In The Dark With A Fork
I consciously resisted physically imitating the fear that gripped me by gripping tighter the shoulder I held. The thought of losing touch was real. Blackness complete, I moved toward I knew not what. Once seated, I was safe, anchored and buoyed.
Might be I didn't do what this exercise offered in a cameo. I didn't really think about what if this was all the time. What if, when the lights came up, they stayed dark for me? What is it like to be truly blind? I still can't imagine. It sounded as though some people instinctively spoke louder and more clearly as if to accommodate for the blindness. I appreciated that.
Managing to find my silverware, I even cut some of the food into pieces. But I didn't delve into the risky adventure of trying to cut them into normal bite size pieces. Once a non determined size was successfully cut from the main, I picked it up, only able to guess its actual girth by weight on the fork. I can tell wine color by smell. No big feat I know. At one point (with the assistance of Bridget) I traded my glass of wine across the table, without dropping or spilling, for what turned
out to be, another glass of white wine. I never found my salad.
The Q and A was softly spoken oddball questions followed by bounding voiced, respectful, no matter how inane the question, answers. The blind hosts enunciated and projected professionally. The music was a bit too touchy feely for me, the harmonies didn't quite harmonize, I thought. But the beauty of the cello in the dark resonates with me still.
As with my friends, I didn't want the lights to come up at the end. I would have much preferred to be led back out as we were led in. Thus preserving that dark dinner in its atmosphere and ambiance.
Bridget heard about some people doing this in Paris. I love the irony, the Blind Cafe in the City of Light.
Might be I didn't do what this exercise offered in a cameo. I didn't really think about what if this was all the time. What if, when the lights came up, they stayed dark for me? What is it like to be truly blind? I still can't imagine. It sounded as though some people instinctively spoke louder and more clearly as if to accommodate for the blindness. I appreciated that.
Managing to find my silverware, I even cut some of the food into pieces. But I didn't delve into the risky adventure of trying to cut them into normal bite size pieces. Once a non determined size was successfully cut from the main, I picked it up, only able to guess its actual girth by weight on the fork. I can tell wine color by smell. No big feat I know. At one point (with the assistance of Bridget) I traded my glass of wine across the table, without dropping or spilling, for what turned
out to be, another glass of white wine. I never found my salad.
The Q and A was softly spoken oddball questions followed by bounding voiced, respectful, no matter how inane the question, answers. The blind hosts enunciated and projected professionally. The music was a bit too touchy feely for me, the harmonies didn't quite harmonize, I thought. But the beauty of the cello in the dark resonates with me still.
As with my friends, I didn't want the lights to come up at the end. I would have much preferred to be led back out as we were led in. Thus preserving that dark dinner in its atmosphere and ambiance.
Bridget heard about some people doing this in Paris. I love the irony, the Blind Cafe in the City of Light.
posted by Steve-O at 1:15 PM
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