Do It Myself Blog – Glenda Watson Hyatt

With the rest of the technologically innovative world, I am saddened by the passing, today, of Steve Jobs due to pancreatic cancer.

Damn cancer.

I have written many posts on how the iPad changed my life in a relatively short time; on how the iPad gave me an affordable, acceptable and cool communication device and how that has further opened the world and opportunities to me.

But one intended post I didn’t write – partly because I didn’t know how to express my sentiments and partly because I thought I still had time – was a thank you to Steve Jobs for his innovative vision and to the Apple Development Team for turning his vision into reality. 

Steve, your iPad gave me something that no other device has: a way to communicate with those who are not familiar with my unique accent Glenda-ish. I cannot find the words to express how grateful I am for that; something which others may brush off as insignificant, but, for me, is a life changer and hugely contributes to my independence.

And, I am not the only life you have changed with the iPad and other Apple devices. Because you were visionary enough to include accessibility in the product development phase, rather than as an afterthought, many people with disabilities have benefitted and have had their life changed.

For this, I thank you, a little too late. I just hope you knew, somehow, before today.

Thank you for your vision, for living your passion and for changing the world in the ways you did.

You will be missed.

(Please excuse any typos or other errors. Typing through tears  is difficult.)

While responding to a message in Facebook from a friend, a text chat message popped up:

“hi auntie glenda”

Auntie who? Oh, right, that’s me!

The message was from one of my young nieces now on Facebook. While we chatted about going camping, roasting marshmallows and shopping for makeup, I realized this was the first conversation I had had with my niece.

Every other time we’ve been together, which I can count on one hand with a couple of digits leftover (the tough part of having family spread out across Western Canada), a third person was needed to translate Glenda-ish for when I did say anything, which was typically little.

She and I now have a way to develop a connection and be “auntie and niece”. The most impressive aspect – and for which I am thankful – was she initiated the chat herself. A high water moment ensued while typing.

Auntie Glenda needs to brush up on near-teen conversation topics so as to no come across like she is playing Twenty Questions.

One day at university, many moons ago, I was heading towards the residence’s main door as a man with a white cane was coming out. He couldn’t see I was there and I couldn’t step to the side. We collided.

i ran over his foot. He was understandably surprised and bewildered by what had just crushed his foot. I felt awful.

Jokingly he said I owed him my name, at least, for running over him. A fair request I thought and I gave my first name.

Having been double-blessed with a significant speech impairment and a less-than-common name, he, of course, didn’t understand it, even after several attempts.

Since he hadn’t seen me in my scooter coming at him, whipping out my low-tech, no-battery-required alphabet card would have been futile.

Jack began saying the alphabet, “a b c d e f g”

“Yes.”

“G? Okay. a b c d e f g h i j k l”

“Yes.”

“g l?”

“Yes.”

“a b c d e”

Five minutes later he had “Glenda”. We stayed on a first name basis. After a brief conversation of yes and no questions, he limped off on his way to class.

Since then I have given people with white canes and guide dogs a wide berth. I wasn’t avoiding them, not exactly. I was taking the easy route while minimizing inflicting personal harm.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago: while in Mississauga for work, I had the opportunity to meet Jennison Asuncion in person – a meeting I was apprehensive about because he is also visually impaired. I wanted to avoid running over another blind man.

Like so many relationships nowadays, we met somewhere online – Twitter, a web accessibility forum or elsewhere – at an unmemorable point in the past. Technology makes our disabilities compatible while interacting online.

It was the face-to-face interaction I was unsure about. However, Jennison was amazingly good at understanding Glenda-ish and, because we already had a certain degree of familiarity, of intimacy, we had a meaningful conversation.

When he did get stuck on a word or when I wanted to give a somewhat longer response, I turned to the Proloquo2Go ap on my iPad and used the speak feature for the first time. As online, this iPad ap worked great in bridging our two disabilities.

Thanks to Jennison, I now know I am able to communicate with individuals with white canes or guide dogs. Future collisions of disabilities will be mitigated.

If I ever pass through this World again, I am coming back as a foodie — one who handles a knife and a fork with surgical precision to saviour each delicate morsel.

Much of our culture involves gathering with friends and acquaintances to enjoy a meal together. Depending upon the degree of friendship, this isn’t an enjoyable, relaxing activity for me. I am extremely self-conscious about how I eat. I am not graceful, and, sometimes, I am messy. I know that.

Over the years I have discovered some foods that are relatively Glenda-friendly: forkable pasta, like tortellini, penne and ravoli, are great; fish is also good because it breaks apart without needing a knife. Soups, forget it. Rice is easy to choke on, which tends to freak out people. Greek salads are fairly easy; green salads not so much.

In the past I was quite skillful at opting out of such gatherings, unless with close friends. More recently I have been trying to force myself out of that pattern, no matter how uncomfortable.

While in Austin earlier this year, a group of friends headed to a nearby burger joint. The whole way there I was dreading the meal. How was I going to manage a slippery, sloppy, overstuffed burger? (Not the kind in a tinfoil wrapper from the food court.) I was never relieved to find Grilled Cheese Sandwich on the menu!

Thank goodness iced coffees are all the rage right now; they are drinkable through straws without risk of burning my mouth. It makes “going for coffee” a nice starting point when getting together with new friends.

Disability – temporary or permanent – can befall anyone at any time. Successful Online Business Conference (SOBCon) co-founder Liz Strauss discovered this at the most inopportune time.

She lost her voice hours before giving her closing keynote at the sold out event. She tried everything; even mainlining tea laced with honey did nothing.

I now more fully understand her tweet to me – earlier that day -that she was sad that I was not there.

Had I known her circumstances, I would have gladly offered a few suggestions based on experience.

In her situation, I would not have not recommended my favourite iPad communication app Proloquo2Go only because it is a little pricy for a day or two. For an extended voice lost, definitely.

Instead, I would have suggested the free text-to-speech app Verbally. This free, easy-to-use app would have saved Liz from using Post-It notes to communicate face-to-face. 

Surely someone from the SOBCon family would have lent Liz their iPad, at least during the socializing times, so that she could easily communicate and impart her wisdom.

To deliver her closing keynote, my suggestion would have been the text reader TextAloud – the free 15-day trial would have been sufficient.  With this handy piece of software, she could have written her keynote, tweaked the pronunciation and pauses,  and then saved it in one of many audio formats to be played on any laptop. (TextAloud is also great for proofreading.)

The technology really is that simple.

However, I love the solution that Liz did come up with. After several hours of fretting what to do, she grabbed a flipchart pad, disappeared into a quiet room and wrote one thought on 27 sheets of paper. Twenty-seven volunteers then read aloud Liz’s words.

Sometimes the simplest solution is the most effective, the most powerful.