Posted on April 11th, 2013
eaches has entered an especially productive artistic period. I hadn’t noticed until Roy brought me one of her animals dressed in some new paper construction. It had a bowtie taped to the front of it.
“It’s a tuxedo!” Roy told me, excitedly. “And she made a cast for Slush, too.”
It isn’t as if everything she’s made over the last week was dredged up from the bottom of Freud’s ‘No Duh’ trunk of trauma-related imagery. Just last night she made this crazy stovepipe hat out of printer paper and Scotch tape, equal parts Dr. Seuss and Abraham Lincoln, as a gift for Roy on his birthday. (The top of the hat opens up, enabling the wearer to utilize all of that vertical space as storage for a conveniently-sized—you guessed it—stuffed animal.)
But there’s no getting around the fact of that small paper cast, made for her small, plush sled dog to complement her own. At least she didn’t color it to match her orange and purple one. Yet.
Two weeks from now, the cast on her ankle will be a memory. Until then, however, it will continue to be a significant part of her life, impacting her freedom of movement and the way she feels about her days.
What she is not is alone anymore, not in this particular way, at least. She’s made herself something to keep her company while she heals.∗