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

A very funny Easter Bunny.....

    Growing up in Western Pennsylvania was pretty special. All of the holidays were celebrated with great enthusiasm. It didn't matter if it was a national holiday, state holiday, school holiday, personal holiday, birthday, or religious holiday. We celebrated them all.

    Being of Eastern European descent, our family celebrated Easter with the ethnic and cultural traditions of our religion and our heritage. However, we also got to experience the other part of the Easter holiday, the Easter Bunny. And we enjoyed the decadence of all the chocolate Easter bunnies, chocolate eggs, jelly beans and marshmallow peeps.

    Of course, the Easter Bunny is famous for leaving baskets for each child at every house he visits. But, he never left baskets for me and my sisters. We must have been last on his "to do" list, and by the time he got to our house at the end of the street and at the top of the hill,  things began to go awry.

    Every year he developed a small hole in the bottom of his bag, probably from dragging it around all night as he went from house to house. As a result, he left a small trail of jelly beans on the walk leading up to the door of our house. The trail became bigger the closer he got to our front door. By the time he used his magic key to unlock the door to our house, jelly beans and brightly colored chocolate eggs began to litter the floor.

    At that point he must have given up. Since candy was already falling out of his bag, he must have decided to go with the flow. So he did. And he made an incredible mess. He threw candy all over the dining room and living room floor. At least he neatly lined up the packages of colored peeps, large chocolate bunnies and big eggs on the fireplace. Maybe he stole that idea from Santa Claus.

    Every Easter morning, we woke up to that beautiful, colorful mess. My sisters and I crawled around, gathered up the candy, and put it in the bowls and baskets that our mother pulled out of the cabinets. Yes, indeed, once a year we ate candy right off of the floor! Good thing our mother was a meticulous housekeeper. And, we rarely used the living room and dining room anyway. It was only for company.

    Every year, our mother would  complain about that darned Easter Bunny for messing up her house. And, every year she would plot how to stop him from doing the same thing the following year. We always hoped the Easter Bunny didn't hear her. That rascally rabbit was one funny bunny. It would sure be a bummer if we started getting boring baskets like the other kids. Where's the sport in that?

    Fortunately, our Mom never did stop him in his tracks. And every Easter Sunday we were treated with the sight of all that candy thrown all over the floor. Although, it wasn't as much fun picking up candy off of the floor as I got older, especially since my two older sisters and I got to help our Easter Bunny throw the candy around for our younger sisters when it was their turn to enjoy the magic. But, it was still okay to eat candy right off of the floor.

   The truth is, I still believe in the Easter Bunny. And Santa Claus. I believe in the magic of childhood, and I believe in the power of healing and comfort that sweet memories provide. I believe in the mystery and the reality of things that cannot be explained, but that we know in our hearts exist. And, I learned a few important things along the way. It's important to keep your floors clean. You never know when something sweet might land on them. Second, don't put all your eggs in one basket. You may want to throw them around a bit, and share them with others. At least, that's what our Easter Bunny would recommend.

Be healthy!
Cheryl Ilov, PT, GCFP