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

Focus, focus, focus....

    Good grief, I'm exhausted. Every free moment of every day over the past several months have been devoted to my martial arts training. That is my focus right now, like a second job, except without a paycheck. I have eliminated everything else in my life except work and training. I have stopped going to ballet class, stopped socializing with friends, and put projects on hold. I'm not even going shopping. I'm trying to focus.

    I have been organizing notes, reviewing techniques, taking extra classes, and meeting my number one training partner for additional time on the mat. I am memorizing Japanese words and phrases. I am diving into the historical, philosophical and cultural roots of the art I study. I am teaching some classes, helping other students, and collaborating with my fellow student instructors. I am really trying to focus.

    There isn't a lot of extra room in my head for mundane things. I must focus on what is important. Deflect, evade, escape; throw, pin, lock, strike. Hand weapons, heart weapons, spirit and intention is far more critical to remember then where I parked my car. I am testing today for my next belt. This level is a comprehensive review of everything I have learned since my first day of  training. I was told to be prepared to spend three hours on the mat for the test. That seems like a long time, but I'm sure I'll be fine. I just need to focus.

    I'm training and I'm studying. I'm training so hard that I can barely get out of bed in the morning. Every bone in my body aches and my muscles are begging for mercy. I'm studying so much that my head is full of Japanese words and phrases that keep bumping into each other, something that they particularly enjoy doing at three o'clock in the morning. The smell of tiger balm follows me wherever I go, but I guess it's better than the smell of the sweaty guys I've been working out with. The good news is, I'm learning how to focus.

    I am so focused that two days ago I lost my checkbook. No worries, I found it in the ficus tree at my office. Yesterday I misplaced my cell phone. Not a problem; it was in the dog food, right where I left it. I accidentally locked one of my dogs outside, but fortunately heard him barking before I left the house. I got mad at my husband because he wouldn't talk to me before dinner a few nights ago. Then I remembered he was out of town. Focus, focus.

    Every day I train. Every day I study my notes. Every day I wear my little gold earrings that have the Chinese symbol for "courage" on them, even though the art I study is Japanese. I think it's probably okay. Most of all, every day I wonder why I am doing this to myself. I don't have to, and I'm not even sure that I want to. I just want to be normal again. Then I focus at the task at hand.

    I say that I have been working toward this for the past few months. The truth is, I have been working toward this for the past eight years, but I didn't realize it then. Had I been able to look in the future and see where this journey would take me, I would have run screaming into the woods, never to be heard from again. Actually, that almost did happen two years ago, but that's another story.

    I might not get through this test. I might succeed, or I might fail. But that's not the point. The truth is, this test and this level is not about me, or the belt, or the honor of achievement. It's about the journey. It's about the art. The art I didn't choose, but chose me instead. It's about patience and perseverence. It's about humility, and learning how to embrace and accept something that is so much bigger than myself. It's also a way to discover more about myself than I ever knew existed. And it taught me how to focus.

    Well, I'd better be on my way. I have a test to take. If only I can find my car keys. I know they're around here somewhere....focus, focus, focus!

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP