Concentration

My children performed in a piano recital yesterday.

I love sitting up close and watching the children perform. Not just my own children. All of them.

Yes, I said watching. Well, I enjoy listening to them, too. But I am fascinated by watching them.

Some of the children approach the piano as though it were a piece of glass, ever so softly yet deftly tickling the ivories. Some of them attack the keys, pounding that beat out. Others seem to appreciate the melody, swaying with the cadence, becoming music personified. Still others are merely indifferent to the instrument, their apathy evident as they dutifully play the notes.

How each one plays the instrument is intriguing, but what I truly love is watching their looks of concentration. Whether they love the instrument or hate it, for two or three minutes during each recital, they are completely focused. Their absorption in the moment is involuntarily reflected through a different combination of tensed facial muscles.

My son has worn the same look of concentration at various moments since he was an infant. Hard to describe to others, it's 100% identifiable by us, his parents. We noticed his signature look when, sitting up at 5 months, he played intently with his Playskool parking garage set. He set the car down at the top of a ramp, then watched it as it appeared somewhere else down below! It's also the look he wears when designing or constructing a great work of architecture, either in drawings or with Legos. And it's what he can't help but show when he's performing for an audience. His mind is nowhere else but here, in the moment. He is not conscious of other people, or his facial muscles, or what he's going to do when the recital is over.

As I watch all the children perform for an audience, I marvel at how their faces reveal their absorption in the moment. That look represents the real reason why I wanted my children to learn to play the piano: it's not the technical proficiency I want them to possess (although developing such skill is certainly of great benefit); it's the discipline of learning a craft and practicing it to the best of one's ability, and then fully experiencing that single moment when the production of that craft is paramount.

For some, this concentration on the moment, combined with enjoyment of the event, results in an experience of flow, as described by Mihalyi Csikszentmihalyi. And this is a joy to see in all children.

Cautiously Optimistic

There are times when the fruition of a long-awaited event creates both excitement and trepidation.

When I was 8 years old, my long hair was cut to shoulder-length for the very first time. I'd been begging to have my hair cut for what seemed like forever. But when I turned to face myself in the mirror, after having lost a good six inches of hair, tears flowed past my wide smile.

Nearly 11 years ago, when we brought our first child home from the hospital, we were so full of joy for the growth of our family, anticipation for parenthood, and relief that he was healthy. Yet, once we got him home, we just sat looking at him and each other, not quite knowing what to do next.

Today I met with the orthopedic surgeon for my three-week checkup. Midway through my six-week treatment for my hip fracture (eliminating weight-bearing activities), the x-ray was supposed to reveal whether the fractured bone was healing or extending. Meanwhile, in the last few weeks, I've read many accounts on an online forum of runners who had been diagnosed with the exact same injury: stress fracture of the femoral hip. Many of their stories were not encouraging!

I was quite anxious to see what my x-ray would reveal. Surprisingly, I truly did not have an intuitive sense of how my hip was healing. When my x-ray revealed signs of bone reparation, and certainly no signs of a complete fracture, I felt pleased, yet somewhat disbelieving. When the doctor told me I could advance to "toe touches," the practice of allowing the toes/foot of my injured leg to touch the ground (still not bearing any weight) while walking with crutches, I questioned him extensively.

My reaction rather surprised myself. I'd been wanting to hear that the bone was healing, and that I'm on track to begin putting weight on that leg in three more weeks. I'd been wanting to progress to the next step in my recovery. However, now that it is time to for that next step, I confess that I worry that it is too soon. I certainly don't want to suffer a setback: I now understand the seriousness of the injury, and implications to my mobility.

I am relieved that the fracture hasn't increased or completed, and that my bone appears to be repairing itself. This is good news! However, I also know that it takes six weeks for bone to heal. Until my next appointment three weeks from now, I remain cautiously optimistic!

When Pigs Fly

Did you look up today to find chubby pink creatures with wings in the sky?

No, they're not cherubs. They're pigs.

Pigs flew today: I rode a wheelchair while shopping at the mall.

I didn't expect to ever sit in a wheelchair or motorized shopping cart while enduring this sentence on crutches. But we decided to do some family shopping today. At first, I insisted on using my crutches to get through the grocery store. A guy about our age humorously tried to conspire with my husband to capture me and make me sit in the shopping cart, if I wouldn't agree to the motorized one! I laughed my way through that one, but was relieved they let me make it back to the car on foot.

My husband took it one step further. He knew I was looking forward to this family outing at the mall, and he also knew what was good for me and what I would stubbornly deny. So he played a wicked little game and told me he refused to take us to the mall unless I agreed to let the kids push me while riding in a wheelchair!

Oh, he knew that would get me.

There was no way I would miss out on our shopping trip. And of course I wanted to make the kids happy (especially the girls) by letting them push their mom in a wheelchair. And he was right that too much walking/hopping would not be beneficial for me. So what else could I do but acquiesce?

Reluctantly, I handed over my crutches and sat in the chair. I felt every eye on me (though that's self-absorbed hyperbole ... I'm sure there were some eyes that actually gazed elsewhere). It was the ultimate submission as I gave myself completely to the mercy and control of my children.

The first daughter to give it a whirl was getting the feel for steering. Within the first minute, I cringed as I headed straight toward the legs of two women, obliviously chatting with each other, intersecting my path. Instinctively, my right foot reached out to push the air brakes to make myself stop. Yet I kept heading for those legs! At the last possible second, my daughter saw the ladies and stopped, just as they also saw us and stopped with a smile. Collision avoided!

All in all, our shopping trip went very well. It wasn't so bad to ride in a wheelchair. We were at the mall for 2-1/2 hours, and I'm sure my arms couldn't have held out had they been supporting my body on crutches for that long. I learned to give myself to my children in a way I hadn't before.

And I gained a valuable preview of their maneuverability skills: As the kids took turns pushing me, I realized that the second daughter to have a turn was so very cautious and attentive. I felt very comfortable in her hands.

Then my son had a turn. Yes, he's the oldest, but boy was I nervous with him at the helm. He lagged behind when he didn't need to, needed a sister to help him navigate turns, ran me into the checkout counter, fidgeted with and climbed on my wheelchair, etc. I know he was trying to be careful and trustworthy, but he's just so darn fidgety and distractible! (Perhaps I was a wee bit evil when I told him that being the oldest in age doesn't necessarily mean he'll be the first to get his driver's license...)

We're back home now, safe and sound, enjoying a roaring fire on this chilly October day. I survived -- both emotionally and physically -- my ride in a wheelchair. I felt that I would lose my dignity by agreeing to ride, not walk. But what was gained was the pride of my children as they took care of their mom. And the freedom that comes with letting others lead. Sometimes, you have to lose something to win more.

I'm glad I let those little piggies try out their wings!

Smokin' Starbucks

My clothes used to smell like cigarette smoke after an evening hanging out at a bar. (Even though I have never smoked, myself.) The scent would linger for days.

Now, my clothes smell like coffee long after I've left Starbucks.

Dream

Do you ever have a dream that doesn't seem to end?

Neither a bad dream nor a particularly great one, it just replays over and over and over. And over.

Maybe you're dreaming that you're looking for something or someone, but you keep searching the same places. Or the hostess in your dream is leading you to your table, but it seems like you just keep walking throughout the restaurant, never arriving at your destination. Or you dream you're on a trip, but you never get off the plane!

You're conscious enough of a vague feeling of repetition and boredom, yet you can't seem to make yourself wake up.

Until... "Mom! No one woke me up! I'm late for school!"

Victory

I won a share of the pot of prize money at euchre last night!

It wasn't big money -- wasn't even enough to cover the babysitter's fee -- but the prize amount doesn't matter.

Even though my body can't compete in, much less win, any competition right now, my mind can.

It's good to feel viable and competitive and successful in something.

Small victory, but victory nonetheless.

Costume

I think I'm going to wear a costume this Halloween.

The type of costume an adult wears makes a statement, of course. And once you put it on and step out the door, you have to "own" the statement. Even if you feel ridiculous or embarrassed, you have to wear it with confidence. Do you go for a traditional costume? Or sexy? Political? Witty?

My husband is running in the annual Run Like Hell 5k on the weekend before Halloween, and runners are expected to wear costumes. I had planned on running, too, and we all know that that's not going to happen. But I can still attend the after party! And since this is an adults-only event, we have greater flexibility in the types of costumes we wear.

I found a Borat mankini costume online, which I managed to convince him to wear for the run (over running tights and compression t-shirt -- definitely not au naturel). But his concession came with one stipulation: I had to agree to wear something equally embarrassing and over-the-top. I'm still mulling that over, so I haven't ordered his costume yet.

He suggested I could be a librarian (you see, I have these glasses that he and some of his friends are quite partial to...). But I think the effect will be marred by the crutches. So, along those lines, I thought a nurse costume might achieve the same effect, but with the twist of irony (nurse on crutches). Still not sure if I'm brave enough for that type of costume in public. And I definitely couldn't wear it again around the kids on trick-or-treat night...

Then he switched gears this week and suggested I should be an old woman! I had to agree that I could pull that off easily. I already have the walker. Just add a gray wig, fake droopy breasts, slippers, and an unshapely housedress, and I'm set! (And I could actually wear this one around the kids for Halloween.) So that one is a real possibility...



Then again, I already have a Bat Woman costume from two years ago. As-is, it's good for the adult event; add some black leggings and t-shirt, and it's family-friendly. The superhero theme fits more in line with a traditional costume with which all age groups can identify. But what about the crutches? Do I really want to be a flawed superhero? Still, my kids favor this one...


Switching gears again, I suggested we go as Bella and Edward, of Stephenie Meyer's Twilight vampire series. Romantic, I thought. Too romantic, he thought. So much for that...

We went to a party last year wearing homemade costumes with a more obscure intent. Some people got it, most didn't. When you go with that approach, you have to be willing to explain your costume over and over...

The decision still unsettled, I came upon a new idea this morning, prompted by the current fiasco otherwise known as the U.S. economy. And I was thinking of making the crutches an integral part of the costume, rather than a distraction from it. You see, if I dress as a U.S. dollar, accompanied by my ever-present crutches, then my costume becomes the "Crippled Economy" or "Weakened Dollar." The more I think about it, the more this might be the one...

At least most people will get it, even if they're laughing through their tears.