THE COST OF BEING A CHEAPSKATE.

What's the difference between being frugal and being cheap? Frugal people look for bargains whereas cheapskates scrimp on their own needs as well as those of their dependents.

I learned a bitter lesson in May of 2003 when I assumed my house rabbit, Esther, would recover from her second gut stasis, thus saving me the cost of a vet visit. From When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), here is what happened when I foolishly ignored the urging of my conscience in order to save myself a hundred dollars.

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Several times during the winter, that naughty girl had ripped up the carpet. When I took down the beaded curtain and the door was back in its place, she started ripping up carpet in front of it.

In April 2003, she stopped eating and all my home made remedies didn't work. When I went with her to the vet, I was told that Esther had been ingesting the rug and the vet managed to dislodge a lump that was blocking her intestine. Esther ate well for a few weeks and then stopped again. I was extremely fed up at being broke and having to pay bills that I tried to cure her at home. By early May, nothing had worked?not even rubbing her belly or giving her canned pumpkin through a syringe.

After breakfast one morning, I went down to the radio room to check on her. When I tried opening the door, something seemed to be blocking it. I pushed it hard, thinking that a bundle of junk mail had fallen over. To my horror, it was Esther's body that jammed the door. She lay next to a puddle of pumpkin that had risen in her throat and I mentally kicked myself because I should have taken her to the vet again, but I'd been too cheap. I resolved then and there not to adopt any more pets of any kind, until I was in a better financial position and had a reliable way to get medical help for them. Then I wept.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) contains many more valuable lessons of rabbit care. Even better, it's written in story form. My hope in writing it that way was that people, especially those who hate instructional manuals, would learn from both my discoveries and my mistakes in caring for my long-eared friends. The book is available on The InScribe Writers Group page. Not only is it informative but some of the stories in it are hilarious. Check this page periodically for humorous excerpts from it in the coming months.

When blind kids go camping.

Some unimaginative folks might think that blind and visually-impaired students would be less inclined to explore the great outdoors. My dorm mates and I at Jericho Hill School for the Deaf and Blind in Vancouver enjoyed camping just as much as our sighted peers. From my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, here is an account of two camping trips we took in 1969.

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Mr. Dunston took us camping again one May weekend. This campground was located near Tofino on the north end of Vancouver Island. Adding to the adventure was the news that we would go there by ferry. The only large ship I had ever travelled on before was a destroyer. Even then, we never left the harbour.

Once the bus was parked, Mr. Dunston allowed us to explore the ship. I eagerly wandered the decks, absorbed in studying the vessel. "Let's have a soccer game on the deck," Charlie said. As I knew the futility of arguing, I followed the others to an open spot. "Don't kick the ball over the side," Charlie admonished as we formed up into teams. I tried hard not to kick the ball overboard as I reluctantly played. On several occasions, the wind caught the ball and nearly carried it away. "I don't want to play anymore," I decided. "It's too windy." The other boys agreed and everybody scattered. Fortunately, Charlie was not angry that I ended his game.

The ferry docked at Nanaimo and Mr. Dunston drove the bus to our campsite. Since tents were already pitched for us, we were free to explore the grounds. I found a swing hanging from a pair of wooden poles. When I started pumping, I discovered it tired me out while not letting me gain any altitude so I quit.

I had a humorous experience that first night. I woke up and noticed what I thought were holes in the tent. The thought of getting rained on worried me. I hoped someone would fix those holes soon. Then it dawned on me, those were stars and I had somehow managed to get my head under the tent flap. I pulled it in and went back to sleep.

We also went to a campground on Bowen Island in May. It was especially designed for blind children. All the walkways were lined with railings on both sides and an open-air shelter had been built with protective rings around the supporting poles. I would have enjoyed that weekend but for my hay fever which first started bothering me that spring.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. This 196-page paperback, containing 6 black and white photos, sells for $25.00 through the PayPal-equipped InScribe writers group website. E-mail me for further information or if you don't have PayPal but still wish to place an order.

camping, "Bowen Island", blind, Nanaimo, "Vancouver Island", Tofino

GOOD TEACHERS WILL ALWAYS BE CHERISHED

Did you ever have a teacher who was more than a mere employee doing a job? Did this person seem more like a caring parent or a dear friend than a hireling? In my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I wrote about an immigrant from Hong Kong whose kindness in May of 1968 extended far beyond the requirements of his job.

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Fortunately, the adults planned some enjoyable activities to distract us. We went twice to the Pacific National Exhibition in May. Mr. Lao surprised us all by taking us there one Saturday afternoon and he even paid for us to go on the rides. Though the weather was cloudy and threatening, we had the time of our lives.

I made an interesting discovery when I rode the roller coaster. Sitting in the car furthest back was where a person felt the most sensations of motion. "Hey Guys," I called to my classmates, "Let's all sit at the back." Each of us with sight guided our blind charges to the cars furthest from the front. "You're right," several classmates said. "This is more fun back here." I smiled and cherished the feeling of actually being praised by my peers.

I never heard of the giant slide before but I felt willing to try it. We climbed to the top up a long flight of steps and then an attendant handed each of us a stiff, brown, fibrous rug. I stared at mine until the man said, "Lay it down and sit on it." I did so and then pushed off as I observed others doing. The ride was exhilarating but brief. My disappointment at the shortness of the ride turned to joy when Mr. Lao said we could slide more than one time. The whole group slid down it again and again. The blind children enjoyed it the most because of the butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling the bumps in the slide gave them.

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Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) contains many fascinating vignettes ranging from the poignant to the hilarious. As many fully-sighted people have never heard about what actually happened in these institutions, I detailed what occurred while I was there and how it effected me. More information about this book, as well as When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), is on the InScribe page.

TWELVE HOURS OF FREEDOM WHILE WALKING MILES FOR MILLIONS

The following text is taken from my book, Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School). This was not only my first taste of activism but I was allowed to walk the streets of Vancouver without intense government supervision. Here's how I spent May fourth, 1968 and what the experience taught me.

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The Miles For Millions campaign, an effort by the Canadian government to raise money for Third World victims of famine, was held on the first weekend of May. Our teachers and supervisors encouraged everybody to secure pledges and walk the twenty-five-mile route. It seemed an impossibly long distance to travel on foot but our supervisor assured us that we would survive.

Mr. Moiarty drove us in the school's bus to the armoury, a large, whitewashed gym-like building after breakfast. Volunteers gave each marcher the route on a paper. Blind students were paired with those with partial vision. The march had no official starting time. Participants merely set off in the direction indicated by the route map. Since the print was far too small for me to read, I followed the crowd while listening to Mom's radio.

For the first time in Vancouver, I savoured twelve blissful hours of freedom from supervisors, teachers, and bullies. The day was warm and sunlit, adding to the euphoria of my adventure. As with the car rallies, I needed to go to each post along the march to get my paper marked, proving that I indeed had travelled the route.

During the afternoon, extreme weariness came over me. I sat on the curb with my chin in my hands. "I just need to rest a bit," I thought. Mr. Moiarty drove the school bus along the route. When he saw me, he hollered out of the window, "Do you want to quit, Bruce? We can take you back to the dorm, you know." "I want to go the whole way," I insisted. The bus pulled away, carrying those boys who were unable to complete the walk. Geoffrey told me later that I looked pathetic, "just sitting there like that."

At one point, I nearly became lost. Two groups of pedestrians stood at a corner. I carefully studied both of them, unsure which were walkers and which were on personal business. With my usual knack for making mistakes, I chose the wrong crowd. Half a block later, I noticed that I was suddenly alone. Panic fought with reason for a few seconds before I realized that I could easily retrace my steps and go down the right avenue. Later, I foolishly told Charlie what happened. "Atchison! How could you be so idiotic,?" he scorned. "I couldn't help it. There were two groups of people and I didn't know which were marchers and which weren't," I explained. Charlie did not tease me about it but the story of my blunder circulated around the dorm.

Finally, at twilight, I crossed the twenty-five-mile mark back at the armoury. I had never been so eager to climb into bed. Though my legs were sore for days afterwards, the walk was worth every step.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. This 196-page paperback, containing 6 black and white photos, sells for $25.00 through the PayPal-equipped InScribe writers group website. E-mail me for further information or if you don't have PayPal but still wish to place an order.