Excerpt

Grandma painted a picture of me when I was four years old. She’s always been more of a landscape artist but her portraits -- when she does them -- are in great demand. The painting hangs over the fireplace in our family room. Grandma says often that it’s her favourite.
 
It has six images of myself on a muted background that changes from a child’s playroom on the left of the canvas, through a playground and bedroom in the middle, to a work environment on the right. The first image on the left is me as a baby playing on the carpet. The picture blurs into a four-year-old with a camera which moves into a ten-year-old swinging on a playground swing. The next image shows a teenager in a prom dress. This fades into a young woman with a camera around her neck, looking out the window of an office. The last image shows a woman with long, red hair carrying a big, black bag facing to the right. She’s heading off to the edge of the canvas, almost as if she’s moving towards her unknown future.
 
Many people have commented on Grandma’s ability to see what I would become -- I was four when it was painted. Grandma says it was more her wish for a happy life for me. It was her dream for me -- in paint -- a dream she hoped would come true.
 
I guess it’s a good omen that the background doesn’t have a beautiful scene of a tropical island.