Skip to main content

Work of art or a work in progress!


Last fall, I was asked if I wanted my portrait painted as part of an exhibit entitled "Moving Through the Unimaginable". The requester was a young woman I have long admired, but for the moment I began to doubt my admiration for her because she described the exhibit's subjects as having 'endured adversity or trauma or disease with grace'. I didn't initially see how I fit into that description, but after some discussion with my hubby and reflection, Whitney's (the requester) esteem in my eyes was restored and I agreed.

 I was looking at myself through my own eyes. Know what I mean??

 I don't see myself as exuding any grace as I've 'endured' my experience with M.S. In actuality, I get quite ticked on days like today when the sun is shining and everyone seems to be out enjoying the sunshine and balmy 42 degrees (I live in Michigan and 42 in March is a heat wave!) walking their dog, or biking or just walking. I know my pure-bred mutt Wally would like it too! 

 Through my eyes, I see the woman that longs to able to do all the things I'm unable to do anymore. Like just leashing up Wally and going for a walk. The inability in that scenario has as much to do with Wally's size and personality (he's a large, strong dog who has never met a stranger and likes to explore and not listen to me!) as my current reliance on four-wheels as my modus operandi.
There are many times when I sit at home and have a full-blown pity party complete with loud music and swearing. Yes, some of the awful four-letter words that if uttered aloud in public could get you arrested. (I live in Michigan, where a woman complained to the sheriff about some young men swearing and those young men were ticketed or jailed or fined because there is a law!) Or I see the woman that stopped fully-participating in this thing called life because it was too damn difficult to schlep her wheelchair in the cold and snow; so she mostly sat at home adding pounds and adding up excuses.

 So, I have these thoughts and have been known to call myself and this disease by some really awful-make-a-sailor-blush names. But I didn't and don't want anyone else to have pity on me or look at me they way I have at times looked at myself, so I would pull up my big girl pants and venture out. I'd smile when I didn't feel like it and almost triple-dog dare you, with my smile to feel sorry for me. Here's the clincher - I found the more I lived out there with my peeps the more grace I found for me. 

 I'm pretty resilient (if you've read any of my posts you know what I mean) and I have managed through most trials to truly find a bright side. Not superficially, either, been to genuinely see some good. And once I spent time reflecting more  on that, I realized that going through the unimaginable with grace doesn't mean an absence of bad days or sailor-swearing. I'm work in progress like all of us, after all. And that, dear readers, is my take away. Plus the artist, Donna St. John, did an exceptional job on the portrait that we'll get to keep (it is NOT going over the fireplace) and with all the outstanding works in the exhibit. 

 Did you ever in your wildest dreams imagine that little old me would be a work of art??? A piece of work maybe! Click below to learn more about this fabulous exhibit.

 Moving Through the Unimaginable
Labels:
Location: 5601 W 700 S, Jonesboro, IN 46938, USA

Comments

Post a Comment

It's not a popularity contest, but ...

Ten Year

When I was in junior high school, I staged a sit-in and learned about 'ten year'. This will come as a total surprise to most of you readers - I was not a perfectly well behaved child. I know, I know - you're shocked, amazed, in wonder how I could have turned out to be so well-behaved despite the oats sown in my youth.  And the sit-in is a perfect example of how I marched to the beat of my own drummer. Miss Brown was an English teacher - and not a very popular one. She would invoke the yardstick on wayward student's hands and scowl the moment we walked into the classroom. We weren't very kind to Miss Brown but then she wasn't very kind to us, either. Personally, the hardest part of having Miss Brown as an English teacher is that she nearly ruined my love of my favorite topic in school. It was the year we were to learn grammar (have I ever mentioned that as a writer I detest grammar?). I think some new way of teaching English was introduced and in all l...
5 comments
Read more

Blubbering Idiot

While doing crunches this morning, I turned on the TV to keep my mind off the exercise I was about to do and the movie "Gran Torino" was playing. It was nearly 3/4 of the way done. Perfect, I thought, I can watch the end of one of my newest favorite movies. Fifteen minutes later, I'm a puddle of tears on the floor. The end of that movie dissolves me to tears every time - and I think I've seen it now about six or seven times. When Clint Eastwood's character goes about his last day - including a lame confession with the priest - locking 'Toad' in the basement, I begin to get weepy. SCENE SPOILER ALERT ! But when he is shot down and is splayed as though crucified on the cross, I become a blubbering idiot. So much softness and sacrifice in one so tough and gruff - it highlights the intensity of his sacrifice for his new family next door. I only need watch the last few minutes of "Gran Torino" to get the full emotional effect. The same can be said...
4 comments
Read more

Hair today gone tomorrow

Before you all begin to think I’m breezing completely through chemo, let me remind you of this:   For the most part I am bald. Or if not completely bald, fuzzy headed, and not in the way I think or am thinking, but in the appearance. A little like a hedgehog or a porcupine with bald patches. On Super Bowl Sunday while most of you were overeating or filling out those little squares to wager on the upcoming game, John and I were having a unique pre-game party. In front of our bathroom mirror with clippers and scissors. Preparing for the certainty of hair loss from my chemo, I decided to buzz my locks to lessen the shock and mess of of losing large chunks of my silver, shoulder-length hair. It was in all honesty one of the most poignant moments in our 30+  year marriage. I had originally asked my friend and former stylist if she could do it . But when I shared my plan with John, he said that he wanted to do it. Certainly that was not expected. So instead of watching th...
5 comments
Read more