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

Comments

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

When an ass is so much more

  Body image. Body positivity.  Or about coming to an appreciation for a previously much maligned back end.  In junior high (that's middle school for all of you non boomers), I was given the nickname "big butt Bowen". It was a nickname that stung because I did indeed have a large ass. I tried to mask it, a difficult endeavor since the current fashion (and remember this is junior high when fitting in was paramount) was wearing hip hugger jeans with midriff tops and my disguise of choice were peasant blouses or dresses. That style choice earned an additional nickname, Mama Cass. For those of you that don't know who Mama Cass was, she was part of the Mamas and Papas and known for her beautiful voice but also for her large body.  All about Mama Cass I was cruelly nicknamed at a time when nicknames can really mess with a girl's psyche. And I spent a lifetime as that girl with the messed up psyche. I'm sure there are more than one of you out there that can relate. B

Peter Pan no more

                          It's time. Peter Pan had to grow up.  For nearly 18 months of his life, Matthew dressed in this costume. In this picture it's new, just out of the box. He picked the costume out of a catalog and when it arrived, two weeks prior to Halloween, he asked daily if today was the day he could finally wear his Peter Pan costume. He didn't like the hat and only wore it on Halloween, but the rest of the costume he wore daily! You read that correctly - DAILY. He wore it to Meijer (for those of you unfamiliar with Meijer, it's a cleaner, friendlier, more 'upscale' version of WalMart), to church, to play dates and preschool ... Heck, he was three and adorable and it worked for him!  (Yes you read that correctly, he even wore it to church on one or two occasions when it seemed arguing with a three year old about not wearing a costume to church was not a battle worth waging. He once mentioned the priests wore dresses . . . I don't think Joh

Cabin fever made me do it!

Like nearly ever person in West Michigan, I have a serious case of cabin fever.  I won't waste your time however, complaining about the two-hundred feet of snow that's fallen in the last two hours. I won't share about the twenty or thirty times I've had to shovel my walk today as gusts blew it right back in my face. And I certainly will not lament about the temperatures that hover around negative double digits making your nostrils freeze together within moments of stepping outside. To bore you with tales of how we have to shovel areas in our yard so that our large dog and can do his 'duty' because the snow is deeper than he is tall and dogs for whatever reason cannot poop in the same place twice, is not what I will share. You will not hear about how when I open the slider to let aforementioned dog outside, gusts of wind blow drifts of snow inside and require a shovel to once again close the door.  Nor will I share how some roads around here are drifted shut be