With Halloween drawing near, the Northfield Senior Center celebrated a lesser-known holiday that Director Jennifer Reynolds says is “important to talk about.”
Oct. 15 marked White Cane Awareness Day, held to “celebrate the right of blind people to move freely and independently with cane or guide dog,” according to the National Federation of the Blind. The federation pushed for a day of recognition until 1964, when Congress designated Oct. 15 as White Cane Safety Day. According to the federation, the focus of the occasion has shifted over time to encompass the independence and equality of blind people that the white cane symbolizes, leading the group to now refer to the day as White Cane Awareness Day.
Senior Center members learned more about the day from Northfield resident Jinx Hastings.
“Although it’s White Cane Day, I also like to think of it as invisible illness day in a sense, because we forget,” Hastings told attendees. “People look at me and I’m sure they just think I’m fine, what’s the big deal? … Invisible illnesses don’t get enough press.”
Hastings opened up about her progressive glaucoma that snuck under the radar of eye pressure tests for years. After a long career working as a teacher, running an epaulette business and crafting pottery, she moved to Northfield about 12 years ago, when an eye doctor caught the condition. Since then, Hastings has undergone 13 eye surgeries.
“So now I am legally blind, and what is legally blind?” Hastings said. “It’s essentially [that] there are no glasses that help my eyes.”
So attendees could see the world from her perspective, Hastings asked them to ball their hands into circles like a pair of binoculars to emulate tunnel vision. Then, she told them to squeeze their hands tighter and move one hand up and the other down, creating two tiny corners of sight.
“That’s essentially what I have, my vision is so limited,” Hastings said, “but my brain is working pretty hard.”
Reynolds led a few simulations for attendees to experience the challenges of low vision. A few tied bandanas around their eyes and tried to count change, while others fished through a bin of uncooked rice to find four paper clips — a task no participant could finish.
“It really shows the struggles day-to-day,” Reynolds told a visitor as he struggled to count the coins.
Besides constant support from her husband, Hastings mentioned a few steps she has taken to move through the world with limited vision, like her large iPad that she uses as a magnifier, “clickers” on her stove and a very organized kitchen.
“Everything has to have a place,” Hastings laughed with her husband. “The nutmeg always has to go in the same place.”
While Hastings struggles to use paintbrushes with her sight, she continues to be creative. With a smile, she held up finger paintings popping with color.
“I couldn’t see well enough to do what I wanted to do, so I just had fun playing with color,” Hastings said. “With double vision, I didn’t know where the brush was, so using my fingers and the masking tape was just tons of fun for me.”
Reynolds shared the story of her brother-in-law, who suffered a head injury from an industrial accident that left him blind.
“It happened so long ago that there really wasn’t a lot of information out there. You heard blind, you thought of Helen Keller,” Reynolds said.
Now, things are different, with organizations like the Massachusetts Equipment Distribution Program and the Massachusetts Commission for the Blind working to get adaptive technology, like specific phones and kettles that announce when the water is ready, into the hands of folks with low or no vision, Reynolds said. She showed the group an app called “Seeing AI” that described a water bottle on a table in the Senior Center in detail. Hastings herself uses the “Be My Eyes” app, which helps with everyday tasks like getting dressed, pointing out a stain or mismatched colors.
Among Hastings’ tools is her own white cane with a “marshmallow tip,” what she called “an identity cane” that signals her limited vision to others. Although Hastings said she does not often reach for the cane, she plans to practice at home with her puppy named Scruffy, who is “almost always in the wrong place,” zooming around below her eyeline.
“I used to think people who were blind were the only people using a white cane, and that’s not true at all,” Hastings said. “Anybody who has any cane like this, they have some eye challenges, and you don’t have to be 100% blind to need assistance one way or another. … People use whatever feels right and comfortable in their mind.”
For Hastings, White Cane Awareness Day cultivates empathy and understanding toward people with invisible illnesses like limited vision.
“It’s just so important to share our problems with others,” she continued.
Beyond a symbol of her invisible illness, Hastings has another name for her cane.
“Somebody told me I should give my cane a name, so it tends to make you think of it more as a person helping you,” Hastings told the group, “so this is Shirley, by the way.”
She picked up the cane as attendees said “hello” to Shirley.
