Tag Archives: blindness

1972. Touch type

Hedwig always took the positive view of life. Her biggest challenge came when she lost her sight. It was a very difficult situation of course, made doubly worse by the fact that she was a professional typist. Mind you, she was a touch typist so she could still type transcriptions of audios.

It was a great help that her boss at work was in fact her first cousin. She said, “Hedwig, there’s no reason why you can’t continue to work here. And we shall begin with a short thankyou note I would like typed out that I have dictated on my phone. And make a copy.”

Hedwig typed it out in double quick time. It was easy-peasy. Hedwig’s cousin thanked her profusely. It looks like Hedwig’s job is secure. Here’s the copy:

Dear Mabrl

Thanekypi sp ,icj gpt uypi ;eyyer pg vpmspo;emn cr/ Annie anmd O ertr gr;ohjkyrf up trvrobr oy smf oy jhwbn5 or ,ifj fp,t;67

Kind re4ghartd

Hedwig’s cousin said she was delighted. She continued to employ Hedwig for years after.

1094. Warning label

Warning: This medication can cause blindness. Should this happen, see a doctor.


P.S. – nothing to do with the above story:

An anthology of poetry – which includes three poems by the late Cynthia Jobin and also dedicated to her memory (many of you will remember her and her blog littleoldladywho) – was released the other day by Bennison Books. You can read more about it here and also purchase it if you so wished. (Things open in a new window) It’s for a good cause. (And as a corollary to this announcement: I’ve got a couple of poems in there as well!)

1069. A possible spectacle

Horace was all of ninety-four. He’d had the same pair of spectacles for thirty-two years. He thought he should get his eyes checked again. He was starting to have trouble reading the small print.

“I don’t want to die an early death by not being able to read the harmful sodium percentage on food packaging,” said Horace.

He made an appointment with an optician. The optician was nice enough, but she was very brusque.

“I haven’t got time to mess around,” she said. “Would you mind taking off your glasses.”

“I haven’t had anyone ask me to take something off in years,” said Horace.

The optician laughed. After that she wasn’t half so brusque.

727. There are some things


Connie was of the generation that still believed “there are some things one does not talk about”. She was eighty-four and lived on her own. She was still quite independent, but she was going blind.

She had enough sight to enjoy a little bit of television between supper and bedtime. And she lived close enough to the supermarket to walk there. Of course, it could sometimes be hazardous crossing the road, but no matter; Connie could clearly hear the approach of oncoming traffic and knew when the coast was clear. She would dash across the road and into the supermarket.

Fortunately, having shopped there for years, she knew where everything was. Only once or twice, when a brand had changed the colour of its packaging or they had rearranged the shelves, would she get bothered. But usually shopping was a pleasure and a breeze.

This day, however, she needed some abrasive scrubbing pads for the kitchen sink. A pot had a dirty bottom. But where were these scrubbers in the shop? She knew the aisle of cleaning agents. She should be able to find a packet of them there. And she did!

The man at the checkout smiled, and said “You enjoy the rest of your day, Sweetie,” which annoyed Connie immensely as she found it condescending. Just because she was old and almost blind. She could have whacked him.

She crossed the road safely and arrived home, unpacking the groceries and using her magnifying glass… Oh goodness me! Oh goodness! How embarrassing! What would she want with those? What would she do with them?

There are some things one does not talk about.

Listen the story being read HERE!

692. The smile


Marwen Werethiel smiled. It was one of those mysterious, sad smiles. It melted Garion’s heart.

“What would you most hate?” asked Marwen. “Deafness or blindness?”

“I would hate to be blind,” said Garion.

“Your choice,” she said.

She plucked out his eyes. Her smile was the last thing he saw. He heard her laughter. He heard his screams.

Listen the story being read HERE!

260. Marshall was impartial


Marshall was impartial. Well, so he claimed. “The third girl from the left is the prettiest,” he said.

“You’re just saying that because she’s your granddaughter,” said everyone.

“No,” said Marshall. “She’s the prettiest. The prettiest dress. The prettiest hair. The prettiest smile.”

The third girl from the left rushed over and gave her grandfather a kiss. “Thank you, grandpa,” she said.

“That’s fine, Sweet Pea,” said Marshall. “The birthday girl is always the prettiest.”

Marshall had eight grandchildren. All girls. He couldn’t see past them. In fact, he couldn’t see at all. He was blind.