I was pretty pleased to be spending a day on the road with Evan. He was handsome, and personable. This was work, however. I was a rehabilitation teacher for the Vermont Association for the Blind and Visually Impaired, working with adults with low vision in northeastern Vermont. The beautiful Evan sold Closed Circuit Televisions, and was going to do home demonstrations for some of my clients who wanted to try them.
The CCTV was a great device for someone with a lot of vision loss. You could place any document, a hand written letter, a soup can label, or a text book under the camera, and it would project it on a screen, enlarging fine print to two inch high letters on the screen. In this day of computer technology and scanners, this doesn't seem so fancy, but back in the early 90s it was the hot item. It also cost around 2,500 at the time, a pretty chunk of change, so Evan was willing to spend a day touring northern Vermont showing my clients his wares.
On this February day, I had four people lined up for demonstrations. It would make for a long day, as they were scattered along a ragged line, along the Waits River, up the Connecticut River, inland to Orleans County, then up to Essex county. Just in driving time the circuit would take us four to five hours. It was winter in Vermont, so we would have to expect the unexpected. We got it!
Evan had a Saab. He spent a lot of time on the road, and he wanted comfort. He didn't have snow tires on it though, and we were headed over Orange heights, and Sheffield Heights, both notoriously snowy stretches of road. Then we were driving into who knew what between Irasburg and Island Pond. We were out on the road on one of those blustery days, with snow squalls sweeping through every few hours.
We set off in good season, leaving Montpelier at 8:30 a.m. Orange Heights was bitter cold and desolate, low, pewter colored clouds and a pale smudge of sun, gusted nets of snow, and not much by way of civilization, but the road itself was not bad.
We arrived at the first home on a country road a little late for our 9:30 appointment, and Mr Y was not there. Evan left the CCTV in the car while we tried to raise him. The house was unlocked, lights on, fire in the stove, so we did a quick walk through. As we opened doors to bedroom, bathroom and study, I hoped we'd find him absent minded and absorbed in a project, rather than collapsed on the floor from a stroke. But he just wasn't there.
I was concerned. I'd talked to Mr. Y the day before to confirm the appointment, and I knew he was very excited about the prospect. He had been an avid reader, and he also wanted to be able to handle his own correspondence without the hovering presence of a neighbor, family member or volunteer, no matter how well meaning And the fire in the wood stove and lights on throughout the house spoke of "just stepping out." Not an easy thing for a legally blind man to do in rural Vermont.
then a neighbor came to the door.
"I saw your car. Are you looking for Mr. Y?"
We allowed as how we were.
"He went out to check his pump this morning. . The snow in that field's awful deep for him, and he's stuck in it. I can't get him by myself."
Evan leaped into action. Soon three snow covered men came back into the house. Mr. Y was clearly exhausted, and drenched in sweat, and more than a little disoriented by the incident. he was in no condition for a demonstration of equipment. We waited while he got into dry clothes, made sure he was warmed up, made him tea, and left him sitting in an easy chair under a blanket.
Back on the road, we wound along the banks of the Waits River on Route 25, down in the valley, out of the wind the road was no worse than usual. We were now about an hour behind schedule.
At the next house, Mr. X was home, and expecting us. He nodded without comment when we apologized for being late.
In my experience, Mr X had been a shy fellow, difficult to engage when I'd been asking him what I might be able to help him with. The first interview had been a series of questions, followed by monosyllable answers. I'd been totally surprised when he'd said he wanted to see the CCTV. But he'd requested it, so we were here. We went in, were introduced to a visiting, protective son, and Evan set up the CCTV
Mr. X got the book he was reading and slid it under the camera as instructed. 2 inch letters popped into focus on the screen " . . .Her breasts were full and round and his . . ." I wasn't quite sure what to do. I couldn't even escape by looking the other way. Mr. X was proudly reading aloud.
Just as I was about to burst out laughing, Mr X bolted from his chair. I had only a moment to be baffled. Then I heard him being violently sick in the bathroom down the hall. It turned out the CCTV gave him motion sickness. Mr X disappeared for the remainder of our stay.
Evan and I packed up the CCTV, making polite conversation with Mr. X's son, and loaded back into the car. Once safely on the road, we both burst out laughing.
Once he could get a sentence out, Evan said"I've never seen THAT before."
"The motion sickness or the reading material? I enquired, my voice shaking with laughter.
"Well . . . either one." Evan said, as we headed for I 91 and our third visit of the day. It was about noon.
We stopped in Wells River for lunch, then headed north again. Just past St. Johnsbury we ran into a snow squall. Evan was chatting away, and started to pass a semi on Sheffield Heights. The left hand lane hadn't been plowed. I grabbed the Jesus handle and suggested, as calmly as I could, that maybe passing wasn't a good idea. It's rare for me to advise a driver, but this seemed like one of those appropriate moments. Evan apparently thought so too, and took my advice and we slowed down and settled in behind the truck. I released my white knuckled grip.
We got to our next demo site at around 2 in the afternoon, quite a bit behind schedule, between the lost client and the snow squalls. Mrs. W was understanding though.
Mrs W's husband ran an amazing junk barn. To get into their house we walked through the first floor of a huge barn, full of farm tools, pots, pans, furniture and old sleds. Stairs led up to a second floor at least as crowded as the first. Evan was fascinated.
when we went inside, it was clear that Mrs. W had collected all of the "cute little things" that came in to her husband's shop. The walls on both sides of the hall running the length of the house were lined with low,closed cupboards, topped with glass cabinets up to the ceiling, and there were more shelves in the living room and kitchen as well, filled with glass ornaments, ceramic figurines, little boxes and other nicknacks
It took some doing to find a spot to set up the CCTV, but when we set it up, Mrs. W was thrilled. She read magazines, bills, letters, and more magazines. She wanted one!! We worked out details for a trial period and another visit in which I'd make sure she was managing well with the equipment, then we went out, got in the car, and spun the tires. We were in a snowy little dip and Evan couldn't get traction. We were stuck.
I don't drive.
Mr. and Mrs W were in their 70s.
I pushed while Evan steered the car out of the snow bank, and there wasn't too much conversation as we travelled through a grey afternoon to our last visit.
We got to Mrs. Z's at about 4:30. There, Mrs. Z, a chatty ex school teacher was more interested in visiting than in the CCTV. As I have mentioned, Evan's a handsome and personable man. Finally at about 5:30, when Evan had heard a lot about Mrs Z's earlier life, and we had been offered tea, when it was clear there wasn't real interest in the equipment, we dragged ourselves away. By now, twilight was well advanced, and by the time we got to Lyndonville and hopped on 91, it was dark. but fortunately not snowy. We chatted quietly as we made our way over the hills of Route 2 to Montpelier. When I dragged back into the house at around 6:30, I poured myself a glass of wine and collapsed on the couch.
I'd be willing to bet Evan did something similar.
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