Truncated Domes

I am determined to make a comeback to blogdom. Reflecting on life somehow makes sense of it, even when it is nonsensical.

So, here I begin again, with a tale from last week that just gave me a good old laugh.

Camille and I went on what was probably our first official girls shopping trip last Sunday afternoon--the kind where you have a mission to have fun, take time, and just pick out clothes that fit your fancy. This, I might add, is very different from the type of shopping trip she has experienced before--the last minute one jammed into a few spare minutes with a very specific mission of finding a certain item of clothing for a picture or event and it ends up that your size cannot be found anywhere and everyone on the trip ends melted down and tramautized for lack of time and luck.

This one was just plain fun. With Aunt Betty's spring wardrobe fund in hand, we headed out out Village Point, an outdoor mall here in Omaha to specifically shop for clothes she allowed to pick out. The day couldn't have been better in terms of weather or spirit. Loping along the sidewalks along the storefronts, we approached the slope of the curb that leads into the walkway that crosses the brick-paved street that runs down the main drag of the mall.

Picture it. I adorned my supermom cape. Fastened the goggles. As Camille, long white cane in hand, plodded along, she felt for the edge of the grass. The outline of a bush caught her eye and she poked the bush to make it rustle. Ah...ahead, the curb was near. I flipped back my cape in the wind. I seized the opportunity---an orientation and mobility moment---something the good mother of a legally blind child would do. I said something to the effect of, "Oop. I think we're coming up on the curb here. Let's feel ahead with your cane." I stepped behind her and guided her cane way out in front of her. We ran it over the pattern of bumps that are popped up from the cement and arranged in a rectangle. "Feel these bumps, my dear? These bumps are arranged in a rectangle. When you are walking along and you feel them under your cane in front of you, then you know you the sidewalk is going to end and you will be going past them into the street crossing."

Having very patiently endured this obviously remedial and unprofessional lesson in orientation and mobility, she paused and asked, "Mom, are ya talking about the truncated domes?"

I burst out laughing. "I guess you showed me, didn't you?" She just giggled and giggled, and off we went on our shopping adventure. My cape and goggles flew off so fast I forgot I had them on.

And I still haven't looked up the word "truncated," though her dear O&M instructor, LeAnna, tells me the terminology is correct.