I think the prize should really be a free night in a fancy hotel…

Without being able to drive, I’ve always thought that blind people who use guide dogs — especially those of us who live in big cities — must walk more than the average person does. Now I have a chance to prove it.

Some of you blog readers know I have a part-time job at Easter Seals Headquarters here in Chicago — last week they started a six-week “Walk For U, Go The Extra Mile” challenge as part of their wellness program. Every employee received a free pedometer to keep track of progress for six weeks, and those of us who meet the daily goal of 7,000 steps per day — a distance of 3.5 miles — throughout the entire six weeks will be entered into a drawing to win a six-month fitness club membership.

The human resources department here realized I wouldn’t be able to read the number of steps I’d taken each day on my own, so they ordered a special talking pedometer for me — it says my results out loud. And so, I’m on my way to prove my theory.

The list of requirements for people applying to train with a Seeing Eye dog says candidates need to be able to walk one or two miles a day:

Applicant must be between the ages of 16 and 75, motivated and emotionally stable, capable of walking one to two miles a day, and able to receive and implement instruction.

In a post I published on the Easter Seals blog about all this, I explained that when you live in a city you can’t simply open a sliding glass patio door to let your guide dog out. I take Whitney down the street, around the corner and to her favorite tree at least four times a day. That’s 1,000 steps per trip. My talking pedometer counted out 12,157 steps the day I walked to Walgreens to pick up prescriptions, and that included a safety shortcut I take each way to cross State Street. Whitney and I walk down the subway stairs on one side, pad along under State Street and then ascend the stairs on the other side…safe & sound.

Whit and I often use Subway stops to cross under busy streets.

Not sure what Whitney and I will do with the free six-month fitness club membership when we win the “Walk For U, Go The Extra Mile” challenge at Easter Seals. Seems to me we already have a free pass to the gym: running errands in our neighborhood is like using a treadmill, and every El station is a StairMaster!

Helen Keller’s other life

When we set the date for my talk with a book group especially for blind readers yesterday, I don’t think any of us realized that the date we chose — June 27 — was Helen Keller’s birthday. What serendipity!

The story of Helen Keller’s childhood is well-known: an illness left her both blind and deaf as a child, and the day 20-year-old teacher Anne Sullivan managed to communicate the letters for “water” while running water from a pump on Helen’s hand was a breakthrough.

Most people know that Helen Keller grew up to become an advocate for people with disabilities. What many people don’t know, however, is that she became a radical activist along the way.

She joined the Socialist Party in 1909, when she was 29, and then the Industrial Workers of the World. She supported Communist Russia and hung a red flag over her desk. The FBI opened a file on her. She advocated for women’s suffrage and for access to birth control. She helped found the American Civil Liberties Union.

Through all that Helen Keller remained the darling of newspaper reporters and columnists, the amazing blind and deaf girl who talks with her hands. When she came out in support of Socialist Party candidate Eugene V. Debs in his campaign for the presidency, though, that was the last straw. Newspaper columnists who had earlier praised her courage and intelligence started calling attention to her disabilities.

One newspaper claimed “the poor little blind girl” was being exploited by the socialist party for publicity’s sake, and the editor of the Brooklyn Eagle wrote that Helen Keller’s “mistakes sprung out of the manifest limitations of her development.” No matter where you stand politically, I’m sure you can appreciate what a blow this must have been to Helen Keller. She had waited to formulate her opinion until after procuring and reading books about socialism in German Braille, and then asking a friend to come three times a week to spell articles from The National Socialist into her hand. From an Essay by Helen Keller:

She gives the titles of the articles and I tell her when to read on and when to omit. I have also had her read to me from the International Socialist Review articles the titles of which sounded promising. Manual spelling takes time. It is no easy and rapid thing to absorb through one’s fingers a book of 50,000 words on economics. But it is a pleasure, and one which I shall enjoy repeatedly until I have made myself acquainted with all the classic socialist authors.

Helen Keller responded to that Boston Eagle article and referred to a time she’d met the editor years earlier:

At that time the compliments he paid me were so generous that I blush to remember them. But now that I have come out for socialism he reminds me and the public that I am blind and deaf and especially liable to error. I must have shrunk in intelligence during the years since I met him…

All this reminds me that the personal attacks and general nastiness in our public discourse and politics is not new. Helen Keller was a saint until she ruffled feathers, and then she was limited intellectually. Instead of addressing her arguments, her critics took pains to discredit her, herself. It’s a reminder to me about my own views: whether I agree with her politics or not, I value the “poor little blind girl” for having the courage to express them, and express them well. I’d like to treat others with whom I might sometimes disagree the same way.

This little tale also reminded me that lots of folks who eventually came to be revered by the broader society — Martin Luther King, Jr., Eleanor Roosevelt, … heck, even Muhammad Ali … were reviled as marginal troublemakers and suffered hateful treatment in their own time. It’s a reminder that changing things has never been and will never be easy.

Discussion: the blind leading the blind

The book group I’m speaking to tomorrow is a bit different than other groups I’ve visited: the members are blind.

The Skokie Public Library established a Book Club especially for people with visual impairments over 25 years ago — it was part of the library’s commitment to give visually impaired patrons access to reading, and, later on, to technology.

For this month, Skokie’s Talking Books Book Club chose to read Long time, No See. My memoir is available for free in Braille or on audio to those who qualify for the Library of Congress National Library Service for the Blind and Physically Handicapped, and I’m expecting this audience to look, as it were, at my memoir with a different pair of eyes than other readers. Taking care of our son Gus when he was little? Struggling to find employment? Making mistakes like grinding pinto beans to make coffee? These anecdotes might be intriguing to sighted audiences, but I’m afraid they fall into the “been there, done that” category with tomorrow’s group.

Gary Gustin, the group leader, told me that the people who drive book club members to the library have started to participate in the book discussions now, too. “They used to just mill around the library while we were discussing our books, so we invited them to join us.” A number of drivers are married to the visually-impaired participants — maybe I’ll ask what they all think of the way Long time, No See deals with relationships. It’d be a totally selfish move on my part — I’ll learn far more from my audience than they’ll learn from me, and hey, I may gather enough material to write a sequel!

To big sisters

A few years ago Mike volunteered as a writing tutor with Open Books, a literacy program here in Chicago. Tutors and students did the exercises together, and when they were asked to write about a family member, Mike wrote about his sister Kris. He sent the essay off to her when it was finished. Two years later, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Kris died last Wednesday, a day after her 60th birthday. Mike agreed to let me publish his essay here.

My Whole Sister

by Michael Knezovich

I’m told my big sister was not happy with my arrival. That at one point, she rolled me – in my bassinette – into a closet and closed the door.

Mike’s sister Kris, circa 1974.

That, I’m happy to not remember. What I do remember is she was always an exotic grown-up person who did stuff I wanted to do but wasn’t allowed and knew stuff I wanted to know, but couldn’t understand.

And that no matter how hard I pedaled, how fast I ran, what grade I was in, I would never catch up.

Aggravating.

I don’t remember when I learned she had a different father than I did. That hers had died when she was six months old after an awful fire at an oil refinery in Bakersfield, Calif. That my mother had remarried and that Kris got my dad, and eventually me, in the bargain.

This all made her even more exotic in my view; otherworldly, even. But we did the usual things – towel snapping fights while we did the dishes. Arguments over what was on our one TV. And always, when called out, blaming the other for starting it.

By 1969, she was a junior in high school. And the world was popping its rivets. Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated the year before. There was the civil rights movement, riots and a lot of fear. And there was Vietnam. As editor of the high school newspaper, Kris chose to run an anti-war poem, which got a reprimand from school administrators. When she wore a black armband on war moratorium day, she was nearly suspended.

My mother, a schoolteacher and something of a local institution, was mortified. And furious. And they fought, loud, hard and sometimes hatefully. Again and again. It was like all the conflicts of the ‘60s, the generation gap, the war, and the sexual revolution – played out in the little terrarium that was our home.

My dad was resolutely allergic to conflict and did his best to not be around during the worst of it.

Me, I somehow got it in my head to try to be peacemaker. I wasn’t very good at it and managed to succeed only when I irritated the two of them and they redirected the anger they had for each other at me, for the moment the common enemy.

My sister infuriated me, too. I wondered why she couldn’t just go along. Or sugarcoat or even be dishonest – in the name of keeping the peace. She left for college, which brought peace. And boredom.

And I missed her. I visited her there and we, without trying, became friends more than siblings.

As a senior in high school, I found myself in the superintendent’s office. I was editor of the paper and had run an editorial critical of budget priorities. My sister and I grew up with different surnames. But the superintendent knew the connection. To his credit, he smiled at the thought. He was generous and there was no threat of suspension.

To this day, some people will refer to Kris as my half-sister. And I laugh, because, like that school administrator, I only knew her as my sister, in whole.

Therapy dogs

Whitney met Hanni, the grand dame of Seeing Eye dogs, this week! The circumstances were not happy ones –we were in Urbana for a funeral. The meeting of the dogs helped take our minds off

There’s Whit with Hanni’s bone.

the sadness for a bit, though, and we were very grateful.

I’ve been to two funerals the past couple weeks, and Whitney came along to both. She could have easily stayed home — neighbors drove us to the first funeral, and we went with my husband Mike to the second. My friends, and of course Mike, were willing to lend an elbow to lead me through the funeral homes, but experience with previous Seeing Eye dogs taught me that having a dog there at wakes and funerals sometimes comforts fellow mourners. I am not about to claim Whitney qualifies as a “therapy dog,” but I do know she can serve as a distraction. And sometimes, when things are particularly sad, a distraction is, well, just right.

Speaking of just right, we stayed with our friends Steven and Nancy after this week’s memorial service – they are the wonderful couple who adopted Hanni. Hanni and Whitney are both Golden Retriever/Labrador crosses, but I had no trouble telling them apart. Hanni is a tail wagger –you know it’s her when you hear a thump, thump, thump on the floor. She’s taken on more and more of her Golden Retriever side in these matronly years: she wears her hair long and full now. Her coat matches her personality: fluffy.

Whitney, on the other hand, is a licker. When you lean down to pet her, she’ll give you a kiss before rolling over for a belly rub. And at two years old, Whitney is a lean mean machine, showing signs of childish jealousy around her predecessor.

Example: When Hanni walked into hour room Tuesday morning, Whitney immediately sprang up from a calm, quiet repose and grabbed one of Hanni’s bones, chewing it ferociously, trying to taunt her. Hanni nuzzled up to me, thumped her tail, and, I imagine, rolled her eyes.

Hanni ignored Whitney completely, choosing instead to watch me go through my pre-departure rituals –zipping my suitcase, finding my shoes. When she saw me pick up Whitney’s harness, she started jumping for joy. Jumping and jumping and jumping. It’d been a long time since Hanni had seen a harness, but she remembered exactly what it was. Hanni is 12 years old now, an arthritic retiree, but she was ready to go back to work if I needed her.

Aging. Aches. Illness. Disease. Dying. It all sure can seem senseless at times. As Mike puts it, “Who do we see about this?!” The past couple weeks have served to remind me just how delicate life is, and how fortunate I am to share my time here with such incredible people — and creatures. I’m off with one of those creatures now — it’s in the 90s, and while well-deserving retirees Hanni and Harper relax at home with their new people, energetic Whitney will guide me to the pool. Don’t worry, though, Whitney knows how to carpe the diem, too. She’ll be sitting behind the reception desk in air conditioning while I swim.

It’s all in the mind’s eye

I am not the only blind woman in America who keeps a blog – not by a long shot. Fellow blogger Becky Andrews is blind from Retinitis Pigmentosa, and her Cruisin’ with Cricket blogfollows

That’s Becky with her guide dog Cricket.

her life as a business owner, director, and licensed professional counselor at Resilient Solutions, an office of ten therapists in Utah. Here is an excerpt from a post she wrote about the questions she gets when people find out she’s a therapist who can’t see her clients.

Some answers from a blind therapist

by Becky Andrews, LPC, FT

• How does your blindness impact your work? Really very minimal – other than coordinating rides to the office and having print/detail read. There is an awareness in the office to keep things cleared. I walk out and greet my client and we go back to my office. We process their journey and Cricket is in the corner of the office. Yesterday after seeing a client for several months, I dropped a paperclip. She helped me find it and indicated – that is the first time that it has been evident to me that you can’t see.
• Office management – I really enjoy this aspect of my job. I have a colleague that is amazing with the details and paperwork and keeps us running smooth. I love planning office events that keep us connected and supporting one another.
• Are your clients blind? I spent several years working at the Moran Eye Center with patients who were blind or had a degenerative eye condition and were losing their eyesight. I enjoyed this position very much. For the past eight years I have worked in an agency and in my own private practice where on occasion I have had a client who was blind but 98% of my clients are not blind or visually impaired. However, I have enjoyed the clients that I get to see who might happen to be blind.
• Do you have a specialty? Grief/loss/trauma and I work with all ages that are experiencing losses in their life. I think my youngest client has been three and my oldest 89. I also enjoy working with people who are experiencing the effects of depression and anxiety. I love implementing the work of Mindfulness and Self-Compassion and Positive Psychology.
• How did you go to school? Like anyone who completes an advanced degree … lots of hard work. There were times of being creative with transportation, getting textbooks on tape (okay, I’m dating myself, I know , readers for the tests, and simply being innovative in getting the job done. Determination and persistence are important attributes, whether blind or not, in grad school. I enjoy having interns at our office to help them have experience and also encourage them that they can do it!
• How did you believe you could start your own business? I am grateful to have a super supportive husband that believed in me and helped me navigate some of the business aspects of the whole process. I had a therapist call me today asking for some business input … I laughed and said, build it and they will come. I said its hard to put into words but if you have a passion and work hard, I believe it can happen.

I had the chance to speak yesterday to two of my mentors, who are blind and to thank them for some of their past wisdom which has helped me immensely. I recognize one of the tools they gave me that has helped the most was to help me to see that blindness does not define me — it is one of many characteristics of mine.

Back to me: when I talked to Becky about using this as a guest post, she said my timing was perfect. “I’m doing more phone consults and sessions now, and loving this experience, too.” Link here to follow Becky’s Cruisin’ with Cricket blog and learn more about her life as a business owner, marriage and family therapist, wife, mom, daughter, friend and fashion-plate. For information on over-the phone consults with Becky, link to Resilient Solutions or phone them at 801.259.3883.

Leading with the fire in your hips

I’m putting the final touches on my morning keynote for tomorrow’s Women’s Leadership Symposium in Chicago. The conference theme is Synergy of Sisterhood: Breaking Barriers, Creating Alliances, and the University of Illinois – Chicago’s Women’s Leadership & Resource Center is offering workshops all day long.

One workshop that particularly caught my eye (okay, my ear) is called Leading With The Fire In Your Hips – Introduction Course to the Sensual Moving Meditation Practice for Womyn. The workshop is described as a “sensual experience for womyn that helps them identify their fears.” Now, c’mon. there’s not enough coffee in the world to help my morning keynote stimulate an audience the way that one will! Maybe you should consider signing up for the conference yourself — it’s open to Faculty, Staff, Students, and the Public.

Thursday, June 14
Women’s Leadership Symposium
Illinois Room, Student Center East
750 South Halsted
Chicago, IL

This program qualifies for LLEAP (Lifelong Learning and Educational Access Program) credit, and you can register on-site for the symposium tomorrow starting at 8:15 a.m. My morning keynote starts at 9 a.m., and I hope everyone in the audience lets the fire in their hips lead them to my table afterwards — Sandmeyer’s Bookstore is providing books for me to sign for anyone interested.

Shining stars

Mr. Peabody, set the wayback machine to 1986.

Alice Gervace LaPlante (left) and my friend Lynn LaPlante, taken at one of Lynn’s concerts when Alice was still getting out and about.

After a year of weekly visits to read to a newly-blind woman, it’s time for University of Illinois senior John Foreman to graduate. John brings his girlfriend, a music performance major, along on his final visit, and when Lynn LaPlante pulls her viola from its case, the blind woman’s crooked old rental house transforms into a resounding recital hall.

I wouldn’t hear from Lynn LaPlante for decades. I lost track of John Foreman after he graduated. And as it turns out, So did Lynn.

When Mike Knezovich and I moved to our Printers Row neighborhood here in 2003, we had no idea that Lynn LaPlante and her marvelous husband Mike Allaway lived here, too. When Lynn saw my memoir, Long Time, No See on display at Sandmeyer’s Bookstore, she scribbled out a note with her phone number and left it with Ellen Sandmeyer. Ellen called me. I called Lynn. A friendship was born.

In the years since then I was fortunate to meet Lynn LaPlante-Allaway’s’s beloved mother, Alice Gervace LaPlante. Anyone who met Lynn’s mother loved her, and I fell right in line. Alice died of complications related to Alzheimer’s disease on May 31, and a Printers Row neighbor generously offered to drive Whitney and me to the wake, where I had the privilege of meeting Lynn’s sister-in-law, her nieces and nephews, her old neighbors and her childhood friends.

Lynn’s mother Alice had been the music director of St. Edna Catholic Church in Arlington Heights for nearly 40 years, and a writer for the Chicago Tribune was so taken after reading Alice’s obituary that she contacted Lynn after the funeral. “They said they like to showcase people who have touched a lot of lives,” Lynn told me. That describes my Mom perfectly!” From that Chicago Tribune article:

Mrs. LaPlante, the mother of eight, enjoyed music from Bach to Benny Goodman. She taught piano out of her home and a local studio for many years and instilled a love of music in all her children, each of whom learned to play at least one instrument.

“I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing today had it not been for my mother,” said LaPlante-Allaway, the principal violist with the Chicago Jazz Philharmonic. “She guided me every step of the way.”

I haven’t seen a whole lot of Lynn the past couple of years – she devoted the majority of that time to her mother, who had always been so devoted to Lynn and her music career.

Lynn played a viola solo at Alice’s funeral Tuesday, and she brought her viola with her on visits to her mom. The beloved Alice Gervase La Plante spent her final years surrounded by the same breathtaking sound her young daughter brought to me all those years ago, and thanks to her mother’s guidance early on, Lynn pleases all sorts of audiences with her music now. When I emailed Lynn to ask for a photo to publish with this blog, she said she’d send it asap. And then in that uncanny way of hers she ended her message by showing pride, humility and appreciation for her career all at the same time. “I leave in an hour to go play with Earth, Wind and Fire at Ravinia. If that isn’t the most surreal sentence I’ve ever typed, I don’t know what is.”

Thank you, John Foreman, wherever you are. You could never have known how your decision to volunteer as a 20-year-old young man would not only help me through those first unsettling months of blindness, but live on to sustain me decades later through my friendship with Lynn and her mother Alice. What a gift.

Same great content, four different reading levels

A picture page from “Lend Me a Paw.” (Photo courtesy National Geographic School Publishing.)

Hey, I have a new book out! National Geographic School Publishing used a true story about my previous Seeing Eye dog Harper in a new supplementary textbook called Lend Me a Paw, and it was just published last month. Lend Me a Paw is part of National Geographic School Publishing’s new Ladder Series, which they describe as a “laddered approach to leveled readers in order to differentiate for a shared experience.”

Huh?

Let me try to explain. Levelers at National Geographic School Publishing took my story “One Smart Dog” and produced it in four different reading levels:

• above level,
• on level,
• 1 grade below level, and
• 2 grades below level.

Each book is laid out exactly the same — the photographs and graphics are identical in each version, but the wording and sentence structure varies to match the reading level of the reader. Above-level readers might read one version, and students in the same classroom who are still working out vocabulary and grammar can tackle a version that is less complicated. Their web site describes it like this: “Same great content, four different reading levels.” In the end, a classroom of kids with different reading skills will all be able to discuss the content together as a class.

Still with me? Maybe an example will help. Here’s the intro to the story I wrote:

I’m blind. Even when my eyes are open, all I see is the color black. So I use my other senses to do things I enjoy, like writing books. My computer is adapted with assistive technology for people who are blind. A robotic voice parrots the letters I type, and I use my sense of hearing to listen to what I write. When I’m finished with a story, I press a button, and…voila! My computer reads what’s on the screen, and I can hear – and fix—my mistakes.

I do most of my writing at home, but I travel to interview people and research stories. That’s where Harper comes in.

And here is that section with the content adjusted for striving readers:

I’m blind, so I use my other senses to write books. My computer has a special program for people who are blind. A voice repeats the letters I type. It also reads what’s on the screen. I write at home, but sometimes I travel, too. That’s where Harper comes in.

Another example. Here’s what I wrote for above-level readers, from later on in the story:

Harper and I were heading down a city sidewalk once when he stopped for no reason. Well, no reason that I could come up with. I felt ahead with my foot. Nothing there. I waved my arm in front of me. No barricade. “Harper, forward!” I urged. I had an appointment, and I didn’t want to be late. “Hup, hup!” Harper stood motionless. “Right, right!” I tried, hoping Harper might scurry me around whatever he saw in the way. No luck.

Just then I heard a truck door slam. Heavy footsteps hurried toward us. “Watch out, ma’am! Stay put!” The truck driver offered his arm.

And now, here’s that same part for readers who are one grade below level:

Harper and I were walking along a city sidewalk. All of a sudden he stopped. I felt ahead with my foot. Nothing there. I waved my arm in front of me. Nothing there, either. “Harper, forward!” I urged. Harper did not move. “Right, right!” I tried. No luck. Just then I heard a truck door slam. Someone hurried toward us. “Watch out, ma’am!” The truck driver offered his arm.

What harm did Harper see in front of us? What danger had he saved us from? Guess you’ll have to order the book to find out!

Textbooks in this new Ladders program cover some of the Common Core Standards (a set of education standards adopted by 40+ states) for English Language Arts. Elementary school teachers who have some students in class who are learning English have told me this laddered approach could come in handy for them, too. I’m guessing it could be used in adult literacy classes as well.

Lend Me a Paw isn’t available commercially, but you can purchase copies on line for around $6 a copy. . Here’s a hint: when I ordered mine, I had better luck phoning my order in at 1-888-915-3276. Ask for isbn number 978-07362-95116.

P.S. If I look unusually tall in the photos, don’t blame the National Geographic photographer. I wrote the story last summer after I broke my foot, and when it came time for the photo shoot, I was sporting orthopedic shoes with three-inch soles. My podiatrist insisted I wear those clodhoppers for weeks after my cast came off!

Art over adversity

I was extremely flattered when author and illustrator Sheila Welch asked me to participate in a book festival she was putting together in Freeport, Ill, and oh so disappointed to have to say no: Freeport is far away from Chicago and had no public transportation options. As you are about to find out from this guest post, Sheila Welch is one determined and resourceful woman, reluctant to take no for an answer. If my Seeing Eye dog Hanni and I took a commuter train as far west as it goes, she said she and her husband Eric could pick us up and drive us the rest of the way.

That car ride back in 2008 gave us a lot of time to talk, and we’ve stayed in touch ever since. I recently asked Sheila to write a guest post on what it’s been like to continue her career as an artist after being diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. No surprise here: she rose to the challenge.

The positively best therapy available for me

by Sheila K. Welch

The puzzling symptoms began a decade ago. In the fall of 2004, I had trouble autographing books. Strange. My mother could write her name with a flourish in her late 80s. I noticed, while drawing illustrations, certain movements were awkward and difficult. A few months later, I developed a slight tremor in my right hand.

“Waiting to Forget” is available at namelos press

My family doctor seemed confident that it was nothing serious, and I wanted to believe her. By the spring of 2007, however, waving, clapping, brushing my teeth, quick sketching, handwriting, and typing had all become either impossible or laborious tasks. I could sign my name, but only if I did it slowly and deliberately. And only if no one was watching.

Something was obviously wrong. I suspected Parkinson’s. My husband and I had a dear friend who’d had early onset Parkinson’s Disease (PD), so I was acquainted with this progressively debilitating condition. I went to a neurologist and he told me that I definitely had PD.

Living with Parkinson’s is a balancing act. Medications and exercises have been developed to control many of the symptoms. However, the medications alter brain chemistry and can result in nasty side effects such as extreme drowsiness, and, with prolonged usage, involuntary movements and psychosis.

My future looked bleak. Feeling myself losing abilities that had come naturally and easily for so long, I went into creative overdrive: I revised one novel manuscript. Wrote several stories. Finished revisions on a chapter book. Made illustrated dummy books.

Next I completed a novel that was close to my heart. Several of our children were adopted at school age, and they were the inspiration for WAITING TO FORGET, published by namelos in 2011. Kirkus Book Reviews describes it as “a poignant, realistic tale of child-survivors.” Bank Street College and Pennsylvania School Library Association have included it on their best-books-of-the-year lists.

While working with namelos to get WAITING TO FORGET published, I wrote a picture book manuscript and began sketching illustrations. On New Year’s Day last year, I resolved to work
on a memoir for my family. One hundred words a day added up to 36,500 by December 31.

This spring, I’m doing rough sketches for one of my manuscripts and working on a major revision of a novel. I also created two drawings for an exhibition appropriately called “Art over Adversity.”

While all of these projects take far longer than they would have before my Parkinson’s diagnosis, I’ve discovered that the creative process improves my mood, and that helps me feel better

Sheila’s painting “Dream Beach” was displayed at
the “Art over Adversity” exhibition for Parkinson’s awareness month.

physically. Stress exacerbates all the symptoms of Parkinson’s, but when I’m involved in illustrating a book or I’m writing a short story, the stress level drops.

Equally important: I’ve learned to modify and adapt. I still do presentations at schools and conferences, but I don’t do live demonstrations of my illustrations — I display a sketch I’ve brought from home. To avoid the stress of travel, I use Skype to interact with kids. When the local library hosted the launch of my novel, I offered pre-autographed books for sale.

I’m incredibly fortunate to have my husband Eric. He drives me everywhere, solves my computer issues, and does the household chores. With his help, I have the time and energy to be creative. Our seven children have all been super supportive. The youngest, whose early life was similar to that of my characters in WAITING TO FORGET, now lives in Texas. He has read the novel and tells me that it’s a “real, true” story, which is my most treasured review.

A few weeks ago, I began treatment with a more powerful medication for Parkinson’s disease, and now I can use my right hand to touch type. There’s talk in the PD world of a new medication that might be neuro-protective, but in the meantime, I will happily stick with the positively best therapy available for me — drawing and writing.