Art is life. That’s a motto of mine, one which has sustained me through personal trials, school drudgery, and corporate headaches. But there’s fine art--Shakespeare, Mona Lisa, Mozart--and then there’s fun art. I define the latter as pieces that are accessible to anyone without the need for abridged editions or historical background. Fun art is my favorite, but the free-flowing exchange of ideas in all forms is vital to me. As proof…

An English professor I had in college wanted students to annotate books, especially our MLA reference book. No matter the text, it always felt off to me. Notes belong on separate paper. Any book, even a dry style manual, is someone’s magnum opus--if only for the time they worked on it. If ever I was forced to highlight a book, it felt like kicking a puppy. I wondered why deconstructing someone’s work was even up for debate; ‘maybe,’ I thought, it’s just an academic thing’.

I haven’t futzed around with a physical book since. But even fun, intangible art isn’t exempt from analysis. I’m referring, of course, to fandom.

Despite having witnessed the advent and dissemination of the internet, I didn’t bother with fandom until 2016, when I discovered a new favorite Disney film: “Zootopia”.  In it, an anthropomorphic rabbit and fox cycle through mutual disdain, friendship, betrayal, redemption, and…Was I the only one who detected an undercurrent of romance? To answer this question, I braved the wilds of social media--and fandom itself.

I not only discovered that I wasn’t alone in this sentiment, but that there were myriad pieces of art devoted to the couple, as well as the inner workings of their fair city. After reading so many enticing takes, I decided to try my hand at fanfiction. In time, I had devoted an entire website to my homage to “Zootopia” and its universe--a collage of nods to its creators, characters of my own making, and some inspired by myself and people I know and/or admire. Each of these elements gave me hope that perhaps even the upbeat elements of the film could serve as an allegory for the real world.

As time went on, that elusive ‘what if’ drifted further and further out of reach. Then, around the time of the pandemic, I stopped writing short stories for pleasure. It wasn't just the pandemic and accompanying societal shift, but also personal reasons that gave me pause.

I tried other forms of fandom on for size, but before I knew it, the era of polite discourse with substance had long since passed. The dominant form of “expression” in these spaces had gone from reverent, carefully-crafted ‘easter eggs’, to outright commodification of artists’ work--and, in some cases, the artists themselves.

While I'm happy to say that I've since found other short forms of writing that I enjoy, they are but small morsels of the decadent feast for the mind that once was. I savor what I can.

With all the upheavals in fandom over the years, there are two  things I want to remind my fellow logophiles:

You are a writer, no matter what you write/And if art brings you joy, then it isn’t trite.

                                                             … 

When it comes to work, would you rather be bored, with not enough to do, or stressed, with too much? That’s not a trick question; it’s one I thought about often while working in an intensely competitive industry.  It took a while for me to settle on my answer, but when it came to me, it seemed obvious.

It doesn’t surprise me that a synonym for stress is ‘worked up’.  After all, stress usually visits us when we have to think or behave within the confines of rules--at work, for instance. I don’t do well under pressure: I can’t think straight. My focus, memory, and energy desert me.  Being bored is a different story; there are no surprises, and my mind wanders to possibilities I hadn’t thought of before.  In this state, solutions to work problems came more easily.  

But, more often than not, so did inspiration for personal projects.  Boredom is innately creative, and sometimes it can be enough motivation to try something new you’ve been avoiding. My favorite video game, Disney Dreamlight Valley, has a feature that lets players design their own clothes.  I don’t use it often, as my visual/spatial and drawing skills leave something to be desired.

Yet one day I was watching tutorials and suddenly realized I could create a shirt with one of my favorite Disney characters on it--Zipper from “Chip ‘n’ Dale Rescue Rangers”.  (You’re forgiven if you need to Google that.) I can draw Zipper fairly well; I reasoned it couldn’t be that hard to recreate his face using in-game shapes. So I did.  It was actually easy as pie--or is that ‘fly’? I’m proud of this design and so glad that I attempted it. But it wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t been bored.

 … 

As I navigate this new chapter in my career, I find myself having to reconcile two aspects of my personality: the meticulous professional and the curious, playful kid. In the process, I’ve reminisced.

A few years ago, I decided to explore a new hobby. I’d just gotten a  PC, selected by my more hardware-aware brother, who said it had great graphics. My childlike heart translated this as, ‘I can try a Disney video game!’

Though I admittedly partake in ample screen time--my computer is both home office and entertainment center--I’d never tried gaming.  The options seemed fast-paced and noisy, with too many rules.  If I were to play one, I realized, it would have to be relaxing.  I’d also want to be invested in the characters; since I’d be saving their world, it needed to make sense to me.

Enter Disney Dreamlight Valley. It’s part adventure, part life-sim, and the villagers I meet have stepped out of my favorite movies.

Take, for instance, Timon and Pumbaa.  They are the stand-outs of “The Lion King”, in my opinion. But until I met them in my valley, I hadn’t considered how alike we are.

Timon has a take-charge attitude and plenty of confidence, but he’s also a little…restless.  He tends to overthink things.  As much as I resist the latter impulse, I’m often guilty of it, too.

Then there’s Pumbaa.  He cares.  He wonders. He helps. But he’s not perfect.  Sometimes he is self-conscious about certain…bodily functions. Given my disability, I relate to that on so many levels.

Yet despite their differences, meerkat and warthog are the best of friends.  They look out for one another, complementing each other in unexpected ways.  The two also share a common goal: always “Hakuna Matata”. What’s not to love? If Simba’s sidekicks can do their thing, then so can I--or anyone else. It all comes down to how we act--and react--in the face of our daily challenges. It can be helpful to think through every detail of a problem, as Timon might. But it's also valuable to stay present like Pumbaa. Chances are that many challenges require a little of both.

… 

Have you ever gone ice-skating? I did once--on a grade-school field trip in a specially-designed chair. It was fun.  But that’s not the cold weather slice-of-life I remember most fondly.

It was a brisk winter day, and my mom had just ferried me to my college classes. When she went to lift and pivot me into my wheelchair, I slipped. This led to an unceremonious facedown flop onto the icy parking lot beside Mom’s car.

It happened in slow motion.  All I could do was…Laugh.  Yes, I’m a nervous laugher. But I hadn’t hit my head, so I wasn’t worried.  It was more, ‘who does that?!’

This incident is one of many disability-related experiences I’ve found myself giggling at. At times my predicaments are so ridiculous, I can’t help myself. This is not to say that I would ever laugh at someone else in a similar situation; I just happen to be a self-deprecating armchair humorist. (Case in point: ‘actually, it’s not an armchair; it’s an electric wheelchair’.) 

I’ve had lots of moments like this. (None of them are comparatively dicey.) But you’ll have to take my word for it, because my memory’s not great--and some of them aren’t for polite company.

Speaking of memory, a recent one involved me being exhausted, with a persistent headache. Forgetting the phrase ‘toilet paper'. I just pointed to the roll, then laughed at myself when I was corrected.

Another occurred at a routine physical. I used an exam table for the first time---ever, I think. There I sat with a white-knuckled grip on Mom, who graciously sat beside me. I didn’t laugh outright then, but I once again sensed absurdity in the moment.

I hope I never lose this zany outlook on the challenges I face. The privilege to guffaw my way through life---always at myself, not my peers--is one that I never take for granted.

  … 

 I once saw a post by a LinkedIn connection that warmed my heart. She’d found a whimsical little red squirrel in a boat--I’d call it a plushie--that seemed like a symbol for freelance life. There is, after all, only one of each of us, and we can feel so small in our attempt to make big waves. But this post--my post--isn’t your average motivational missive.

I’m surrounded by plushies. That’s not an exaggeration; my bedroom has been called a ‘toy store’. But my plushies aren’t for sale. They help me make sense of life--including work. A bunch of them sit at my desk with me, available for cuddles when the grind gets stressful. I love every one of them--but I also have a favorite.

I’m a Disney girl. I’ve briefly mentioned Zipper before; he’s best known for his role in the ‘80s/’90s T.V. series “Chip ‘n’ Dale Rescue Rangers”. He’s a feisty and fiercely loyal fly who will unleash a torrent of raspy squeaks at anyone who dares ignore him. I’ve loved Zipper since I was a kid and was thrilled when he joined my menagerie.

Zipper’s impression on the Disney universe mirrors that of his origin show. Nearly everyone ignores him. He’s rarely included in merch, media, or online discussion. But he has always inspired me. He’s small (he’s a fly, after all), has low stamina (in the “Rangers” series, he’s seen panting from exertion several times) but he has strengths--flying, of course, with speed, a good right hook, and the ability to pick locks--and knows how to use them to his advantage. He has a temper that translates into determination, but he is also sweet and loving.

I’m short (5-something, though I appear shorter in my wheelchair). I have low stamina. But I’m also really good at what I do. I’ve been told I’m stubborn (which is true), but my bark is worse than my bite.

With me, Zipper lives his best life. He has a family, a house, a fully-stocked pantry, a wardrobe fit for a model, and an Instagram account to show it all off. Sometimes I think that, if Zipper can succeed, maybe I can, too.

… 

Everyone is necessarily the hero of his own life story.

 ― John Barth, author, in “The End of the Road”

 When I worked in edtech, I subscribed to industry newsletters. One of them, a weekly, had a quote appended to the bottom. Each one was attributed to a famous person--some well-known, some not. Often, but not always, the quote would be about innovation, but they could be about anything. On a bad day, those quotes were my favorite part of the newsletter. On a good day, they were the cherry on top.

During my last month in corporate, I found a version of the above quote in a newsletter. (I’ve seen paraphrases attributed to others, but I can’t recall the byline on that specific one.) I posted it in our team Slack, as it reminded me of things that our founder used to tell his English students. (He taught me for 2 years in high school, proving that there might be some truth to, “it’s not what you know, but who you know”.) He was--and is--a proponent of the idea that everyone has a right to tell their stories, and that when we listen to each other’s stories, connection is possible.

So when I saw the hero quote, I was thinking in those terms. I was also thinking that I don’t tend to see myself as the hero, but as the humorous best friend. (Leave it to me to think of life as a comedy.) A coworker replied--as the IT guy, he had a more pragmatic interpretation. He said that everyone is the hero for better or worse--even the unsavory characters are the “heroes” of their own narrative. At the time, I wasn’t sure what to make of that; I now appreciate his perspective more than I care to admit.

But, at the end of the day, I’m an optimist. I’m also a hard-core introvert. I don’t like attention, so imagining myself as the hero of anything is really tricky. Yet I recently realized that I do see myself that way sometimes--in a whimsical, song-and-dance, Disney movie kind of way. When I do, just as in real life, I don’t take myself too seriously. I love to laugh at myself, and imagining my life as narrated by one of my favorite Disney voice actors really does give me a chuckle. It also gives me the feeling that things will be okay if I take them one day--or perhaps one line?--at a time.

… 

I make lists for everything. There’s the obligatory ‘Work To-Do List’, the facepalm-if-I-forget-it grocery list, and even my trusty ‘Weekend To-Do List’ so that I can pack as much fun stuff as possible into those coveted mini-vacations. So when, several years ago, I heard about a book series called “Listography”, I was fascinated.

Actually, ‘book’ is a misnomer. Each “Listography” is a journal in list form, ready to house every serious and silly detail about its owner. The tagline is, “your life in lists”. It lives up to that phrase, as it encourages one to “list your best purchases” as well as “list your biggest fears” and everything in between. Those are some prompts for the general edition, which I have. (If you see a plushie in one of my posts, there’s a good chance they made the former list. Abandonment is near the top of the latter, though not for any specific reason.) There are also editions specific to everything from music to friends to literature. (I kind of want to check out all three.)

But the author’s input isn’t the only interesting thing about my copy. I bought it used from Amazon; I would’ve been disappointed if the lists themselves had been filled out, but in the back, on a mostly-blank page, squeezed beside a barcode, is this message:

”Memories are not just in our minds, but in our hearts as well”

Always, KBE’ 

I can’t find an attribution for the quote, so perhaps it was an inside reference between KBE and the recipient. Regardless of where it came from, it’s a beautiful sentiment, and there’s certainly truth to it. I forget things left and right--hence this post about lists--but the kind KBE refers to are unforgettable. I’ll share one that popped into my head as I wrote this; it’s listed under live performances I’ve seen in my “Listography”.

In the summer of 2012, my mom took me to see The OG Wiggles farewell tour. (Google this if you must.)  My brother loved the band as a youngster, and, being a kid-at-heart and a fan of good ol’ rock ‘n’ roll, I became a fan of them as well.

We got front-row seats at an outdoor venue on a sweltering summer day. Despite the heat, I smiled the whole time. The highlight occurred when, as the Wiggles were leaving the stage--their route right past us--Mom got the attention of Greg--lead singer and my favorite Wiggle. I had in my possession a copy of his memoir, “Now and Then”--would he sign it, asked Mom? (I was too starstruck to say a word.) He graciously did.

I wish you all a summer of heart-memories--and a chance to untether yourself from those ever-present lists, if only for awhile.

… 

”You’ve gotta be kinda inventive when you have a disability. That’s a really good thing.”

That’s what the mechanic said to me when he made a recent house call to fix my chair. He had to fix said chair with me still in it (luckily it was a minor issue), so he saw that, in one side pouch, I keep a set of tongs. (These are for picking things up off the floor.) In the other, I keep a flashlight (which I let him borrow to aid his work).

I found his comment really refreshing, for a few reasons. One being he’s among the few personable mechanics I’ve met. Another is that most people I know would call the tongs a ‘quirk’. The third is that his words made me feel really proud of myself--and not just for having those items handy.

I thought of all the ways I’ve had to be inventive since I started freelancing. Choosing my field, researching the market, building a website, reading up on business (editing, too), settling on a niche, writing, posts,  joining discussions. Plus making sure all my policies reflect who I am. If that's not inventive---for a disabled person, or any person---I don't know what is.

It’s a lot, but I love it, because in my experience, having a disability means that if you don’t make your own decisions, someone else will make them for you. I’d much rather have slow days wearing a billion hats than be on the fast track in Bureaucrat Land.

Plus, being my own boss  gives me a minute to whip my tongs out and pick up that thing I dropped…again.

… 

If you could design a new invention--no matter how “impractical”, what would it be? My answer is this: Picture a mixer--as in a kitchen appliance--without the attachments or bowl. ‘How would you use that?!’ you ask. Well, it wouldn’t be a mixer anymore; it would be a mail expediter.

Now picture this: You ordered something really special online. Maybe it’s a gorgeous but fragile little vase for your desk. Maybe you’re doing some early holiday shopping and found the perfect gift for your favorite person--but you want it at your place for safekeeping. It might even be a much sought-after Labubu all the way from Asia. Whatever it is, you’re really excited to get it--and also terrified. What if it gets broken, lost, or stolen?! This is where my mail expediter shines.

I can’t get to my mailbox; it’s too close to the road. So for me, having a mail expediter would mean no more frantic refreshing of tracking. No more pleas to family members not to forget the mail. No more dealing with unresponsive customer service departments--or worse, repetitive chatbots. No more bending over to retrieve packages left on the porch. (I’m getting a backache just thinking about it.)

Okay, now try this scenario. The item is in your cart. You check out and get a confirmation email. It says, “Our system has detected that you have a mail expediter. Shipping costs have been refunded. Your item will be delivered  1 -24 hours from the timestamp on this email.’ Yay! You’re free to go about your day without Package FOMO.

A few hours later, you have your nose in a book (bonus points if it’s a romance novel), when a sudden whirring noise startles you. ‘What’s that? Is the printer cleaning itself again?’ Nope--it’s the mail expediter! You hurry to check on it, and by the time you reach it, the whirring has stopped, and your package is there waiting for you (sitting right where the bowl would be).

It’s well-wrapped, but not impossible to open. All the cardboard and paper that’s been keeping your item safe is completely recyclable. Then--there it is, your big-ticket find! It’s perfect!

Cool, huh? Of course, for this to be possible, it would depend on a lot of things:

Basic teleportation technology

Retail companies willing to pay warehouse workers more

Shipping company employees being given other roles and/or opportunities to upskill

A registration system for mail expediter users to register their devices so that the shipping address always matches the location of the device

…and probably other things I’m missing.

There would also be larger mail expediters for things like medical supplies, furniture, and building materials.

I’m sure the Mail expediter  wouldn’t be flawless--what technology is?!--but it would be revolutionary. I won’t hold my breath for it, though. In the meantime, just let me stretch my back--and my ‘refresh’ finger.

                                                                 … 

I love summer. The long, aimless drives in AC, the oldies station turned up. (Even if I’m only a backseat driver.) Meals enjoyed by the water. A baseball game. (Light on the baseball, heavy on the concessions, please). A visit to the botanical gardens. If I’m lucky, a regional production of a musical. But the latter must be a matinee, because…

I’m so tired. Some days are worse than others, but my fatigue is always exacerbated by an outing. Whether I’m away for a few hours or a few days, my galavanting always results in the desire to sleep for a week.

Near the end of my time in corporate, I was exhausted. (Stress, too, tires me out.) Being the whimsical sort, I began to embrace the ways of the sloth.

The sleepy creatures were already on my radar thanks to one of my favorite movies, “Zootopia”. (I won’t spoil it for you, but I will say that sloths are in an iconic scene.) I started picking up plushies when they caught my eye.Then, for Christmas last year, I found a tiny plushie in my stocking (and named him Slalom). 

But for me, the most notable sloth came next. Although advertised as a “baby toy” he was on sale, he had the cutest face, and the softest fur. So, he had a lot going for him. His name turned out to be Sno; SnoCloud to be exact, after his texture and color. But he’s ‘Sno’ for short--a little name for a little guy.

I’ve always been kind to my tired self, but Sno and his ilk reminded me of the specifics:

🦥Stop and smell the roses

🦥Slow and steady wins the race

🦥You can’t fill others’ cups if yours is empty

🦥Celebrate small wins

Are those cliches? Yes. But living with low stamina has shown me that they are absolutely true.

With summer in full swing, I feel ready to risk being laggy. The sun is calling, and it’s saying…

🌞: ‘Bring Sno! But don’t let him fall asleep, or he’ll miss out on all the fun!’

                                                        … 

My favorite animals are cats and rabbits. So it stands to reason that I have a lot of plushies resembling them. To me, plushies are another form of self-expression. But when I see one in particular, I think of my brother.

I started collecting Beanie Babies thanks to my paternal grandmother. Each time she would visit, she’d bring three or four new ones--times two. She always got identical ones for my brother. He’s never loved plushies the way I do, but as a kid he had a steady string of favorites. One of these was Starlett.

The pristine white cat with a simple blue bow soon became a dirty, scrappy mess. She had quite the attitude too--she was always stealing from the other plushies or playing tricks on them. Consequently, they all feared her, but they let her hang out because she was ‘one of the gang’. Much like Oscar the Grouch, she somehow always found her way back into the others’ good graces--and tended to stay there no matter what she did.

I don’t accept the ‘boys will be boys’ trope. Brothers’ tendency to annoy their sisters only accounts for a tiny bit of Starlett’s behavior-by-proxy. Still, being an introvert interested in human nature, I still want to know why he did it.

I have a theory. Few things appeal more to my anthropologist instincts than celebrity. I’ve lost count of the number of actors who profess to enjoy playing villains rather than heroes. That phenomenon seldom makes sense to me, but perhaps it accounts for the atrocious behavior of that darn cat. Knowing what I now know about my brother--he’s naturally introverted (like me) but as a kid sought to branch out into an ambivert (unlike me), maybe Starlett was just him trying on confidence for size. After all, without the extra ‘t’ her name is synonymous with ‘young movie star’. (And perhaps that second ‘t’ stands for ‘terror’.)