A different kind of family Christmas....

  Everyone has their Christmas traditions and time they spend with friends and family. Our Christmas tradition is simple; my husband and I spend a quiet Christmas together. But when my husband had to abruptly leave town on the 23rd, my plans for Christmas suddenly and dramatically changed. No quiet Christmas Eve dinner at home. No Christmas Day champagne brunch at the Brown Palace. My Christmas just got thrown a curve ball.

    I knew I would be bombarded with invitations if my friends knew I would be alone on Christmas. However, I really didn't want to be pulled into someone else's dysfunctional family Christmas. Nor did I want to go to a movie and go out for Chinese food. I figured sitting at home watching old movies sounded like my best choice. Then I remembered that there was a special edition Christmas morning ballet class scheduled this year. When I first heard about it, I was astonished that anyone would consider taking a ballet class on Christmas Day. Suddenly it sounded like a brilliant idea.

    I woke up to a freezing cold morning with a few inches of snow on the ground. You just have to be in a good mood on a morning like that. It was glorious! I listened to Christmas music and sang along as I maneuvered the slippery roads to the studio. When I got there, Christmas music was playing in the studio. The front desk was transformed into a beautiful and festive buffet table laden with food for after class. Dancers were bubbling with greetings and laughter, as well as a spirit of joy and camaraderie.

    Sometimes things don't always go the way we plan. We can either fight against the change or go with the flow and find another option. I didn't get to spend my traditional family Christmas with my husband. But, I did get to spend it with my ballet family. Like all families, we certainly have our level of dysfunction. I sure am grateful for them; they made a difficult Christmas a whole lot easier. And that is what family is about.    

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Does a bear sit in the woods?

    While my husband and I were packing up our SUV to return home from Thanksgiving in the mountains, we were greeted with quite a surprise. Our vehicle was covered with dirt and dust, but there appeared to be a pattern or some sort of order to the dirty smudges. We looked closer and noted that the smudges were actually paw prints. Fairly large paw prints. Incredulous, we looked at  each other....BEAR!

    We walked around the SUV and saw how carefully the little guy had gone around the vehicle and looked in the windows. There were prints on the back bumper where he must have raised himself up to look in the back window. There was another print on the passenger side window where he supported himself to look inside. There were even nose prints on the window where he must have pressed in even closer to get a better look.

    At first I felt a little creeped out that this guy was all over our car as we slept in the cabin just a few feet away. And then I was filled with wonder that this beautiful animal had been so close to us, and I wished I could have seen him. I asked my husband not to wash the car so I could admire the prints for a while. The bear was so careful and meticulous in his exploration, he never left even a small scratch with his claws on the paint.

    It's funny, just the previous evening we watched a documentary about black bears in Rocky Mountain National Park. I was surprised to learn that the adult females were only 150 pounds, and the males were about 250. The documentary also described their habits, their patterns, their behaviour, and most importantly, what to do if you happen to come across a bear in the woods. I think that bears get a bad rap for being vicious, blood thirsty aggressive creatures.

    I used to be afraid of bears and the possibility that I might come across one while hiking. Now that I understand them a little better, I'm no longer afraid. Instead, I have come to appreciate them, and if I came across one in the woods, I think I would be overwhelmed with the honor of such a rare opportunity and privilege. And then I might wet my pants, but I suppose that's another fear I have to conquer!

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

The power of graciousness and the gift of friendship...

   
    While preparing our Thanksgiving dinner at our favorite mountain hangout, I heard a bit of commotion outside. I stepped outside to see what all the excitement was about. Across the street several cars were slamming on their brakes, tires squealing, and pulling over onto the side of the road. Car doors opened and people started pouring out of the cars with their cameras ready. Wondering what caught their attention, I noticed two huge bull elk standing in the grass, grazing, and minding their own business.

    The tourists seemed to be getting dangerously close to the elk trying to get their pictures. The basic rules of wildlife etiquette, so to speak, is to admire them from a distance, and do not invade their personal space. You do not approach them, you do not feed them, and if the animal changes it's behaviour, you are way too close for comfort. Apparently this group of shutterbugs either never learned the rules or chose to ignore them. One of the elk abruptly stopped grazing, lifted his head and stomped his feet.

    The tourists backed off, but when the huge elk lowered his head and started grazing again they pressed in even closer. I guess they figured that the elk was just bluffing. He wasn't. He abruptly lifted his head, snorted and jumped effortlessly over the fence, scattering tourists everywhere. I found it very amusing and highly entertaining, especially since no one got hurt, particularly the elk.

    The huge beast stood in the middle of the road, looking annoyed, when he suddenly saw me watching him. He caught my eye and we looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, he tossed his head in the direction of the departing cars as if to say, "morons!" I giggled and agreed wholeheartedly. Satisfied that we shared a common bond, he gracefully trotted across street, up the short driveway to just a few feet from where I sat on the porch railing. We sat together in quiet companionship for a few minutes.

     He must have felt comfortable with me, because he lowered his head and began grazing again.  He was so close that I could hear him pulling the grass from the earth. I could hear him chewing. As a matter of fact, he was so close that I could smell him. His scent was a little wild and game-y, but not unpleasant. I could see how it would appeal to his own kind. He must have read my mind, because at that precise moment he lifted his head and looked at me, as if to say, "You're not so bad yourself." I swear he winked at me as we shared our private joke.

    He returned to his breakfast, and I returned to admiring him. I admired his size and strength, grace and flexibility. I was honored that he was comfortable in my presence, when just a few moments earlier, other members of my species behaved in such a rude and barbaric manner. Maybe he figured that these unusual two legged creatures were more agreeable when they weren't encased in their hard metal shells that they had to break out of just to enjoy the great outdoors.

    Eventually he finished his breakfast and looked off into the woods where a few of his buddies were waiting. He looked at me one last time as if to say, "I have to go....the guys are waiting for me." I understood. He bowed his magnificent head, and I thanked him for his time, adding that he was not only good company, he was a gentleman as well. As I watched him leave, I remembered a phrase that I had recently heard. "Never underestimate the strength and the power of graciousness."

    There are so many lessons in this little story. But the most important one is obvious to me. Treating someone with dignity and respecting their boundaries is a lot more effective than trying to run them down. They may return the favor and reward you with a gift of friendship. That certainly is something to be grateful for, not only on Thanksgiving, but every day of the year.

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Acorns, autumn leaves and woolly catepillars....

    I absolutely love autumn. I love everything about it, and I especially love autumn in Western Pennsylvania where I grew up. Over the years, I had promised myself that someday I would go back during this special time. Two years ago, I did just that. I went home for a ten day visit. The weather was beautiful, and the colors were glorious!

    I spent every morning and afternoon with my parents. But, when it got close to three o'clock I would speed dial my sister. "Hey, can I pick up the kids from school today? Can I take them to the park to play?" After all, I needed to get outside, and I didn't know anyone else who was available at three in the afternoon. I also didn't know anyone else who had the energy to keep up with me.

    I would race to the school and impatiently wait for my playmates. We went to the park and I always found something new and exciting. "Acorns!" I beamed at the kids. After all, I hadn't seen acorns in years. "A woolly caterpillar!" Really, when was the last time I saw one of those? By the time I was skipping through the leaves, I couldn't help but notice the way my young companions were nudging each other and giggling. Hmmm....I wondered what they found so amusing.

    One afternoon the park was uncharacteristically crowded. It appears that the trails are used for the local high school track meets. It was a perfect day and I was in a particularly playful mood, so we skipped and sang as we maneuvered around the crowds to find an open spot just for us. We balanced on logs, played Ninja games and I entertained them by doing cartwheels. Just about the time we had a cartwheel competition going on, I noticed a man staring at us a short distance away.

    I remembered seeing him earlier when we separated from the crowd. As a matter of fact, he was close behind us when we pretended to train with swords using big sticks that we found on the ground. I gathered the kids close to me and headed off to another section of the park. He followed us, and even picked up his pace until he was directly behind us. Quietly, I took the stick out of my niece's hand. I stepped in front of her and my nephew, and positioned myself for his next move.

    "Hi," he said. "I am a photographer for the Times. Can I take your picture for the paper?" I was speechless. After all, I was ready to clobber him with my stick, and he was asking to take our picture. "I can't guarantee it will be in the paper, but it might make the online issue. You can check tomorrow." I finally regained enough composure to notice the large camera he was carrying. I found my voice. "You mean the Beaver County Times?" At least he wasn't a stalker. I hoped.

    The next day people all over the County were greeted with a picture of the three of us on the front page of the Times. My niece and nephew were local celebrities. I was their Awesome Aunt Cheryl from Colorado that picked them up after school, knew how to do cartwheels, taught them how to be Ninjas, and got their picture in the paper. In the meantime, I was kicking myself for wearing a T shirt that afternoon instead of the pretty pink blouse I wore the day before.

    My ten day visit lasted a lot longer than I had planned. Four weeks later I was still there. I still walked all over the woods and the park, and I still picked up my playmates from school to play with me, even though the days were getting shorter and considerably colder. By that time, the acorns, autumn leaves and woolly caterpillars had lost their magic, but that's a story for another day.

    Out of all the people that crowded into the park on that beautiful fall day, I don't know why the photographer chose us. Maybe because we looked so happy and were having so much fun together. Maybe because he never saw a middle aged lady do a cartwheel before. Or maybe he was tired of photographing the high school track stars.

    The point is, sometimes you just have to let yourself go and be silly. It's important to retain your child like spirit and curiosity, no matter what else is going on in your life. You never know what will develop, so to speak. Remember to walk softly and carry a big stick, especially when you are responsible for the health and safety of young children. Finally, when you go out to play,  you might want to wear a pretty blouse instead of a T shirt. You never know who's going to see you!

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Open the gate....and let the learning begin!

   
    During my journey as a Feldenkrais Practitioner, I have had the opportunity to teach to a wide variety of populations in many different and sometimes challenging environments. One of my favorite experiences took place two years ago, when I was invited to teach a workshop for a friend of mine who was also a psychologist who specialized in Equine Therapy.

    It sounded interesting as well as intriguing, so I agreed, even though I reminded my friend that I have very little (if any) experience with horses. He assured me that it didn't matter; he simply wanted me to give a workshop to a small group of his colleagues regarding Feldenkrais. Okey-dokey. Now that is a subject I am comfortable with and have some experience.

    I met the group at my friend's ranch high in the Rocky Mountains. What a perfect learning environment! I guided them through two Awareness Through Movement(R) lessons. After the lessons, we had a discussion regarding our experience as well as how the Method could be applied to the practice of psychology. It was great, and the workshop had concluded. Or so I thought.

    Just when I was gathering up my materials and about to make a graceful exit, I got a surprise. A really big surprise. My friend announced that we were going to take the workshop to the horses. Giddy up. I hadn't planned on that little development. I love animals. I love all animals, including horses. I just prefer to admire them from a distance.

    My apprehension about getting up front and personal with horses was exacerbated by the knowledge that I know nothing about horses except that they are big. I was way out of my league, and I simply didn't know what to do with them. What in the world did this have to do with Feldenkrais, anyway? Since my friend was a highly trained therapist, he was acutely aware of my discomfort, but he erroneously thought I was afraid of the horses. Okay, so maybe he was half right.

    In an attempt to reassure me, he said, "You'll love Jake. He's a really gentle horse. Just don't stand directly behind him, because he'll kick you. And don't let him butt you with his head, because he'll knock you flat. After all, his head weighs twice as much as you do." For some reason, I did not feel reassured. Now I had even more to worry about above and beyond my ineptitude and inexperience with these huge, beautiful beasts.

    I looked for a way out, but there is no back door at a ranch. I took a deep breath and reluctantly followed the small entourage through the gate. Three horses walked toward us, and the biggest one made a bee line right to me. I involuntarily stepped backwards. He stepped forward. We repeated this little routine until I ran out of room and he had me cornered. To take one more step back would have put me up against the electrical fence that I had also been warned about. The horse lowered his head. Uh-oh, here comes the head butt.

    I braced myself. But instead of knocking me over, Jake gently nudged me with his head several times until I finally reached up to pet him. He solemnly looked into my eyes and I felt my nerves and my heart melt. I started to pet him and he pressed his enormous head against my arm, just enough pressure to give me the equivalent of a horse hug, but not enough to knock me over or into the electrical fence. What a sweetheart!

    Satisfied that I was now at ease, Jake backed away and gave me a look. It was time to get to work. I swear he was winking at me. Suddenly I knew exactly what to do and how to progress the lessons and apply it to the horses. A magical transformation took place within me, and information just effortlessly flowed out. I don't know where it came from. I never faltered, and a few times I noticed Jake looking at me and nodding his head. That's when it hit me; which one of us was teaching the class? Suffice it to say, it was a collaborative effort.

    When we were done, I was simply overwhelmed by the experience, and so grateful that I walked through that gate and discovered what was on the other side. I knew I had a new best friend for life. I was even rewarded with horse kisses at the end of the day, which was certainly another new experience for me.

    I said goodbye and drove down the mountain toward home with the smell of horses filling the car, and I had plenty of time to reflect back on that remarkable afternoon of teaching and learning. What a shame it would have been if I had given in to my insecurities and stood on the other side of the gate that day.

    The point is, sometimes you just have to through caution to the wind, step through the gate and see what's on the other side. You never know what experiences are waiting for you. You may even make a new friend or two along the way. I still get all warm and fuzzy when I remember that day and I think about the magic of being with the horses, especially Jake, my new BFF.

    Most of all, I keep returning to the same question that pops into my head after a rich and rewarding teaching experience. Am I learning to teach, or teaching to learn? I'm pretty sure it's a little bit of both. What do you think? 

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT

Hurry up and relax....

    I live vicariously through other people's vacations. I hear them make their plans, see their photos on Facebook, and listen to how much fun they had and how relaxed they are when they come home. I listen wistfully....I want some of that. Vacations are a distant memory; I haven't had one in over 5 years. I would love to sit on a beach, or at least go somewhere for a change of scenery.

    My husband travels a lot. My schedule is unpredictable. We have to plan ahead just to go out to dinner. Then a miracle happened. I looked at our calendar and realized we had about 36 hours of free time over the weekend. An idea began to form in my brain. If we planned carefully, and if we timed everything perfectly, we could head up to our favorite mountain town at the foot of Rocky Mountain National Park for a 36 hour vacation.

    I had to teach a class on Saturday morning. We could drive up on Saturday afternoon and come home early Monday morning. I planned to get up early, pack my bag, teach my class, and be ready to leave as soon as class was over. My husband was going to get up early, take the dogs to Little Doggy Paradise, pack his bag, take my class, and be ready to go as soon as class was over. Our strategy was carefully planned.

    I overslept that morning. Frantic, I realized I wasn't adequately prepared for class. As I gulped coffee, I reviewed my notes at record speed while I multi tasked. I studied, cleaned the kitchen, packed my bag and started some laundry. It appears I had forgotten about that as well. My husband tried to help, but he had slept in, too. So much for our well laid plans.

    Several chaotic hours later, we were finally in the car and on our way. As soon as we arrived and unloaded the car, I sat in the sun in front of the cabin. I kicked off my shoes, leaned back in my chair and soaked in the feel of the sun, the smell of the trees, and the sound of the birds and the river. I could feel myself relaxing already!

    Suddenly I heard a dreadful noise coming from the window behind me. My husband had turned on the TV, cranked up the volume, and opened the window. I was dumbfounded. I yelled over the sound of the TV,  "What are you doing?" He answered, "It's college football. I thought you would like to hear the game." I was speechless. Once I found my voice, I answered, "Mike, in all the years you've known me, when have I ever wanted to hear college football?" Well, you can't blame a guy for trying.

    He turned off the TV and joined me on the patio. For the next 36 hours, we had a great time. We went into town, did some window shopping, grilled outside, and even watched a little football. We went hiking, relaxed and just plain enjoyed the mountain air. We even found a sandy little beach next to the river high in the mountains.

    When we drove home Monday morning, we both marveled at how relaxing and restorative 36 hours could be. We recounted all of the activities we did, including the fact that I managed to sit on a beach without leaving the state. And I didn't even have to put on a bathing suit! We had such a good time, I wondered if we could do it again. Hmmm, I'm looking at the calendar and I notice we have a weekend coming up with 28 hours of free time available. Maybe, if we plan carefully.....well, you know how that goes!

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Investing in gold....Colorado style.

    With the current economy, we hear over and over again that we should invest in gold. I don't know much about finances, but I do know that sound investments can reap huge rewards. Thirty five years ago I invested in gold, Colorado style. As far as I'm concerned, I'm getting a fantastic return on my investment. What do you think?

    It's important to choose your investments well.

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

The Feldenkrais Method(R) and the simplicity of plasticity....

   I love neuroscience, and anything that has to do with the brain. My neurons fire into overdrive just thinking about the subject. The Feldenkrais Method(R) is based on the scientific principle of neuroplasticity, which simply means that our nervous system is inherently flexible, malleable and able to change during the course of our entire lifetime.

    I could describe in some detail the physiological changes that occur on a cellular level, including the chemical reactions, cascade of neurotransmitters and hormones that are released during Feldenkrais lessons that allow for these changes to occur. However, it just sounds like "blah, blah, blah....blah, blah blah." I believe it would be more effective to translate all the science babble into practicle application. Here it is:


      THIS IS YOUR BRAIN.

                                                                THIS IS YOUR BRAIN ON FELDENKRAIS.

ANY QUESTIONS?




Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Self employed, self respect, and the measure of success....

   
    Being self employed provides a rare and wonderful opportunity to unleash your creativity and express yourself through your work, without the constraints of a boss, co-workers, productivity demands, staff meetings, etc. It's wonderful, and I love it. However, along with the freedom, flexibility, creativity and job satisfaction comes the understanding that you are always "on the job," 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

    When I am not working directly with clients, I am working on marketing, networking, budgeting, short term goals, long term goals, organizing lessons, classes and workshops. I am constantly taking continuing education and advanced trainings. Vacations are a distant memory. There is no such thing as sick days or paid time off. There is no benefits package. When you are self employed, you don't measure success by how much money you make. You measure it by the satisfaction it brings to you.

    Most people are impressed when I say I'm self employed. But, sometimes I get a different response. Recently a friend asked me about my business. Before I could begin she interrupted me and said, "Well, it doesn't affect you and your husband." Confused, I asked her what she meant. "You don't have to make any money. If you do, it goes right back into the business." I explained that this was my livelihood, how I earn my income, and how I contribute to the family budget. She was shocked, and said, "I didn't realize that!" Sheesh. At first I was amused. Then I was annoyed.

    A few days later, a colleague asked to meet with me, stating we needed to discuss something important. When we met, he asked me to move my practice from my office to his. I politely declined. He kept talking, explaining that he was losing business because he spent so much time out of town. He needed me to run his office, schedule new clients, and grow his business. What about my business and my clients? He told me they wouldn't mind moving. I knew they would. Besides, my office is large, bright, and beautiful. I designed it, and I have a lease. At first I was amused. Then I was annoyed. Finally, I started to worry.

    What was I doing wrong? Was I not working hard enough to present myself in a professional manner? What could I do differently? I went back to the drawing board (so to speak), which happens to be my dining room table. I poured over my mission statement, my business plan, my long term goals, my short term goals, etc. Maybe I needed professional help to evaluate my plans and my approach. Why else would two people minimize my accomplishments?

    Suddenly, I had an epiphany. I wasn't doing anything wrong; I was doing everything right. I was making all my hard work look easy and effortless. It was actually the highest form of praise I could receive. I guess that is another way that you can measure success, when no one else can see the tremendous amount of hard work and sacrifice that goes into being your own boss. Just in case you were wondering, I still love it! And no.....I'm not moving!

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Martial arts, ninja tricks, and travel trauma.....

  I don't like to fly; as a matter of fact, I hate it. However, I recently believed I was becoming more zen about the whole process. Just when I thought it was safe to go back to the airport and fly the friendly skies, travel trauma strikes again.

  It's funny how my martial arts training keeps me from embarrassing myself. I recently went to Pittsburgh for a long weekend. I was okay on the flight out, but the return to Denver really tested my patience and my perseverance. For some reason, TSA always plucks me out of the security line to go through the naked scanner. It only happens in Pittsburgh, and it happens every time I go through that airport. It' s as if little bells go off every time I enter the terminal announcing to the security team, "She's baa-aa-ack!" It irritates the heck out of me to be hand picked (so to speak) and be ordered to go through the scanner or face a pat down in front of hundreds of gawking strangers. 

    Just a nanosecond away from a major hissy fit, I faced my opponent and prepared for battle. I found my composure, slowed my breathing, stepped into the offensive machine, and assumed the position. Through my training, I developed the skill of a cold stare. Okay, who am I kidding....I have had that since I was a child. I used that stare as I looked directly ahead of me and continued the laser look at the TSA when they finally waved me through. I probably ought to be a little cautious with that, but I just couldn't help myself. Besides, I was raging inside.

    By the time we boarded, I had calmed myself down and managed to find a happy place. Of course, the glass of wine I had at the bar before boarding helped considerably. We settled into our seats for our connecting flight. My natural good spirits restored, I cheerfully started the countdown to getting to Denver, seeing my dogs, and being in the comfort of my own home. Ahhh, home. I only had three short hours to go.

    Then came the dreaded news: we were number 23rd in line for take off, but no aircraft were able to take off due to storms in the area. For two hours we waited while I sat squished in the middle seat. I again practiced my composure, my breathing, and dodged the elbow strikes that kept coming from both sides. At least it kept me moving. I got the opportunity to practice my ninja disappearing act  when the gentleman next to me tried to make eye contact and engage in conversation. Now if only I could master the disappearing act the next time I go through the naked scanner, maybe it won't bother me so much.

    We finally landed in Denver. As I was getting off the plane, one of the flight attendants apologized for the delay and for taking so long to get us to our destination. I thanked him and said, "At least you got us here in one piece....I give extra points for that." He smiled back at me and said, "What a positive way to look at things." Well, I do prefer looking at the bright side of every situation. But it's going to be awhile before I get on a plane again. At least until I get a bit more proficient at  disappearing. 

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

The Feldenkrais Method(R)....the science and the magic.

   I am passionate about Feldenkrais, and I love being a Feldenkrais Practitioner. My greatest reward is witnessing the magic of this method as it helps my clients improve the quality of their lives. However, my greatest challenge is trying to explain what Feldenkrais is, how it works, and why it is so effective.

    Feldenkrais is not magic; it's science, and is based on the scientific principle of neuroplasticity. Neuroplasticity means that we are able to change and learn new things during the course of our entire lifetime. I don't mean the kind of learning that we get from a book, or the kind of learning that we get from school. It's the kind of learning that takes place deep in our nervous system, and it is more of a visceral, organic type of learning that changes our neural pathways, strengthens our neural connections, and actually grows more nerve tissue in our brain.

    Feldenkrais uses the concept of neuroplasticity to access our nervous system in a very gentle but powerful way, through movement. Feldenkrais lessons gently interrupt current patterns and habits through movement explorations, thus allowing for new patterns to emerge. The learning and integration of new patterns are not limited to just movement, but include moving, sensing, thinking and feeling as well.

    What does this mean to you? Perhaps you have chronic back, neck or joint pain. You may have habitual patterns of moving, standing and sitting that may not only be exacerbating your pain, but actually may be causing it in the first place. The Feldenkrais Method(R) can help you discover new movement patterns through your own experience of the movement lessons.

    With Feldenkrais, you can eliminate aches and pains, improve your flexibility, posture, and balance. You can discover new ways of moving effortlessly and more efficiently. You will be able to improve your proficiency in all of your functional and recreational activities, regardless of your age and current level of function.

    It does sound like magic, doesn't it? It is, and it isn't. It is the science of neuroplasticity, and the magic of our nervous system to discover our inner wisdom and realize our full potential. I don't know about you, but it feels like magic to me. The magic of the Feldenkrais Method and the science of neuroplasticity.

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Sword cuts, patience, and a powerful teacher.

    I bought a sword last weekend. I hadn't planned on buying one, and I certainly hadn't been looking for one. We have been working a lot more with sword cuts in my martial arts class, and I have a nice white oak wooden sword. It's light weight, it's really pretty, and it serves it's purpose.

    But last weekend my husband and I took a drive up to the mountains just to get out of town, even if it was only for a few hours. I was in the mood to go exploring, so we drove up to one of the popular mountain towns just to walk around and check out the shops.

    We walked past a store front, and I said to my husband, "I have to go in here".  He looked at me like I was crazy, but he followed me in the store anyway. It was a knife shop, exactly the type of store I would never enter. But when I walked in, I saw what had drawn me inside. Behind the counter were several swords on display. After handling a few of them, I knew which one was for me. It just felt right. And it was pretty.

    I didn't even take it out of the case for three days. Cautious and careful by nature, I waited until I was at the Dojo and Sensei could help me and teach me a few things. Handling a sword was a lot different from handling a wooden one. He did tell me that the blade was a little too sharp for training purposes and I needed to file it down. I thought he was being just a wee bit melodramatic, but I said okay. I knew I'd get around to it, eventually.

    Two days later we had sword class. There were a lot of students, it was a bit chaotic, and we were moving a quickly through complicated patterns. Losing my focus for a split second, I was trying to sheath my sword in a hurry to catch up with the group and felt a sudden sharp burning pain in my wrist. Uh-oh. Sensei was right. The blade was too sharp. So much for care and caution.

    That was at the beginning of class. I stopped long enough to wash the cut and put a big band aid on it. In the process of cleaning my wound I almost got stuck in the bathroom, because my sword was still in my belt at an awkward angle so my hands could be free. Thank goodness nobody witnessed that fiasco. I did have to ask one of the guys to help me with my band aid, which was demoralizing enough. If I needed help out of the bathroom, I never would have lived that down.

    For the next hour and fifteen minutes, I practiced my sword cuts while the blood from my wrist saturated the band aid. I patiently listened to several of the guys giving me corrections all at the same time. I'm pretty good at taking directions, but only from two or three people at once. Any more than that and I go into sensory overload. But I smiled, bowed, nodded and thanked everyone for their help. Finally class was over. I put my sword away, took my notes and my throbbing wrist to my car, put my head on the steering wheel and burst out laughing.

    I just couldn't help myself. And I couldn't stop laughing. The entire situation was simply too funny. The truth is, the reason why I love sword work is because the sword is a powerful teacher. It is honest; it always tells the truth and it never lies. I believe that I did not find the sword in the mountains that Saturday afternoon. The sword found me. It will continue to teach me patience, humility, honesty, integrity, truth, and humor. But I think I'm already good to go on that last one, don't you?

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Don't settle.... for short expectations.

    When I was a little girl, I used to worry about getting old, because I knew I would no longer be able to speak English. After all, everyone I knew over the age of fifty spoke broken English with a heavy Eastern European accent. In my four year old mind, it was a logical conclusion that this was a natural part of aging. I once asked my mother what I would do when I was a Baba and couldn't speak English anymore. She laughed so hard she couldn't speak. Uh-oh, perhaps it was already happening to her. Sad, because she still looked so young.

    It's a funny story, but the point is that we sometimes get predetermined ideas about the aging process, and we think that we have to sit back and accept certain inevitable changes. Sometimes these expectations are silly, like I had when I was a child. But sometimes, these expectations may cause us to be resigned to certain changes, especially when they come from experts. 

    I recently read an article that proclaimed getting shorter was a natural part of the aging process. According to the article, this shrinking begins at age thirty, and we lose one half to three quarters of an inch each decade after that. Along with this disheartening news came the laundry list of projected health problems that we can look forward to related to our height loss and the aging process, including bone loss, osteoporosis, decreased balance and fractures. The list also included heart and digestive problems, related to the increased pressure put on internal organs as a result of the flexed posture that comes with aging. Yikes!

    But these dire predictions aren't inevitable. You can prevent the loss of height by staying active and doing practices that help stretch your spine and improve your posture. Activities such as dance, yoga, tai chi and my personal favorites, Pilates and Feldenkrais, will help you stay strong and supple as you get older. As you add birthdays, you do not have to settle for subtracting inches, simply because the experts told you that's what you can expect.

    I have always been a planner and a problem solver. Even as a very small child, I thought about taking English lessons as I got older so I would still be able to speak the language. I have also always been a talker, and the idea that people wouldn't understand me was simply intolerable. Here I am, well into middle age, and I still have a fairly good command of the English language. I'm also the same height that I was in college. But according to the article I should  be an inch and a half to two inches shorter by now.

    So, instead of settling for what the experts tell us is sure to happen, I have another idea. Let's prove the experts wrong, and show them what graceful aging looks like. Let's do what we can to keep our spines (and ourselves) long, strong, fit and flexible. After all, why in the world would we settle for less, when we simply don't have to?

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Teach....your children well....

    Last night I watched the news with a combination of horror, admiration and even pride when I saw the disturbing video of an attempted abduction. The would be kidnapper got a huge surprise when his ten year old victim fought back, kicked and bit him while her two year old brother screamed like a banshee. My emotions ran high and I was moved to tears as I watched the video.

    I was furious that she was attacked in broad daylight while she was walking down the sidewalk with her baby brother. I was relieved that she was able to protect herself. I admired her tenacity. Most of all, I was proud of her that she knew exactly what to do under such terrible circumstances. And I was proud of her little brother for screaming his head off.

    How did this girl know what to do? Her father taught her. Good for him. Apparently, the girl's father had repeatedly instructed her how to react under such circumstances, just in case. They had even role played such a terrifying scene, in the remote chance that she ever was attacked. As a result, she responded immediately and correctly. She fought like a tigress. She got away and he got arrested.

    I like the ending to what could have been a tragic story and another statistic. I don't know about you, but I would rather see more stories like this than one where another innocent life is lost. Remember, perpetrators are looking for an easy target. If you can't teach your children how to protect themselves, or feel ill equipped to do so, you have options. Look into a self defense program for kids, or consider enrolling them into a martial arts school to receive proper training. The point is not to scare them, but to "aware" them. Awareness is the greatest defense a child can have. Teach your children well. The life they save may be their own.

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Move it or lose it....

    We have always known that a sedentary lifestyle has a negative impact on our health. But I recently read an article in the WSJ which described how sitting for more than three hours a day can decrease a person's life expectancy by two years. The article went on to describe that this decrease in life expectancy also applies to people who are physically active and follow a healthy lifestyle.

    What do you do if you have a sedentary job where you are required to sit at a desk all day long?  In the article, the author stated that when we are sitting, our leg muscles are completely inactive. That wasn't a big surprise; to me it seemed like an obvious statement. He recommended that people stand as often as possible during the day. However, I have a few additional ideas to activate those muscles and keep you healthy.

    1). Fidget. You know, that thing that we all used to do when we were kids until the adults told us to sit still. Don't sit still. Instead, move around in your seat, change positions, tap your feet, and swing your legs. While you are sitting, you can exercise your legs by doing ankle pumps, leg extensions, leg lifts and isometric exercises. Believe it or not, fidgeting also boosts your metabolism and helps burn calories.

    2). Pace. Pacing is a close relative of fidgeting, kind of like a mature older cousin. Pacing is a great way to work your leg muscles, get your circulation going, keep your ankles and feet flexible, relieve stress and burn a few more calories. Just in case you're still not convinced, many of my clients have reported that pacing helps them think better. So, if you are saddled with a problem and can't find a solution, try pacing.

    3). Don't just stand there, do something. When you are standing, shift your weight side to side. Add toe raises, mini squats, and small lunges to your routine. Try standing on one leg to improve your standing balance. The movements don't have to be big; small gentle movements done slowly and correctly has a huge positive impact.
  
    Just a few minutes of exercise during your work day can improve your health, level of fitness, increase your energy, and improve your concentration. The key to getting the maximum benefit from your exercise is not how many repetitions you do, but how you do them. The focus should be on the quality of your movement, not the quantity. You will also enjoy the additional benefits of strengthening your back and postural muscles, as well as a decrease in back pain and neck pain.

    Most of all, remember that if you don't move it, you will lose it. And wouldn't it be a shame to lose all that leg power? So, move it or lose it. Your legs will thank you!

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Photographs and memories.....

   Last summer I had several photo albums converted to a DVD. It was quite a chore going through the albums from 1978 to 1986, but Wolf Camera was having an unbelievable sale, and I was on a mission to meet the deadline. I went through as many albums as I could, without taking too much extra time to look at the pictures as I organized them. I never even looked at the DVD until last week. Once I started looking, I just couldn't stop.

    I smiled, I laughed, and I cried as I took a stroll down memory lane. The overwhelming theme over those eight years was love, laughter and parties. And no, not necessarily in that order. To those of you who are no longer with us, thank you for the memories, and for the stories that we still tell and that will live in our hearts forever; we love you and we miss you.

    There are 789 pictures on that DVD. I simply can't torment you with all 789, and I couldn't select just a few. However, here is the one picture out of all of them that pretty much sums it up. It is a gentle reminder that each moment in time is a snapshot, and a memory in the making for years to come. Also, every picture tells a story. Here is my story; without this picture I would have no story, nor would my sisters.

                                              
    Keep taking your pictures, making your memories, and sharing your stories.

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Brain power, nature's miracle,and neuroplasticity.

    There was a fascinating article recently in the WSJ regarding neural implants, a new technology that could help people with a wide variety of neurological problems including seizures, paralysis, strokes, hearing and vision loss. Neural implants can also help relieve chronic pain as well as phantom pain that many amputees experience. These implants can also help amputees learn how to "feel" their prosthetic limbs and move them more efficiently.

    This is fantastic news and a huge advancement in the field of neuroscience. The article explains the implants are "attuned to the activity between neurons" and can "listen to your brain activity and then talk directly to your brain". Again, this is great news, especially for those individuals who are afflicted with conditions that leave them with serious impairments. It's a miracle.

    However, this technology is patterned after another miracle; the physiological miracle of neuroplasticity. Our own nervous system already has the capability to increase neural activity and strengthen neural pathways to improve our level of function on a physical, emotional, cognitive and sensory level.  Neuroplasticity was once believed to be available only in the very young, and lost to us after about the age of fourteen. But more recently, neuroscientists have discovered that neuroplasticity, or the inherent malleability of our nervous system (and our brain power) is present during the entire course of our lifetime.

    What is the practical application, and what does this mean to you?  By making very small and simple changes, we excite different neurons, increase neural activity, and activate new neural pathways. Simply by changing your route to work, shopping at a different grocery store, or using your non-dominant hand to comb your hair will increase your brain power. Notice how a change in routine captures your attention and has a rejuvenating quality to your energy and your interest in your surroundings. To further increase your brain power, learn a new skill, study a foreign language, take a dance class or join a book club.
   
    I believe that the most destructive thing we can do for the health of our brain is to become complacent. The most beneficial thing we can do is exercise our brain, keep it active and keep learning new things. Our brain, just like our body, craves to be challenged. If we don't use it, we lose it. And wouldn't it be a tragic shame to let all that power go to waste?

Be healthy, and keep the power surging!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Bell bottom blues, and learning new skills.

    When we were teenagers, my sister and I used to sew our own clothes. Actually, we made clothes for the entire family. My sister and I were the seamstresses; our mother did the handwork and the finishing. We were quite a team.

    Of course, we each had our strengths, and our specific skills. I was a pretty good little seamstress and fairly accomplished at the Singer. But, for some reason, I was never permitted to sew the zippers into the garments that I was making. Instead, my mother would instruct me to ask my older sister to put the zipper in for me.

    It became a tedious ritual. I would reluctantly hand over the garment to my sister and begrudgingly ask her to sew the zipper in place for me. She in turn would sigh, give a long suffering look, and patiently explain to my mother that I would eventually have to learn to do it myself. Our little ritual was reinforced every time we repeated it.

    One day, I had enough. After all, the zippers came with a complete set of instructions. Surely if I could read and follow pattern instructions, certainly I could put in my own zippers. It was time for me to throw caution to the wind, take the plunge and sew my own zipper in the bell bottoms I was making for myself. You know, the low riding hip hugger type that was so stylish when I was a teenager.

    I announced my intentions to the team. My sister looked grateful. My mother looked skeptical. I looked determined. I stepped up to the Singer, got to work, and meticulously followed the directions. Honestly, it really wasn't that difficult. And I did a great job, if I do say so myself. I proudly showed the finished project to my sister. She looked at it carefully, and complimented me on a job well done. Then she asked why I put it in the pant leg instead of the waistband where it belonged. Sheesh!

    It was one of those funny and silly things that we laughed about for years, and a story that got a lot of mileage. But the life's lesson in this silly story is that it's okay to make mistakes when you are learning new skills. It's important to try new things, and you can't let the fear of failure get in the way. After all, if you are trying, you are learning. If you are learning, you are succeeding. Most of all, don't be afraid to interrupt old habits and patterns to allow for new ones to emerge. That's when the real learning begins.


Be healthy, and keep learning!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

From techno-phobe to computer nerd.

    For someone who had a serious phobia with technology, I'll admit I've come a long way. Two years ago I used to check my email once or twice a week. I didn't know how to surf the net. I didn't know what Google was, and was too embarrassed to ask people what they meant when they said, "I Googled it". I didn't know what a blog was, or why someone would want one. I learned about Facebook when Betty White hosted SNL. She revealed that she finally learned what Facebook was, and concluded it was a "huge waste of time". She delivered that little pearl of wisdom while she worked her dimples for the camera. That was good enough for me.

    Then slowly, things began to change. Against my better judgement I got a web site. I started checking my email every other day. Then every day. Eventually several times a day. I got a new computer, even though I was sure I didn't need one. I got a blog, even though I was sure I didn't want one. I got on Facebook, even though I was sure I didn't know how to use it. My new computer was tucked away downstairs at a small work station I had set up for myself. Suddenly I noticed I was running downstairs several times a day. Sheesh. When did that happen?
 
    Somehow my computer made it's way upstairs to my dining room table. It made good sense to put it there because my husband was out of town and the dogs didn't like it when I would disappear downstairs. Funny, my computer stayed in the dining room even after my husband came home. After all, he'd be leaving town again soon, and it was easier to leave my computer there instead of transporting it up and down the spiral staircase. Apparently I was getting over my techno-phobia, because several times a day I would make notes on my blog, check my stats, check my email, and see what my Facebook friends were up to. I even got on to LinkedIn and Google Plus.

    But, it wasn't as though I was developing a dependency on my computer. I was simply getting used to using it and marvelling at it's modern day miracles. I was on a roll. And then the unthinkable happened. I had a problem with my computer. After many frustrating attempts to correct the problem, I finally had to admit that I needed professional help. I had to surrender my computer to a perfect stranger who would be peering into the deep secrets of it's neural network. With growing apprehension and mounting anxiety, I left my computer at the shop, and was reassured I would have it that same day, or the next morning at the latest.

    Well, the problem was more complicated than initially thought. I was without my computer for two days. I tried to stay calm and be cavalier about being disconnected, but every time I walked through my dining room, the empty spot on my dining room table seemed to mock me. I started to experience off-line anxiety. What if a client was trying to email me? What if I needed to update my blog? Or change my settings? I missed Facebook; what were my friends up to? Somehow I had made the transition from techno-anxiety to no-tech anxiety. The change was slow and insidious, but finally I had entered the twenty first century. Oh, I entered it screaming, kicking and fighting the entire time, but enter it I did.

    Since I have finally developed some level of skill with a computer, I guess it's time for me to upgrade my cell phone. I'm just not sure I can make that leap to a higher level of technology just yet. I mean, a phone that takes pictures? And videos? A phone that I can use to access my email and my Facebook account? Hmmm, maybe I am ready for a new phone. I guess you never know what you can learn until you try. And that's the story about how a techno-phobe turned into a computer nerd. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.


Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Airports, airplanes, and neuroplasticity.

    When I wrote my last post, I told a story about how much I hate flying, and how that changed when I recently flew back East to surprise my niece and nephew. I developed my aversion to flying during 2010, when I kept flying back and forth from Denver to Pittsburgh to help support my parents during the last year of their life as they were battling the end stages of the same disease.

    During that time, I was happy to be able to be with them, and give them the help and support they needed. However, each trip took a little bit more out of me as I watched them go through the process of dying. At the Denver airport, I had no idea what awaited me at the other end. At the Pittsburgh airport, I would have major anxiety over leaving them and worry if I had passed on all of the pertinent information to the next sister on deck. It's not like we didn't all have cell phones on high alert as well as each other on speed dial, but I still worried endlessly. To further complicate matters, I am self employed, and the possibility of losing my business was quickly becoming a reality. No wonder why I hate flying.
 
    However, during my recent trip to Pittsburgh, my intense aversion to flying slowly changed over the course of a few days. Somehow, my nervous system remembered a "feel good" quality triggered by flying home for a fun visit, a party and a whirlwind of activities, much like I did before my parents became ill. This wasn't something I experienced in a cognitive way, but more as a vague sensation of anticipation and well being. That pleasant sensation stayed with me during the weekend and was gently reinforced with each positive experience.

    The plasticity of my nervous system was able to interrupt the pattern of stress, grief, loss and worry and allow for a new pattern to emerge. Actually, the "new" pattern was one of anxiety related flying and had only been reinforced over the past two years. The synaptic connections were not as strong as the previous ones that I had related to flying, and therefore were more malleable and receptive to allow for change to occur. What I experienced was an emotional neuroplasticity. The change was gradual and subtle, but it was there.
 
    The point is, our nervous system is always "listening" and readily available to change and learn new patterns of feeling, sensing, thinking and moving. The science of neuroplasticity is not a highly complicated subject limited only for the neuroscientists to explore; in reality it is far more simple than that and is accessable for all of us to understand. I like to call it "the simplicity of plasticity". Trust the intelligence of your nervous system. It knows what to do, but sometimes we just have to get out of it's way.

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Leaving....on a jet plane.....

    I hate to fly. The entire process of going to the airport, going through security, getting on the train, waiting at the gate, and sitting immobilized in those ridiculous seats for hours on end makes me crazy. The overwhelming press of humanity unnerves me. Once you finally land, you get to anxiously wait for your bag to appear at baggage claim and hope that it didn't inadvertently land in another city. Then you get to repeat the sequence to return home, exhausted and jet lagged.

    I suppose wouldn't mind flying so much if I got to go somewhere fun, or have a relaxing vacation. I haven't had a vacation in over five years. I'm probably about due for one, or at least the chance to do something fun, spontaneous, and memorable. And then last weekend I did just that. After a hurried collaboration with my sister, I made the arrangements to surprise my niece for her eleventh birthday, even if it meant getting on a plane. I figured I could deal with it for the reward of seeing my niece and nephew, and the opportunity to surprise them. Who doesn't love surprises?

    I was excited to go, but dreaded the idea of flying. However, something funny happened on the way to the airport. I was in a good mood. The process of going through the airport wasn't as unnerving as it usually is for me. I even winked at the TSA agent before I could stop myself. Thank goodness there were no repercussions for that little indiscretion. The flight was on time, the seats weren't as uncomfortable as I remember, the bags were promptly at the carousel when I landed, and before I knew it I was sitting in my sister's car.

    I didn't get to see my niece until the next day after my sister picked her and my nephew up from summer camp. The reaction from both my niece and nephew was immensely gratifying; we all cried. I guess they love me and miss me as much as I love and miss them. Although if I had known in advance that my sister was going to record it and post it on Facebook, I probably would have fixed my hair and make up. Oh, well.

    The next day and a half was a whirlwind of fun and activities, including a big party, girl time, and serious shopping. I got to see another sister and two more nieces. I had so much fun I was still in a good mood when I went to the airport yesterday. Here I am, exhausted, jet lagged and deliriously happy. It appears that the kids weren't the only ones who got a surprise. I'm surprised that I just can't wait to go to the airport and get back on a plane again. I had forgotten how much fun flying could be. Isn't it funny how things change?

Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Ski Dad. Having fun and making memories.

  My Dad sure could ski. He discovered skiing when he was in his late thirties. He always loved the cold and snow, so dancing on the slopes was a natural fit for him. He taught me and my sisters how to ski when I was nine years old. As a member of the National Ski Patrol, his entire family could ski free. Pretty handy, since he had four kids at the time. Number five was still just a hope, a promise, and a twinkle in his eye.


    We went skiing as a family. My Mom hated the cold and the snow as much as my Dad loved it, but my Dad helped her battle the cold by introducing her to hot spiced wine. She would come along, rub our feet and warm our clothes by the huge fireplace by the picture window when we came in for a break. She also had an enormous bag of food for us as well. We occasionally invited friends to go along with us, and several times my parents even arranged to take busloads of kids up to the slopes for the day. Goodness, they were brave! I have dozens of funny stories from those trips.


    My older sisters didn't take to the slopes quite like I did, and pretty soon gave it up. Eventually my Mom stopped coming along as well. There were a lot of times it was just me and my Dad heading to the slopes. I loved having time alone with him, and I certainly enjoyed the quiet in the car without the chatter of the rest of the family. I also loved the peaceful solitude of skiing alone while my Dad performed his duties of the Ski Patrol. But before long, the car was full again, and this time I was skiing with my younger sisters. Mom was back in her spot at the fireplace, warming toes and handing out sandwiches.


    After I graduated college, I moved to Colorado where the ski season can last from October to June. For thirty years my Dad and I explored the ski resorts of Colorado, but our favorite spot was Copper Mountain Resort. Sometimes we had a small entourage of friends and family. Some years it was just me, my Dad and my husband. It didn't matter who was with us or where we went; we always had a fantastic time, and always came back with a lot of great memories as well as incredibly funny stories. My favorite is the "year of the butterscotch schnapps", but I'll save that for another time. All I will say is thank goodness there was a shuttle bus to take us back to our condo.
    

    I quit skiing after my Dad stopped coming out, but I picked it back up again when my youngest sister brought her two kids out to ski. It was a family affair all over again, creating lasting memories and having a wonderful time together. My father gave us all so much more than the gift of skiing. He gave us the gift of life long memories, stories, and a family tradition than is being passed on to another generation.


   I just know my Dad is dancing down the slopes of Heaven. And every day the conditions are fantastic. In the lodge, sitting by the fireplace with a book and a glass of hot spiced wine, is my mother, patiently waiting for my father to come inside.

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Sew what???

    It's hard to believe that I once was a pretty good seamstress. As a teenager, one of my sisters and I made all of our own clothes. And they were beautiful. Our clothes were not home made, they were hand made. There is a difference. Not only did we make our own clothes, but we made them for the entire family. From play clothes, school clothes, Sunday clothes and formal wear, we made them all. We even made our Mom's maternity clothes when she was expecting our youngest sister, but that's another story in itself.  

    My mother helped us with our sewing. She wasn't a seamstress, but she was meticulous about the handwork, finishing, and all of the details that would otherwise slow us down. Between the three of us, we had a regular conveyor belt going in our dining room. In a matter of hours we could turn a few pieces of cloth into several outfits ready to wear the next day. Trips to the fabric store was a lark. It was great fun for us, but we often left the salesclerks exhausted by the time we left the store.

    I continued to sew after I left home, but it just wasn't nearly as much fun, or as fast. Eventually I stopped sewing altogether, even though I kept my machine. I haven't used it for over thirty years, but at least I remember where I put it. Recently I thought about my machine when I met with one of my colleagues. She had beautiful fabric covers for her foam rollers and pads. I asked her where she got them and she said those three magic words, "I made them."

   Hmmm....that got me thinking. Maybe I could pull out the old Singer and see if I still had it in me. After all, how hard could a few straight seams be for someone who used to make her own prom gowns? Still, I felt a little intimidated and overwhelmed. How would I know what to do? I can't even remember the last time I was in a fabric store. Maybe I could just stop in Joann's and take a look around.

    Once I got to Joann's I almost turned around and left, but I accidentally made eye contact with one of the employees, who felt compelled to point me in the right direction. I found a beautiful soft fleece that I thought would work. So far so good, until I got to the cutting table. The young lady wanted to know how much fabric I needed. Since I didn't have a clue, I made up a number, and ten yards sounded about right. It seemed like a lot, but what did I know?

    I got home and stared at the heavy pile of pretty blue fabric. Now what? Oh, yes, I should wash it. Easy enough. While the fabric was in the laundry, I pulled out my sewing machine. For someone who used to be responsible for life support equipment, I sure was perplexed by a simple sewing machine. The Singer and I spent a few minutes eye balling each other until I finally took charge. It took several attempts, but I finally threaded the machine. I think I even did it correctly until I realized I forgot about the bobbin. How do I wind a bobbin? I thought about calling my sister for help, but I put on my big girl pants and figured it out on my own.

    Before I knew it, I was cutting fabric, pinning seams together and being serenaded by the familiar (but long forgotten) whirrr of my sewing machine. I felt the satisfaction of completing each project as well as the frustration of making silly mistakes and pulling out the seam ripper to start over again. Eventually, I had soft, beautiful covers for all of my rollers and some of my pads, even though I still have a few more to make.

    Honestly, it felt good to get back in the saddle again, or at least at the pedal of my Singer. I guess it's a lot like riding a bike....once you do it, you never forget. Now that I got a little bit of self confidence back, I am happy to report that I can walk into Joann's without breaking out in a cold sweat. When my clients ask me where I got my pretty covers, I modestly tell them, "I made them." I am wondering what other simple projects I can do, because I really did have fun. But the truth is, it's just not the same without my Mom and my sister beside me.     

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

The Gateway to Storyland....

    When I was a little girl, my favorite book of all times was "The Gateway to Storyland." It was full of wonderful (and frightening) stories that captured my heart and my imagination. The book was one of the many presents that Santa Claus gave me and my sisters for Christmas when I was two years old. I loved that book. Of course, my favorite story was "The Sugar Plum Tree." I can still recite that poem by heart, which I think is pretty remarkable, since most of the time I can't remember what I had for breakfast or if I locked the front door. I still have the book, and it is the most treasured possession that I have from my childhood. I have kept it in a special place in a dresser drawer for years.

    A few days ago, I was reminded of the story book when I saw a rabbit in my garden eating my lettuce. I immediately thought about Peter Rabbit, but had forgotten the details of his little misadventure. I went to get my book and refresh my memory. It wasn't there. I stared at the empty space where my book was supposed to be. I must have put it in a different drawer. I went through all of the dresser drawers. No luck. I felt the beginnings of a panic attack coming on. Where was my book? I calmed myself down and went through all of the drawers again. Nothing. Maybe it was in the closet. Nope. Then I remembered that I had been de-cluttering over the past year and I had put the book in another spot. I just couldn't remember where.

    I went downstairs and rummaged through the bookcase. Not there. Where in the world could I have put it? And then a horrible thought crossed my mind. Could I have accidentally given my precious book  away during one of my de-cluttering frenzies? I fought back tears as I thought about my book being gone forever. Certainly, I could look up the stories on wickipedia. I might even be able to find another copy somewhere. But it wouldn't be the same. Santa Claus himself  had neatly written our names in the book as well as the year he gave it to us. I frantically tore through the house looking for that book, but it was nowhere to be found.

    Sweaty and exhausted, I had to accept the fact that my book was gone. Maybe I did give it away and it found a new home where it was loved and appreciated. Probably not; the book was in such terrible shape that it probably ended up in a trash pile. Thinking about my book being tossed aside like an old shoe was the final straw that brought me to tears. I took a few minutes to pull myself together and then  meticulously began searching again. One anxiety filled hour later, I found my beloved book downstairs neatly tucked away between my anatomy and physiology textbooks. Good grief, what was I thinking when I put it there?

    I was so relieved that I hugged the tattered book to my chest. I was so exhausted that couldn't look at the stories and the enticing illustrations, but I did return it to it's place of honor in the top drawer of my dresser where I could see it every day. I admired my beautiful book as I tenderly laid it back in it's place. The front cover is cracked, the back cover is missing, and the spine is held together with masking tape that my mother put there sometime in the 1970's. But to my eyes, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and the most compelling piece of literary genius I have ever experienced. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And, no, you can't tell a book by it's cover.

    But you can go back to a magical place where gifted storytellers use the imagination and curiosity of a child to teach important life's lessons. To where a big bad wolf cannot blow your house down, as long as you build it with strong, sturdy walls. And where a little red hen bakes bread, but it takes a lot of work and effort. And somewhere in a harbor there is a magic tree that grows candy and is guarded by a chocolate cat and a gingerbread dog.  The truth is, those stories and memories are so deep within my memory and my heart that I'll never forget them. But I sure am glad I found my book.  Finally, just in case you are wondering, "The Gateway to Storyland" is still my favorite book of all times!

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP

Signs of spring

    It's a sure sign of spring when robins start building their nests. When I was a little girl, a sassy little robin built her nest on the window sill of the bedroom that I shared with my two older sisters. My sisters and I watched her build her nest, lay her eggs, hatch her chicks and feed them. Through the window, we watched her and she watched us. That robin must have found the comings and goings of three little girls equally as fascinating as we found her. Perhaps that's why she chose that spot to build her nest.

    I was in kindergarten, so I got home earlier than my two older sisters. One day when I came home from school, my mother told me that  "company" was coming to visit. I found that strange. Who comes to visit in the middle of the day in the middle of the week? Especially when my dad was at work, my older sisters were in school, and it was my younger sister's nap time? Well, "company" just happened to be a photographer from the local newspaper. Apparently our family of baby birds was a feel good human interest story, and an encouraging sign that spring had arrived. If you have ever experienced a  Western Pennsylvania winter, you understand that this certainly is reason to celebrate.

    The photographer wanted a picture of me feeding the birds. My mother opened the bedroom window and gave me small chunks of bread to give them. I stood on the bed so I could reach out of the window. The nice gentleman from The Times positioned himself on the porch and started snapping pictures. I didn't give a rip about having my picture taken, or the possibility that it might be in the paper. All I cared about was the opportunity to feed those little birds and get a closer look at them. When he was finished, he and my mother engaged in adult conversation while I basked in the glory of feeding the birds.

    The grown ups forgot about me and the birds as they continued to talk. That's when the real excitement began. One of the birds hopped out of the nest, over the window sill, and fell onto the bed. I squealed in delight, my mother screamed in horror, and another baby bird followed his brother out of the nest and onto the bed. My mother and the photographer ran into the bedroom and tried to catch the birds. I continued to squeal, my mother continued to scream, and the poor photographer ran around in circles as the entire nest of birds made their way into the bedroom. And, as birds often do, started dropping birdie bombs everywhere, if you get my drift.

    My mom and the photographer kept running into each other as they tried to catch the birds. In all my born days I had never seen so much chaos. Or had so much fun. Just as soon as one of the adults came close to catching a bird, it managed to slip away, start hopping, and poop some more. All four of them made their way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen and dining room. I was only five, but even I saw the wisdom of closing the bedroom door to confine them to one room. I sure was glad the adults didn't think of that. I could have told them, but where was the sport in that? Besides, who listens to a five year old? Anyway, it wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining or as much fun for me.

    Eventually, all of the baby birds were caught and safely placed back in their nest. I can still see the look on my mother's face. The photographer was sweating, his glasses were crooked, his tie was twisted, and he had stepped in bird poop. The two of them looked at each other and eventually started to laugh. He offered to stay and help my mother clean up the mess, but she pretty much had enough company for one afternoon. By the time my sisters got home from school, my younger sister woke up from her nap, and my dad came home from work, there was no sign of the fiasco that had taken place that afternoon. However, my mom and I had a fine story to tell at dinner that evening.

    The picture did make the front page of the local paper. I guess The Times felt they owed it to my mother. Soon after that, the birds were gone and all that was left was the empty nest. Eventually, the nest was gone as well. I was left with a splendid memory of a very exciting afternoon, and a story that my mother and I shared and laughed about for the next fifty years.

    I learned that it's a fine thing to celebrate spring. It's good to have company over, even if it is in the middle of the day in the middle of the week when nobody else is home. It's important to feed the birds. And if you ever have baby birds in your bedroom, you might want to close the door and confine them to one room. Unless, of course, you have a five year old around.
 

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP