‘My Happy Place’

I am happy to announce, a painting I did in oils called a ‘My Happy Place’ will displayed at the Peninsula Children’s Learning Center, Portland, Oregon. Thank you for your support. It is a great honor and privilege to have my painting chosen to be displayed in such an important place where children go to learn.  When I was a child, daisies and dandelions were my favorite flowers. We lived on a dead end street that ran between the sprinkled lawns of our duplex and the mod Edsel dealership that lined its shiny, fancy, cars in a row. The pavement was dressed with seismic cracks and yellow dandelions peeking up toward the sky. I remember I would walk to the edge of the pavement, bent from the waist, arms stretched behind me. Then leaned forward, made a big O with my mouth, drew a gust of air through my lungs and blew out a ‘puff’ ball. Its arms sprayed out in a fan-like-fashion and hit the pavement. I called its arms ‘wings’ and said a prayer as the wings twirled to their designated spots. Each wing, to me, was a Queen in a chess game, luring every ant into its domain while it glided down the smooth tar pavement it played on. It touched my soul with happiness. I was the only one in the whole world, I thought, who discovered the ‘puff’ ball. It made me giggle inside till the sweet air tickled my trachea and caused me to leap, bounce, lift my heels, and fly in a high pitched shrill to the dancing melodies of the atmosphere. Because I lived with a parent who was an alcoholic and her climb to prosperity was steep, my wishes were modest, young enough for happy dresses and tootsie pops on Christmas day, but not, mature enough to satisfy my appetite of peace,  love and abundance for the world. So much of the world needed a good spoon-sized dose of peace, love, and abundance, but I couldn’t give it to them. I couldn’t speak up about it, I was different. I was forever young and was forever silent. I was a child who gained her strength from the ‘March of Dimes’ when I was crippled in the legs from polio when I was age 2. I walked away from the paralysis of the back with another bout of polio when I was 7. I hid many things inside and kept to myself. I was occupied by playing with the dandelions on the pavement at Salt Lake City and fascinated with the daises that matured in the spring and summer. The cheerful daises had snow white petals with yummy mustard-like colored centers. I would wedge myself between the narrow alley way and the duplexes, sit on a step, and generate a strange, quiet secret to myself. Sometimes, I pretended I was sitting with Santa, as I grabbed a green stem and plucked out the delicate daisy petals one by one. “He loves me, he loves me not!”In my mind, I believed my boyfriends, Biff and Tony, who were my age that lived up the street, were holding my hand and pressing their kisses on my check. After I plucked the last petal, I discovered that all my boyfriends loved me. I’d look up skyward and reflected on the big blue sky. “Thank you, God, for I am loved,” I said. I’ll never forget the feeling. It was a universal feeling of freedom and consciousness. I was participating and ‘being’. I finally got in touch with the man upstairs with the long white beard embellishing the clouds. I was the happiest child in the world.  Sherry

My Happy Place by Sherry Joiner

My Happy PLace

 

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