It’s difficult not to be noticed in a wheelchair. Moy Moy and all of us love her chair, and are grateful for the way it lets her get around and be part of everything we do. But unobtrusive it ain’t. That means we are a production wherever we go. And how we feel about it changes from day to day, depending upon our moods, the weather and whether we are late or not. Take going to Church, for example. It used to be, when Cathleen and Paula were still here, a breeze. Numbers always help – and the four of us could handle anything. But now it’s just me and Moy and sometimes . . . I drive into the parking lot and get out of the car. I reach up to hoist the chair down from the roof rack. It’s heavy and awkward and there always seems to be someone watching me, but not offering to help. Some days I might ask, knowing that often people want to help, but aren’t sure what to do. Some days I’m in my “I’ll show them” mode and I swing the thing down with practiced ease, pivot Moy Moy out of the car and into the chair and then stride on in to the Church without a glance in anyone’s direction. Some days, someone appears at precisely the right moment and does precisely the right thing. Some days I feel vulnerable and tender and by the time Moy and I get in to the pew, the effort and the stares may have me close to tears. There is no way to predict which it will be.

Moy Moy, my Zen Master, remains calm and composed regardless of the time, the weather, the assistance or my mood. I go to Church for inspiration and peace and a reminder of what’s really important in life, but time after time, I find it’s Moy Moy who gives me what I really need.