Script:
In the days before ultrasound, people would often ask an expectant woman whether she was hoping for a boy or a girl. Most would reply that it didn't matter as long as the baby was healthy. Of course, everyone expects the child to be healthy, seldom giving much thought to any other possibility, and rarely is anyone prepared when the baby is not perfect. Life for our family was normal for my first two and a half years. However, there was a day, the date not specifically noted, that changed everything. I dropped a penny on the floor and didn't immediately pick it up. Instead, I felt around the rug for it. My father pointed at it, but I did not acknowledge or follow his gesture. He called for Peach, and she also observed the unusual behavior. Not certain what to think, Peach took me to the doctor, who gave her the shocking news that I had suddenly and inexplicably gone blind. Peach had a sister, Helen, who'd had limited vision as far back as anyone could remember. She'd also had painful, contracted knees in childhood, which my grandparents had massaged straight. By the age of 49, she was functionally independent, but totally blind. Nevertheless, my parents had no reason to suspect that any of their children would suffer the same fate. My mother's deep faith in God, however, gave her the strength to deal with this. The cause of my loss of sight remained a mystery for the next three years. I, like my Aunt Helen, developed painful, swollen knees, and suffered a series of falls because they would suddenly give out. I tore every pair of tights and trousers I owned, which was more upsetting than the pain. On one occasion, my paternal grandmother, Nanny Vallis, was visiting from Newfoundland. I was given a new soft cotton outfit that included a pair of trousers with a ruffle around the ankles, and a top with the same ruffles around the neck and cuffs. I was so excited to have new clothes, as I often had hand-me-downs from a girl up the street, that I begged Peach and Nanny to let me put it on and show it to the neighbors. As soon as I stepped outside, I fell and tore a big hole in one knee. I was devastated, thinking my beautiful new outfit was gone forever, but Peach was unfazed. Peach could knit anything, but she never enjoyed sewing. Be that as it may, mothers often don't do what they want to do, but what they must do. She secretly huddled with Nanny, and together, they removed the ruffle from the bottom of each leg, cut the legs to the length of Bermuda shorts, and sewed the ruffle back on. When they brought them to me, I was overwhelmed with renewed joy. My outfit was back and even more wonderful, as it was the summer and shorts were cooler. The ruffles covered each bruised and battered knee. The transformation of those clothes may have been the first time I heard Peach say triumphantly, there is more than one way to skin a cat.
