[Blindtlk] {Spam?} RE: how about painting?

[Sami Osborne]

Gary,

What a nice article your wife wrote! I never thought, in all of 
my 18 years, that a blind person would be capable of painting.  
That's so cool! Now I believe in the philosophy that we can do 
anything that we set our minds to 100%.  Before reading that 
article, I may have only believed in it 99%, but now that I know 
that it is possible for a blind person to do artwork successfully 
with little to no assistance, that makes me fully, totally, and 
completely believe in the philosophy.

Please make sure to thank your wife on my part for writing such a 
beautiful, inspirational, and invigorating article!

Happy St.  Patrick's day to all!

Sami

 ----- Original Message -----
From: Gary Wunder via blindtlk <blindtlk at nfbnet.org
To: "'Blind Talk Mailing List'" <blindtlk at nfbnet.org
Date sent: Wed, 16 Mar 2016 20:14:44 -0500
Subject: [Blindtlk] {Spam?} RE:  how about painting?

For whatever help it might be, I volunteer my wife to talk with 
you.  What she wrote about painting is below and she can be 
reached at debbiewunder at centurytel.net.
The Gift
by Debbie Wunder

	All of our children's birthdays are special, but some more 
than others.  When my youngest daughter Abbey was about to 
turn ten, I asked her to think hard about what she wanted on 
her special occasion.  She said she would be happy if we 
could redecorate her room, buy her some new clothes, or get 
her a GameCube.  "Which of those do you really want" was the 
question I asked her, and she thought through the choices.  
She knew I wasn't enthused about a GameCube, since I'd 
already warned her that her game time could not cut into her 
reading time.  She was old enough to know that winter was 
coming and that new clothes were something she was likely to 
get whether they were on her birthday list or not.  
Eventually she answered: "I want to fix up my room and paint 
it in mixed colors." I immediately thought about the cost of 
repainting.  For a moment I felt  sadness and regret for 
offering something I might not be able to afford.  But after 
my initial shock I began to feel excited.  Here is why: I 
have an addiction; it is not to chocolate, drugs, or 
alcohol-well okay, maybe a slight addiction to chocolate.  
But the addiction I am speaking of is HGTV, the Home and 
Garden Television Network.  I can spend hours watching 
programs such as Design on a Dime, Trading Spaces, or just 
about any fix-it-up show they carry.  One of my strengths 
has always been arts and crafts.  A wonderful possibility 
was taking shape in my head and my heart: I could give my 
daughter something more than a gift off a store shelf-I 
could give her a gift that showed my love, my talent, and my 
creativity.  Her tenth-birthday gift would be something she 
would treasure for a long time to come.  I decided that I 
would do it on my own, my way of providing a very special 
gift to her.
	I told Abbey that fixing up her room would be her present, 
and I anxiously began to plan the project.  We made a trip 
to the paint store to choose her colors.  I told her to pick 
three that would complement one another.  I already knew 
that her first choice would be some shade of pink.  I was 
right; she chose a color called "passionate pink," 
otherwise known as Pepto-Bismol pink.  The other two were a 
slightly lighter shade of pink and purple.  She asked what I 
was going to do with three different colors, and I told her 
this would be part of her surprise.
	From HGTV I learned that you need one wall to be the focal 
point.  It can contain a piece of artwork or furniture, or 
the focal point can be the wall itself.  I could not afford 
to buy new furniture, and neither did I have an eye-popping 
piece of artwork, so it would have to be the painted wall 
that made the room.  I had a good idea what could make that 
wall the focal point if only I could figure out how to do 
it: I remembered Abbey telling me that one day she would 
like to travel with me to Mexico to see a mountaintop that 
is filled with beautiful butterflies in the winter.  This 
provided the inspiration, but could I possibly paint a wall 
of butterflies? Then it hit me: I realized I could use a 
large rubber stamp to stencil the image.  I used two of the 
colors Abbey had chosen, painting one half of the butterfly 
in one color and the second half with the other.  Those 
contrasting colors would make the butterflies stand out.
	When the weekend before her special day drew near, I went 
out and got the other items I would need.  I also arranged 
for Abbey to   visit a friend for a slumber party and made 
plans to paint her room.
	The night before she left, Abbey began questioning me about 
how I was going to redecorate.  It was clear that she was 
skeptical but didn't want to show it.  Some of her 
skepticism was whether an adult could do the kind of 
makeover a ten-year-old would want, but some was because my 
husband Gary and I are blind.  Painting is not something 
blind people typically do, and Abbey was worried about what 
she would return to at the end of her weekend.  I reminded 
her that we did all kinds of things that others thought 
blind people couldn't do and asked if I had ever 
disappointed her or broken a promise.  "No, Mommy," was her 
reply, but her tone was less confident than her words.  
"Will Megan help you?" Megan is one of Abbey's older 
sisters, and Abbey has always adored her, respected her 
judgment, and admired her honesty.
	"No, I am going to do the job myself, but of course Megan 
will want to take a look once it is done, and we all know 
how Megan always gives her honest opinion." I assured Abbey 
that I knew what I was doing, told her to have a good 
weekend, and once again promised she'd be happy with her 
room when she returned.
	The initial steps were easy.  The first thing I did was 
remove all the switch plates and socket covers.  I then 
taped around all of the woodwork, door frames included.  I 
probably used more tape than necessary, but I wanted to 
protect the woodwork and thought that I might get to it  
faster when I was painting than  someone who could see.  
Then I put tape between the walls and the ceiling.  I put 
plastic on the floor, unwrapped the brushes and the rollers, 
got out the cans of paint and a couple of paint trays, and 
closed the door to the room I would soon turn into my 
daughter's dream place.
	But when it came time to open that paint, put it on the 
roller, and start painting the wall, I  fell apart inside.  
The thought of painting the room energized me; the thought 
of taking that brush in hand and messing up an already 
painted wall terrified me.  Could I follow through to create 
something worthy of my daughter's tenth birthday, or would I 
create a tenth birthday memory that would shame us all? I 
sat down on a stool and began  to cry.  I was a sweating, 
shaking, crying mess, and I couldn't think of any easy way 
out of what I had committed to do.
	Then my cell phone rang, and my older daughter Megan said 
she was dropping by to see how the room was coming.  I 
started to tell her I was at my wits' end and was paralyzed 
by doubt, and then it came to me: God was delivering a 
response to my unvoiced prayer.  Megan was coming over.  She 
could help.  I would do my share, but she would be there to 
do the hard parts, to supervise my work, and to make sure I 
didn't mess things up.  I could still deliver on my promise, 
and no one would have to know how scared I had been of 
failing.
	When she arrived, Megan could see that I had done all the 
preparation but hadn't yet started on the wall.  I told her 
I was nervous about the project, and I suggested we have a 
girl's night, order a pizza, laugh about some memories and 
stories, catch up with one another, and together  create a 
gift her sister would love.  She was not enthusiastic about 
spending the evening together, reminding me that it was 
Friday and that she already had plans with her friends.  
Again I began to feel panic, and it showed.  Noticing my 
imminent meltdown, Megan began to repeat back to me things I 
had said to her since she was a baby.  She reminded me that 
I had told her I could do anything I set my mind to and that 
blindness only made the way I did a thing different-not 
better, not worse, just different.  She said that I had 
always been as good as my word, that I had never let my 
family down, and that she was so proud of the mom I was.  
She told me that there was no way I'd let Abbey down, that I 
was perfectly capable of painting that room, and that I 
needed to put myself back together, remember how much I 
loved to do artsy craftsy things, and that, by the end of 
the weekend, we'd all have something to treasure.  I heard 
what she said, and, although they were nice words that were 
exactly what I had dreamed she would one day say to me about 
raising her, my fear held fast, and I begged her to stay and 
help.
	After listening to my pathetic protests, Megan turned to me 
and said, "Okay, I'll help you," and immediately she went 
for the paint can and the roller.  She dipped the roller 
into the can, and I gave a big sigh of relief when I heard 
paint being applied to the wall.  We would do this together.  
I could hand her brushes and pour paint into the trays, but 
she could do the painting, and we'd do a great job together.  
But my elation was short-lived.  The next thing I heard was 
the roller being placed back in its tray and Megan saying, 
"Okay, Mom.  I've started it.  It's your turn.  Bye!"
	I laughed, and in a shaking voice I said, "Oh Megan, don't 
tease me.  I don't think I can take it tonight."
	"I'm not teasing," she said.  "Mom, this is Friday night, 
and I have plans.  You told Abbey you could do this, and you 
can.  You've been planning it for two months.  This is only 
paint; you can't break anything.  Now get to it, and I'll 
come by tomorrow to see how you're doing.  Bye.  Love you." 
With a hug and a kiss, out the door she went.
	Again I was alone, but now Abbey's wall, which had been an 
off-white color, had a big pink stripe across it.  There was 
no turning back.  Eventually I pulled myself together, 
thought about what Megan had said, said a silent prayer for 
God's help, and started to paint.  I painted all that night 
and much of the next day.  I used a specially-made stamp to 
place the imprint of butterflies on the wall, being careful 
to ensure that each went on at a slightly different angle to 
give the appearance of the butterflies in flight.  I had to 
be careful about their spacing since being too close 
together or too far apart would ruin the intended effect.
	When Saturday night came, I was a boiling mix of emotions: 
exhausted, exhilarated, proud, scared, anxious for Megan to 
return and give me her always painfully honest opinion, and 
afraid of what she might say.  When she entered the room, I 
felt as tense as I have ever felt.  "Hey, Mom, it looks 
great! This will be the best present ever.  Abbey will be so 
excited."
	Again I began to cry, but these were not tears of fear but 
tears of relief.  When Abbey came home on Sunday and looked 
at her room, the joy she felt wasn't conveyed just in what 
she said but in her tone.  She kept saying," Thank you, 
Mommy, oh thank you, Mommy.  This is the best birthday 
present ever!" After all the fear, all the anxiety, all the 
concern that I had pushed too hard, promised too much, I 
felt supremely happy.  There wasn't one trace of surprise or 
amazement in her little voice-just appreciation for a 
promised birthday gift that was exactly what she had asked 
to receive.  Again I cried.  This time I shed tears of joy-I 
had given my ten-year-old a gift she would remember for the 
rest of her life.  I had done what I said I would-just as 
she expected I would do.
	We always tell people that blindness poses two problems: one 
is the physical lack of sight, the other the reaction that 
we and others have to being blind.  A big part of what we do 
in the National Federation of the Blind involves changing 
the attitudes of the public with the words we say and the 
actions they can see, but it is hard to measure something as 
large as a change in public acceptance.  What we can more 
easily see is the reality our children come to know as we 
tell them what we believe about blindness, and they then 
compare those words with what they see day after day and 
year after year.  My daughter Megan believed what I told her 
about the role blindness played in my life, and she accepted 
as true what I said about being able to do anything.  She 
then reflected or echoed back that belief to me at a time 
when I was down on myself and was questioning whether I had 
promised to do something beyond my capabilities.  So certain 
was she that I could succeed that she placed me on a road 
that ran in only one direction-forward-and left me alone to 
navigate that road by myself.
	The Bible tells us that it is more blessed to give than to 
receive, and I am a living example of that truth.  To my 
daughter that newly decorated room was something she 
enjoyed, treasured, and proudly showed her friends.  But 
soon she was no longer ten and wanted a bigger room 
downstairs.  Now she is in college, the newly decorated room 
a treasured but distant memory.  But for me the picture of 
that room will always remain in my mind, and the 
accomplishment it represents often reminds me that I can do 
more than I think I can, that I should encourage others to 
go beyond what they think they can do, and that sometimes 
discomfort is a necessary ingredient in finding the joy of 
real accomplishment.  Blindness almost stopped me from 
giving my youngest daughter the best gift I've ever given, 
but it was my older daughter's faith, her belief in my 
ability, and her reluctance to accept anything less than my 
best that has made this one of the most treasured stories of 
my life.


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