15th Annual Art in Motion at Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago’s Shirley Ryan AbilityLab

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Opening Reception – September 14, 2017
355 East Erie, Chicago, Illinois
5:30 p.m. to 9:00 p.m.

AIM Rose Poster

Once again, I have been invited to participate in the annual Art in Motion Art Show, which raises funds for the Art Therapy and Therapeutic Recreation programs at the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago.

It is a rare opportunity not only to display my paintings for sale but also to discuss the inspiration behind each piece.

This year’s event will be hosted in the beautiful, newly constructed Shirley Ryan AbilityLab, located at 355 East Erie, from 5:30 p.m.-9:00 p.m.

If you would like to purchase tickets, please visit:  Art in Motion Tickets

Invisible Fences

It was one of those glorious Sunday afternoons.  The sun taking no time to make known its ability to enforce the dress code of the day, and I was right there along with the rest of the crowd with my hat, sun screen, and umbrella.

I was at a family gathering.  Didn’t matter that it was a baseball game.  Yes, I am one of those people who doesn’t really care for baseball.  I know, I know, it’s America’s favorite pastime.  Or, so I’ve heard all of my life.  Nevertheless, even though I am a born and bred American, it is not my favorite.  Honestly, it would never even appear on any things-to-do list of mine.

Yet, there I was with the gang watching baseball.  And, I wasn’t only sitting there passing time until it was over.  Nope.  I was yelling and whooping.  Yes, I had become a fan in a few short moments.  Mimicking the guy behind me, I called out such terms as, “Good eye.”  (Huh?  Good eye?)  What happened?  My grandson was playing.

Funny how one’s perspective can change with the slightest alteration in circumstances.  It happens all the time.  We just don’t notice until something unique comes along – such as my grandson being part of a baseball team.  Surely changed my perspective on baseball.  (I am even planning on traveling three hours each way just to watch him play in another game tomorrow.)

There is another area where my perspective has changed, also.  It is the number of invisible fences that the mobility-challenged face every day, every where.

For example, the playoff park where my grandson was playing, on that beautiful, summer day, was designed with thoughtful consideration of handicapped people.  The bleachers had sections carved out for wheelchairs; there was an additional restroom large enough for a wheelchair; plenty of handicap parking spaces; and expansive, concrete sidewalks.  All this fabulous planning and accommodation helped make my day more enjoyable.

However, challenges still needed to be faced.  Even though the bleacher stands sat on a concrete pad, the sidewalk ended 25 feet short of the stands.  In between?   A sea of rough, uneven gravel.  To make matters worse, on one side were the bleacher stands and on the other side were the restrooms, food stand, and parking lot.  Having the wheels of an electric wheelchair (550 pounds unoccupied) spin in gravel is akin to a car stuck in the snow.  I can’t even imagine how difficult it would be for someone using a walker.

The clincher (it’s a baseball term, right?) came at the end of the game when the team met for the coach’s pep talk (or whatever it is they say at the end of a game).  It is that time when praises are given and awards are handed out.  Only, the dugout was another sea of gravel away.

So, there we sat, my grandson’s paternal grandfather and I (his maternal grandmother), watching everyone else gather together as we were left behind another invisible fence.

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World’s First All-Accessible Water Park

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Image this:  A child who has never had the opportunity to be completely immersed in what would be considered a typical summer activity.  Why?  Because s/he is confined to a wheelchair or has autism or a brain injury.

I guess you don’t have to imagine it, do it?  With all the ADA-compliance modifications that have already been made – and they are wonderful, the world is still largely out of reach for anyone with special needs.

There have been times when I have cried because I was sidelined because of a physical barrier.  And, if I cried, I can only imagine how often a child has wept because s/he was relegated to an observer-only status.

Now, image this:  A child or adult with special needs has the opportunity to be completely immersed in a typical summer activity.  What a fantastic idea!

Well, we don’t have to use our imaginations anymore; someone has finally taken the barriers away:  Gordon Hartman, the creator of the world’s first ultra-accessible water park.  It is a fantastic idea, and it is a reality!

“Children and adults who have special needs are sometimes left out, not because they want to be but because sometimes things are not always adequate for them to use,” Hartman said.

Today is the opening day for Morgan’s Inspiration Island.  A $17 million tropical-themed water park located in San Antonio, Texas.  This astonishing park (check out the above link) merges those with and without disabilities into one experience. The greatest part of all is that it includes all special needs people.

There are waterproof wheelchairs that use compressed air instead of batteries (which the University of Pittsburgh helped develop); waterproof wristbands for those who tend to wander, quiet areas for those who get overwhelmed, and a way to quickly change water temperature for those who are sensitive to cold water.  There’s more:  fast passes for those who have trouble waiting in line, private wheelchair transfer areas, and the riverboat adventure attraction boats rise to meet passengers (instead of wheelchair ramps).

Admission?  FREE FOR THOSE WITH DISABILITIES.

Anyone up for a road trip to Texas?

 

 

 

Do You See What I See?

 

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Faces?  Vases?

 

Initially, which did you see?  How long did it take until you could see both easily and clearly?

Our eyes see more than our brain interprets.  Visual cues all around us are being filtered out, and our awareness is limited to our experiences.

When you encounter a set of stairs leading to a building, what do you see?  How about a soap dispenser attached to the wall above a sink?  What about a store’s double-door entry with no handicap button?  The last question gave it away, right?

If you are ambulant, then you probably don’t give much thought when encountering the above situations.  Oh, you might have a conscious thought as you grab for the handrail, but you probably don’t even see anything worth noting.  For the wheelchair roamer, we see obstacles.  In fact, the situation may be so unsolvable (e.g., stairs and no ramp) that we have to change our plans and turn away.  And that it how it feels.  We are turned away from participating, turned away because we are powerless, turned away because of an oversight.

“(A) public meeting on accessible housing for the disabled in Toronto had to be canceled because the building that was hosting it was not accessible to the disabled.  ‘There was an oversight,’ one official conceded.”  (The Week, December 23/30, 2016, p 6)

 

 

 

The Gift

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Clunk. 

Laying the book down on her lap, she turned her head so that her good ear was aimed toward the sound.

Again, another clunk.  

Not knowing what else she could do, she waited with the still patience of a deer in the woods; her heart pounding as if it were the instrument of a mad drummer.

Then, her husband called out, “I’m home.  Where are you?”

“Upstairs,” she replied putting her hand to her chest.  “In the pink bedroom.  You’re home early.”

“Yeah, the meeting ended earlier and traffic was light.  I’ll be up in a minute.”

A smile played its own rhythm across her face as she swept her hand through her gray hair.  I’m glad he’s home early.

As the minutes passed, the sharp clank of dishes revealed the location of his delay.  As she was wondering what could he possibly be doing in the kitchen, he suddenly appeared in the doorway.  There he stood looking like a high school suitor with a vase of flowers held out; the wrinkles around his eyes made him all the more charming.

“A gift of lovely flowers for a lovely lady,” he crooned as he placed the vase on her nightstand.

“As I was driving, I found myself getting excited as the miles brought me closer to home.  I know you have been having a hard time lately thinking about all the extra work that falls on me because of your disease.  The more I thought about it, the more I thought about you.  Because of you, I am a better person.  Because of you, I wake up every morning with a smile on my face.  Because of you, I love being married.  I love you, and given the choice, I would marry you again – wheelchair and all.  You. . .you are a gift to me.”

 

 

 

The Invisible Woman

Rose Wolfe

I have the unique ability to be invisible.  For a while, I thought it was because I am shorter than most adults.

If that is true, I thought, how is it that children are not bulldozed down into the ground?  Maybe, I reasoned, that is why kids have such high voices; it is a survival mechanism to alert adults around them that they are “down here.”  Eventually, I came suspect that something else is going on – a societal preference.  Our mores define children as needing protection and consideration.  So, we notice them; we see them.  The same is not true for the disAbled; our societal position is muddied and conflicting.  As a society, we nod our heads with smug smiles agreeing that the disabled should be treated with respect.

As a wheelchair occupant, I can tell you that society does not often practice what it preaches.  I will admit that a small segment of people will notice me and make accommodations.  However, navigating the streets, stores, and social situations is a burdensome task.  All my plans and movements must – and I do mean must – include me being responsible for everyone in my vicinity because I do not exist.  Sounding alarms as I wheel with the foot traffic, I need to watch for cigarettes, purses, bags, and people who swerve in front of me.  Without as much as a blush to the cheek, they admit, “Oh, I didn’t see you.”

You might think this is as humiliating as it can get, but no.  Worse yet are the times that I am scorned for being invisible.

Recently, my husband and I spent the day in Chicago at Navy Pier.  I was sitting out of the major pedestrian traffic path, but still blocking a small walkway.  (I have to sit somewhere.)  With a quick step and an urgency of importance swirling about her, a woman came straight towards me.  She came to a screeching halt (I heard her brakes squeal) as my invisibility faded away.  With furrowed brow and lips, she waved her hand as if swatting an annoying insect (speaking is difficult with a frowning mouth) for me to move.  Realizing that I had become visible, I turned on my wheelchair.  (Let me give you some inside information, electric wheelchairs take about five seconds to charge up before they are operational.)  Well, the necessary five seconds was too long for her.  Miss I Can’t Wait Because I Have Important Things to Do, huffed and puffed (was she about to blow me away?), told me to move (without wanting to hear that I needed to wait for my wheelchair), stomped about (was she ready to stampede me?), and then turned sharply to her left, took three steps, and walked (or should I say charged?) past me.

With her went my moment of visibility, and I retreated once again to wait for the next moment.

 

Standing in Awe

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It all started simply enough.  Jasper wrote a post (An Amazing Choice) about a young man, Marshall, with cerebral palsy.  As typical for him, Jasper piece was insightful and thought-provoking.  At the end of the piece, Jasper offered his readers the opportunity to contribute to his post.

As someone who has made certain discoveries and choices with how to live with a chronic illness, much of what Marshall had to say vibrated within me.  So, I made the following comment:

“Jasper, thank you for sharing this post. Just recently, I have been formulating a concept that there is the Gift of Suffering. In its most basic form, the idea is that our suffering adds to our spiritual maturity. As we continue to add to our faith, we grow in our relationship with Christ. Once we trust God with our lives (and, we, who are disabled, know the meaning of this), we can move forward in our appreciation of God’s plan for us. One gift: tribulation develops patience; and patience, character (maturity). Another gift of suffering: we can then comfort others with the comfort that we received from Christ.”

Having the opinion that there can exist such a thing as a Gift of Suffering does not dimish the hardship that suffering brings with it. Do not misunderstand me, please. suffering is not a preferred way of life, but it can change us into more compassionate, patient, thoughtful, kind, loving, enthusiast, insightful, creative, and respectful people.  There are other ways that these attributes can be added to our lives, but disabilities have a way of hurrying along the process.

Again, do not misunderstand me, please.  I am not saying that if you have a chronic illness, you will automatically join the club of those who have found the secret of being content with their situation.  It is a choice – always and daily.  Jasper made that choice.

In a more recent post, he wrote:

“I was in awe when I realized how my experience and gradual understanding of the suffering surrounding my ABI reflected the comment you made a few months ago. I would reflect on your comment at times and anticipate a blog post in which you had developed your thoughts further. Talk about mutual inspiration and support. . .”

To read more of what Jasper shared, please click on The Gift of Suffering