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

[Judy Jones]

I don't ever think any of us should stop challenging ourselves, no matter 
how old we are or where we are in life.  Thinking about myself, I'm probably 
one of the older people on the list, but still get inspired by stories of 
others' accomplishments.

Judy


-----Original Message----- 
From: Julie J. via blindtlk
Sent: Thursday, March 17, 2016 5:36 AM
To: gwunder at earthlink.net ; Blind Talk Mailing List
Cc: Julie J.
Subject: Re: [Blindtlk] {Spam?} RE: how about painting?

Thanks!  I loved this article.  I felt the same way when I was trying
pressure canning for the first time.  And my son did the same thing!  LOL  I
guess that's a good thing.

The room I am painting will be my new home office space.   It will be so
nice to have the bigger room.  I was talking to a blind friend of mine about
this project.  He immediately asked if my sighted husband was doing the
painting.  When I said that I was doing the painting he immediately started
in on how blind people just sometimes need to accept that we cannot do
everything.   I agree, but how do I know what I can and can't do unless I
try?  Of course with always keeping safety in mind.  I'm not trying driving
a school bus. This is painting and the worst that can happen is that I make
a huge mess and have ugly walls.

I find that I need to challenge myself and my beliefs about what I can do on
a regular basis.   It keeps me from becoming complacent about my life.

Julie
Courage to Dare: A Blind Woman's Quest to Train her Own Guide Dog is now
available! Get the book here:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QXZSMOC
-----Original Message----- 
From: Gary Wunder via blindtlk
Sent: Wednesday, March 16, 2016 8:14 PM
To: 'Blind Talk Mailing List'
Cc: Gary Wunder
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.


_______________________________________________
blindtlk mailing list
blindtlk at nfbnet.org
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/blindtlk_nfbnet.org
To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for
blindtlk:
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/blindtlk_nfbnet.org/julielj%40neb.rr.com

-----
No virus found in this message.
Checked by AVG - www.avg.com
Version: 2012.0.2265 / Virus Database: 4365/11318 - Release Date: 03/15/16


_______________________________________________
blindtlk mailing list
blindtlk at nfbnet.org
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/blindtlk_nfbnet.org
To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for 
blindtlk:
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/blindtlk_nfbnet.org/sonshines59%40gmail.com