the request. When I followed up a week and a half before the surgery, they said they had a question. The doctor suggested that instead of using a local anesthesia, Betty be put under general anesthesia, and then she wouldn’t need an interpreter. Interesting idea, but no. She needs an interpreter before the surgery and after the surgery to know what’s going on and to understand instructions. I need the interpreter too. Even if Betty was hearing, I’d need an interpreter– suppose something happened during the surgery and they needed to communicate with me? And I needed to understand the post-op instructions because I’d be taking care of Betty.
They understood that and called the hospital. In the spirit of educating the doctor’s office, I put together a packet of information, including some fact sheets from the NAD, and dropped them off. All was taken care of. Or so I thought….
What we do for love
Tippy, an old photo cuz she's a camera-shy cat.
The other day, Betty went into the art studio to paint, and saw Tippy lying there in the afternoon sun that was coming through the windows. The calico lifted her head, and looked at Betty through slitted eyes, looking to see if she had to move. Once Betty saw that, she carefully walked away, backing out of the studio, and came to see me in my office next door. I laughed at B’s story, and I understood. It was love the said, “I can always paint another time.”
Recycling woes — just in time for Earth Day
I’m pissed. last week my recycling wasn’t picked up, though my trash was. Today my recycling box is gone, so I don’t know if the regular trash people took all my recycling including the box, or the recycling company took them or what. But this is the second time and I’m pissed. I’m getting ahead of myself, though. Let me start from the beginning.
Betty and I moved to Philly from Washington, DC several years ago. We were in the habit of recycling in DC. In fact, I’ve recycled everywhere I’ve lived most of my adult life– I went to the very first Earth Day in Philadelphia in 1970 when I was in high school. When we moved into our new home I immediately checked the web for recycling information. At that time it said that the “official” (i.e., ugly blue) recycling bins were not necessary and I could simply write “recycling” on the side of any plastic bin under a certain size and it would be picked up. So that’s what I did. I wrote “recycling” on a green plastic bin.
Trash day came and went, and the recyclables stayed on the curb. The next week, I put them out again, and again they stayed on the curb. Week after week I put them out. Finally, I think the regular trash collectors took pity on me because one day they were gone, bin and all!
I double checked the website, and I double checked the map to make sure our block was on the collection route. And I looked around. None of my neighbors ever put out recycling bins. So I stopped trying and that’s how it stood for the past four-plus years.
Philly has a new recycling initiative because it costs less for them to recycle than to throw everything in the trash. I decided to try again. But being the artist that I am, and hating the look of the ugly blue bins, with handwritten house numbers, I decided to design a sticker to put on my nice green bin so it’s obvious that this is to be recycled. I put off doing it, and then, January 30, 2010, I went out to shovel the snow. A rolled up ticket from the city fell to my feet when I opened the door. It was dated the previous trash day and it was $50 for not recycling!
I checked off the “Hearing Request Box” on the back of the ticket and wrote out a complaint that includes this story, and sent the ticket back. I haven’t heard back from the city yet.
Well, that ended my procrastination, and I completed the work of designing my first recycling sticker, and put it on Zazzle. The sticker is customizable, and has our house number on it, so I ordered two for myself. They arrived, I put them on either side of a new green bin, and tried again. The first time I put them out, they were overlooked. But most of the folks on my block don’t recycle yet. My block is half residential and half business, the next block up is mostly residential and I see more bins there. But, I put them out again in March and pah! I’m now recycling in Philly!
Until today. When the bin was gone again.
I guess I’ll try a third time. But I’m thinking of new stickers to make. Something along the lines of “TAKE THE TRASH, NOT THE BIN!”
From “fan” to “like” — on Facebook, anyway.
I have to start changing my terminology whenever asking folks to “become a fan” of our Facebook business page. Now I have to ask them to “like our page.” Will this change in terminology be more confusing or less? At first blush, I don’t like this change, but give me some time to process it and maybe I will. Our Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/purpleswirlarts — so please “Like” it if you haven’t already. My posts duplicate themselves there, but I think it’s only specific tags– those about our artwork. This blog covers more than just our art.
From Facebook’s help files:
“Liking” a Page
Why did “Become a Fan” change to “Like”?
To improve your experience and promote consistency across the site, we’ve changed the language for Pages from “Fan” to “Like.” We believe this change offers you a more light-weight and standard way to connect with people, things and topics in which you are interested.
http://www.facebook.com/help/?faq=17167
What does it mean to “Like” a Page?
When you click “Like” on a Page, you are making a connection to that Page. The Page will be displayed in your profile, and in turn, you will be displayed on the Page as a person who likes that Page. The Page will also be able to post content into your News Feed.
http://www.facebook.com/help/?faq=17115
Can I still “Like” a News Feed story about my friends Liking Pages?
No. When you see a Feed story about a friend Liking a Page, there will be no feedback links below that story. However, if you hover over the Page name, you will see a small preview of the Page and the number of other people who have also Liked that Page. You can then Like that Page to add it to your profile, or you can click through to the Page itself.
http://www.facebook.com/help/?faq=17116
Is there a difference between “Liking” an item a friend posts and “Liking” a Page?
Yes. Liking a Page means you are connecting to that Page. When you connect to a Page, it will appear in your profile and you will appear on the Page as a person who likes that Page. The Page will also be able to post content into your News Feed.
On the other hand, when you click “Like” on a piece of content that a friend posts, you are simply letting your friend know that you like it without leaving a comment.
http://www.facebook.com/help/?faq=17168
Writing is exploring
I recently lamented to someone that I wish there was an easier way to get my thoughts from my head to my blog. I think about possible blog posts while I’m driving, or watching TV, and then I come to the computer and do everything else here– everything except write. Here it is, well past Easter and Passover, and my last post was before Christmas.
I just remembered something I saw on TV when I was a teenager (and lipreading the folks on TV). I was watching the Dick Cavett show (I never did like Carson) and Cavett was talking with a guest about writing. They were talking about how they start reading everything in sight to avoid starting to write, even the cereal boxes. I was in high school and I was doing the same thing. Now, it’s even easier to distract myself because the same tool I use to write is also my window on the world and there’s a lot to read here! Instead of cereal boxes, it’s now tweets and blogs. Doesn’t matter that I enjoy writing and it’s part of my identity. It’s STARTING to write that is hard.
So, even if it’s short, even if nobody reads it, I’m going to post more often. Because I need to get my thoughts out of my head. I once told someone that I don’t always know what I think until I write it down. That’s because when it’s in my head, I go over and over the same territory. Writing it down is like exploring and creating a map as I go along.
