An Open Letter to 2020: Things I Learned That I Didn't Know I Needed

 

Dear 2020: 

No sense in rehashing what you wrought in this universally challenging year. Volumes will be written by those much better equipped than I. 

However, on my part there have been some personal revelations, life lessons, and some things I needed to be reminded of, that are worth chronicling here. I'll just call them personal observations and lessons learned. Here are a few of the highlights:    

• Having a somewhat perverse sense of humor is a survival skill.
• A commitment to a healthy diet is a survival skill. 
• Pilates classes with my daughter on Zoom are a great idea on so many levels. It's also a survival skill. 
• Housebound exercise on YouTube is...housebound exercise on YouTube, no matter which way you slice it and I'm not sure I'd classify it a survival skill (but you could have done better with some of those videos, really). 
• Outdoor exercise, almost no matter what the weather, is a survival skill.
•  Zoom volunteer committee meetings lasting longer than an hour is a survival skill that requires a strong constitution, something that's occasionally lacking at my age. 
• Zoom family calls are an essential survival skill that can be extremely funny and sometimes incredibly awkward. 
• Memes created in your honor have helped many of us survive, while reassuring me I'm not alone in my twisted sense of humor.
• Working on a new project with my husband without needing bail money (most of the time) is the epitome of survival skills.

In the category of lessons learned, there are these revelations : 

• I have way too many pairs of black leggings.
• I don't have any shoes other than slippers, sneakers, snow and hiking boots, and a single pair of flipflops.
• I need more soft sweaters because I've reached the point where I want to burn the ones I have.
• I hate bras. (I really hate bras.)
• I have socks in my drawer that actually match only because I'm not wearing them.
• I have socks in my drawer that are older than my youngest child - and possibly my oldest.
• I know everywhere that Mike and Frank have visited over the past 17 seasons of "American Pickers," and I can now identify motorcycle parts in a pile of junk buried in my neighbor's backyard (don't ask).
• The people on my mother's side of the family were hoarders, and my mother never threw away anything, including but not limited to: pocket calendar style address books dating back to 1946; bank statements going back to the 1950s, ephemera of all shapes, sizes and unknown origins pertaining to who-knows-what, and old love letters that dated back to before I was born. I'm sure she didn't even remember they still existed, mixed among the aforementioned papers. They definitely fell into the TMI category, and she would have been mortified to know that I had unwittingly perused them.
• I have large plastic containers filled to the brim with several generations of family photos - including unidentified trees, people, flowers and feet.
• There are literally no scrapbooks large enough for 32 years of competitive skating memorabilia.
• Not all old VHS tapes of non-qualifying competitions - currently filling six packing boxes - are "keepers."
  
• Cassette tapes of old programs dating back to the early 1990s do not need to be displayed, played - or kept, for that matter. 
• It's okay to go minimalist. But when in doubt, send a photo to the kids to see if they want it first. I've been out of the mindreading business far too long and I'm woefully out of practice.

However, the most important thing I learned from you, 2020, is to be present. You reminded me to be there for people; to help where I could; to counsel if asked, and to shut up and listen when it was truly needed. You also reminded me the importance of saying "I'm sorry," and "thank you," because both are worth their weight in gold.

As I get ready to fling open our windows and doors to guide you "gently" out and cautiously welcome 2021, I really need to prepare. There is so much ahead; so much to do. 

I'm stronger, and hopefully wiser, because of you, 2020. Your lessons were not wasted on me, and you will not be forgotten. I have a very long memory.

Yours Truly.

Virtual Reality

I received a call the other day from the mom of a young skater who was about to have her first shot at making Nationals in Junior Ladies. The mom was frantic because of the new competition structure put in place for the 2020 season due to the continuing pandemic. 

"How can they DO this to us? It just isn't fair! 

It's not what we were expecting."

Well, 2020 wasn't what we we were expecting. Remember when we wished 2019 would just go away? I don't know about you, but 2019 is looking pretty darn good right now. 

I didn't really have an answer for this mom, other than to tell her that unprecedented times call for unexpected changes. Trite, I know, but it was the best I could do on short notice and being put on the spot.

What I wanted to say to her, I'll say to all of you. Skating is a sport. Full stop. The fact that any skaters at all are getting back on the ice in the midst of a disease that has been ravaging people in countries around the world is kind of a flipping, lutzing, miracle. If you get any semblance of a truncated season, consider yourself one of the lucky few. 

2020 obviously hasn't come with a book of instructions. The pages are being written - and rewritten - nearly by the hour as things continue to evolve. There are no norms. There is no normal. It's a "Lewis and Clark" moment where every step is being mapped for the first time, in real time.

The other side is that there are groups of people in our skating world who are working their axels off to make something - anything - happen in order to salvage something looking like a season. From the local clubs to our national governing body to even the ISU, no idea is off the table, as long as it first takes into account the health and safety of everyone involved, from skaters and their families to coaches, officials and - yes - fans. Unlike other times in our sport's history, right now the wheel is not being recreated, it's been thrown out the window. 

I am not privy to any insider competition information. I'm just sitting here in front of my computer trying to make sense of it all. What I do know is that I've seen  the fierce dedication of coaches and choreographers who have been finding new ways to keep skaters enthusiastic and engaged through on line classes via Zoom. What I do know is that the Peggy Fleming Trophy competition in June may have been that invaluable "scout" for our expedition into the unknown. Also, what I know because of my involvement with my husband's new podcast venture, is that musicians are exploring new platforms with no signal delay so that they can gather together virtually and play together in real time. All kinds of new technology is being tested daily; some of it may even be applicable to having competitions in real time. Logistically, it would be incredibly challenging from an organizational and technical standpoint - and fraught with possible pitfalls - but it is doable. As we've said in this household for an entire skating career, "Anything is possible. Pigs Can Fly."

The most important thing you can do right now is to be patient. You probably have a lot of things to worry about that are infinitely more important. If your kid is able to be on the ice and have some sense of "normal," be grateful. If you're an adult skater and back on the ice, you're already grateful. I know; I see your posts on Facebook and Instagram. 

Most of all, try to keep perspective. Nothing can truly replace being there live and in person for a competition, but that may be our virtual reality this season. We simply don't know. 

As one of my favorite bosses told me years ago, "You can't hold back the ocean." 

What Matters Most - Life In The Time of COVID-19

Photo courtesy US Figure Skating.
Purchase of masks helps support Memorial Fund.

It's been more than a year since I did a blog. I thought I was done, but apparently I can't escape - particularly when life has dealt us challenges unlike we've ever experienced before. If we survive this, let's hope none of us - in whatever time we have left on this "mortal coil" - will ever have to experience anything like it again. 

Which brings me to this new musing.

There's a new "normal" now that's a bit different than the one I talked about in 2009 when I first started sharing my thoughts about life on the edge of skating, though some things seem to never change. Like the mysteries of giving birth for the first time, this chapter that's unfolding before us does not come with a set of clear instructions. We read, watch and listen to experts, but then we are pretty much left to figure it out for ourselves. The phrase, "We're all in this together," while true in the universal sense, sometimes seems awkward and discomforting during a pandemic. 

I could go on with a diatribe, but we're all doing that in our own personal-planet lives. This is meant to be an observation of what seems to be happening in our molecular world of ice, and how we might be able to apply it to the bigger picture of life on a decidedly different edge. 

Like virtually everything, skating came to a hard stop in late February or early March, depending on where you live on this planet. What was promising to be an exciting third year of the quadrennial cycle leading up to the 2022 Olympics evaporated in a nanosecond. The ice was figuratively, and literally, pulled out from under us, leaving  nowhere to turn. People were frozen in strange places, many far away from home. Some found solace through sheltering in place with friends, becoming unwitting roommates for more than three months. Most found themselves alone with their thoughts and fears; forced to examine themselves in a way they may never have done before. 

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair,”

~ Charles Dickens.  Tale of Two Cities  

Winter of despair? Definitely. 
Spring of hope? Nope. 
Summer of enlightenment? Stay tuned.

The encouraging thing is that we're a resilient lot. Brilliant and resourceful, coaches, clubs, skaters, choreographers, contemporary and ballet dancers, and personal trainers discovered Zoom as a way to further development, and to keep enthusiasm from waning in the face of - well - no faces or places to train. 

A massive disadvantage suddenly became an unexpected boon to learn from people they would rarely, if ever, have a chance to access during day-to-day training preparation. Those who had the resources and willingness to take a new path, found a brave new world - and a way to stay connected.

Now, with rinks in our 50 seemingly different and individual country-states here in the U.S. starting to sputter to a start - and with the future of a season still uncharted but most likely unexplored territory - it is incumbent on all of us to step up, and back, to take a bird's eye look at the horizon. 

As a parent of a now-professional skater and choreographer, my goal is laser focused: to love unconditionally and non-judgmentally; to be there to bolster and encourage. By truly listening, we came to the realization that our bottom line hasn't changed; the love of what's been our lives for more than 32 years is still there. 

But like all love, it's challenging us to find new paths. Being able to navigate the changes, being flexible, encouraging and supportive is the foundation of the "emotional home," the safe place we spent years constructing in this sport. Sharing that has been the greatest gift.

Life in the time of COVID-19 is allowing all of us to continue to build to our strengths,  and make sure we supply a solid foundation. Our greatest challenge isn't having to  wear masks - or possibly not having a "normal" skating season. Frankly, that's the least important out of all this. What's important is staying on firm, supportive ground and not sinking into a mire of mental quicksand. That's our newest test. That's how we'll survive, and thrive until we find our footing again. Just being there and present is truly what matters most.     

WHAT'S IN A NAME: Revisiting that Question 10 Years Later

Ten years ago, I wrote this blog about my alter-ego, my other persona; what was - and still is - my other name in the skating world. I had cause to revisit this last week at the US National Figure Skating Championships in Detroit. It got me thinking.

Skate to Eliminate Cancer at
Campus Martius Park, Detroit

As you know, my son is no longer competing. However, he had a lot to do, both on and off the ice, since Detroit has been his home-away-from-home for 10 years now. When I couldn't be with him, I found myself watching him on the Jumbotron, at the Ice Desk, and also on the ice during Opening and Closing Ceremonies, as well as at a Scott Hamilton "Skate to Eliminate Cancer" event held outdoors at Campus Martius park in the heart of downtown. I went to Nationals, not only to spend a little bit of time with him, but to be with my skating friends for our annual "family reunion." 

So, after all these years, and all but one Nationals since 2003, I'm fairly well-known around the concourse, in restaurants, and sometimes in the ladies room lines. However in our skating world, I'm not always known as Allison Scott, the now-retired PR professional, blogger, US Figure Skating volunteer for Friends of Figure Skating and Memorial Fund events and 29 year skate parent. In this circle of friends and fans, I still take on my other identity. Like Clark Kent goes into a phone booth, turns around twice and comes out dressed as Superman ready to take on the world, I walk into an arena, turn around twice(usually because I've immediately lost the people I came in with) and become "Jeremy's mom." People I've known for years often times can't remember my given name. I get hugs and the first question is "How's your son? Is he here?" The second thing is usually an enthusiastic - and occasionally awkward - introduction to friends. "I'd like you to meet my friend Jeremy's mom." 
No joke. 
I then have to say something like, "Hi, I'm Allison Scott. So nice to meet you." 

I bring this up because I have been around a long time, and I have had a fulfilling professional career in public relations. But  what concerns me is that I see so many parents, whether they work outside or as a stay-at-home parent, lose their own identity along the way in this sport. It's always wonderful to be identified with your child, and that recognition as a parent of your skater is -hopefully - positive. But don't let it be the only thing that defines you. 

There is a saying by Horace Greeley that goes, "Fame is a vapor, popularity is an accident, riches take wings. Only one thing endures and that is character."  

Make sure you remember who you are. Your kids will always remember who you are.

FACING YOUR FEARS

 

 

Recently, I got back on skates again. It had been nearly four years since I was on the ice. Arthritis and bunions made it difficult to find comfortable shoes, and impossible for me to get my foot into my old skates, let alone my work shoes. Finally, the pain got so bad that I opted for surgery on my left foot to relieve the pressure. Seven screws, a pin and a plate later, I found myself on a long road to recovery, still with pain and now with toes that didn't bend. First there was the scooter, then crutches and finally a walking boot for eight weeks. After that, there was the issue of finding shoes that I could wear, getting rid of a closet full that had outlived any semblance of usefulness, and experimenting with varying pads, splints and all manner of contraptions on my feet in order to find the combination that would allow me to walk again pain free. That took nearly two years.

Me at Rockefeller Center 1952.

One of the driving forces behind succeeding was to actually get back on the ice. I love skating outdoors. I do not like skating in circles around a rink since I spent a better portion of 29 years sitting and watching those infinitely more talented than I transform those surfaces into magical places of athleticism and wonder. I simply wanted to be on a frozen pond, surrounded by nature and thankful for the absolute joy that feeling brings.

I found a pair of skates called SofTech by Jackson Ultima. They are purely recreational by design. They are functional, but the most important thing about them is that I could get my non-bending toes into the boots. After a conversation with my Jackson rep, the same one who takes care of my son's skates, we concluded that I would 1) not be doing triple axels, and 2) probably not be attempting death spirals (at least not on purpose - or with a partner). This made my choice the best one for what I did want to accomplish: Getting back on the ice just after my 70th birthday.

The skates came in. They fit like a glove. Now, all I had to do was get back to a safe place to test them out.

Nothing outside was open - or even frozen - when my skates were delivered. However, I knew I had to get back on the ice. I had to face my fears of being out of shape, feeling my age and, frankly, being afraid of falling and breaking something. All the "What If's" flooded my brain like a Zamboni laying down a new surface after a particularly rough elite practice session.

I gritted my teeth, grabbed my skates, looked up a public session time at a local municipal rink, dragged my husband along "just in case" something happened, put on my warm socks, my turtleneck, jeans and a fleece jacket, and off we went. My blood pressure was probably through the roof, but I was going to get on the ice, even if I had to hug the boards. Which is exactly what I did.

That first step back was anything but secure. My mind was saying, "Come on. You've skated all your life. You were pretty good for a recreational skater. You passed basic Moves. You passed preliminary dance tests. You did figures for years. You've GOT this." My body was like. "WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING??!!! ARE YOU NUTS??? This is NOT like riding a bicycle. Remember the last time you did that? You hit a curb and fell off, bashed your elbow and cut your knees open. This is NOT a good idea! You're out of shape after your surgery. You fell cross-country skiing in Idaho with your daughter last November and twisted your back. You just turned SEVENTY! Go home, have a glass of wine."

Mind over matter - mind over body mass - prevailed. I hugged the boards the first time

around while my husband did some video which, thankfully, did not go viral. Second time around, I felt a bit more brave. I let go, but I stayed within reach of my safety net. By the third time, I was actually doing some stroking. Not stoking like a pro, but at least I wasn't walking. Stopping safely was still eluding me so I coasted into the boards by the door, walked onto the mats, put on my guards and considered it a win. I lasted about 30 minutes total, but the point is that I did it. I felt okay. I didn't fall. I was tired but I was grateful that I didn't take the easy way out.

I bring this up now because I'm facing retirement at the end of December. While my body is saying it's the right decision, this time my mind is like, "WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING??!!! ARE YOU NUTS??? This is not like riding a bicycle..." and you know the rest. So, I'm taking on retirement the same way I took on skating. Mind over matter. Because now time matters, and I have a lot of things I want to do with my life - including skating outside in nature, unafraid and in awe. That's how life should be lived.

Like a Phoenix - Time to Return to the Edge

I know it has been a while - actually March - since I posted my thoughts. Frankly, I haven't had much to say.

However, events of the past few months have made me think a lot about friends and family- ones who are here, ones who have left us, and new friends I've made who are just starting their journey into this strange life.

Stay tuned. The door is opening again and I will have a post shortly. 

Talking in Whispers

If you have followed my blogs for any length of time - say, anywhere between 2009 and just a few weeks ago - you know that I try to use humor to talk about the "universal truths" of skating framed in my perspective and through our experiences over the past 29 or so years. Humor is important in keeping sanity, and in getting a message across. It has been my savior - and my shield - for a long time. 

This past weekend, however, I had something happen that I wasn't expecting. I had a bit of a breakdown. Actually, it wasn't just a "bit," it was a full-blown I-don't-know-what's-going-on-or-what's-wrong-with-me breakdown/meltdown, whatever one chooses to call it. 

Being - well - me, I had to try and figure it out. In doing so, I came to the realization that what we don't talk about - except in whispers to ourselves amid tears at 2AM - is what happens to us when the stress of however many years, is gone. Pile on top of that all the things that happen at work, at home, with family members, with finances, and what is left is a very large bucket filled with a mixture of anxiety, uncertainty - nothingness, and everything-ness. 

For me, things went from survival to feeling like the story about Lemmings and the cliff. However, this cliff was atop Mount Everest. I'm not quite sure how I made it to the summit, but now I was looking down from 29, 029 feet with no oxygen and no clear egress. Apparently, I packed a lifetime of emotionally gunnysacking over the past decade or two, and the weight was crushing. My mother passed away in October leaving us all with volumes of papers and a warehouse full of collected "stuff" to sort through. Several weeks before she passed, I was crushed with finishing a book, as both an editor and contributor, one that exacted a year-and-a half toll out of my life. The week before, our daughter came home to see her. The day before, our son had MOHS surgery for basal cell carcinomas on his head. He made it home hours before she left us. A few months after that, I gave my work a year's notice to my retirement at the end of this year. 

With the end of the quadrennial and the naming of the Olympic team, work changed for our skater and many of the shows he had the great fortune to do for the past eight years evaporated, going to the next generation of skaters who had now earned their way. 

Everything I had known, for the 69 years of my life, and the past 29 years of my life on the edge of skating, was either drastically changing - or gone. Disquieting does not adequately describe that realization. Terrifying may be more accurate. 

There has been a lot of conversation about helping skaters who come to the end of their competitive careers without a goal, or even a plan. It is a problem that is being examined and, hopefully, addressed. But no one is talking about us. I suppose it is because, as parents, it is expected. We are the "skating moms" and "skate dads" who stoically sat on metal bleachers, who quietly (and sometimes not-so-quietly) did our jobs so our kids could reach their individual levels of success. This competition thing - this sport - takes its toll on us, too. And when it is over, we are faced with different lives because of it. We are older. For the most part, our kids are grown and gone. For many, our families are divided - either by distance or by choice. We are faced with that universal question of "What do I do now?"

The answer to the question is as individual as the people who have gone through it and are now seeking the answer to what we do. It is not as simple as just moving on. That gunnysack has a lot in it that needs to be sorted through, and purged.

So, there I was over the weekend, not knowing what was wrong; crying for no seeming reason; unable to verbalize out loud the flood of emotions that were overwhelming me. In whispers, I spoke to my  husband, who listened, understood and did not think I was falling off the cliff, just teetering on the edge. 

I'm fully aware that not everyone has that kind of support, and I could not be more grateful. However, all of you who have children who are athletes, or prodigies that required nurturing - and lives  that we have either put on hold or ones that have gotten in the way- there will come a time, sooner or later, when you will reach that that point. It is our rite of passage, I suppose. 

The only constant is change. The question is how to prepare for it - or if you even can. 

Sightseeing

 

I am packing for San Jose today. I leave for Nationals early this coming Thursday morning. And like the last few, this is another year when I can be a cheerleader since I have no "horse in the race." However, this year is the Triple Crown, the World Series, the Indy 500 of skating because it is the end of the quadrennial and that means only one thing in in skatingdom - Olympics! 

It's always a time for me to get somewhat teary-eyed remembering back, oh nearly 30 years now, to those first forays onto the ice. How quickly that time has gone. 

I don't mean to sound maudlin at all. I wouldn't trade a moment of it. In the early years of competitions, it was fun and games. We'd go to the rink, warm up, skate, go out for pizza and go sightseeing. Even if it was somewhere close to home and a place we'd been many times before, we'd find fun things to do. 

Somehow, that all changed when things got "real." Not real in the truly real sense; real as most skate parents perceive real to be. 

For a way-too-long time, sightseeing at competitions - both non-qualifying and qualifying - became something like this:

• Map out how far it is from your hotel to Starbucks
• Look at the practice schedule
• Map out how far it is from the hotel to the practice rink
• Figure out the time between getting from practice back to the main rink
• Map out how far the main rink is from Starbucks
• Figure out if you can bring Starbucks into the main rink or do you have to bolt it down outside, or find a way to sneak it in
• Look on line to find where you are sitting and how far away it is from the nearest bathroom
• Find out who you are sitting near because you may need to move
• Calculate how many laps you need to do around the concourse to get some modicum of exercise, then not do it
• Find the nearest cafe that sells wine in the arena
• Look for a restaurant close by so you are sure not to miss a moment of official practice ice
• Look for over-priced essentially junk food on the concourse because there isn't time to go out for a real meal (oh those Nachos..)
• Buy souvenirs from the vendors that you end up throwing on the ice, never to be seen again

I mention all of this because if you are a relatively new skating parent, or even a skating fan, I'm mapping out what your reality may be. I know some of you are sitting there saying, "Oh no, that's not ME. I love to get out and see the sights." Okay. I believe you. I used to say that, too. I still do. And, I'd like to say that it has changed. Sadly, it has not. 
Yes, I do get out more now that I don't have a competitor, but when I go to Nationals, most of my best sightseeing could be categorized more as sightings. 

Nationals is an annual family reunion on steroids (not the USADA kind; we don't have to pee in a cup - well, at least not on purpose). While you would like think you can escape from  the arena, chances are you won't even make it out the door. I rarely make it from one section of seat signs on to another on the concourse without getting stopped by another skating family, a skater, former skater, coach, official, friend or fan. I'm as guilty as everyone else when it comes to this. I have my friends whom I stalk at Nationals. We've even been known to text, Tweet or Facebook to find one another. 
"Where are you?" 
"I don't see you."
"Look up. Im' in section 108."
"WAIVE!"
"I still can't find... Oh, I SEE YOU now!" 

It's a game we play every year that allows you to either see your favorite family members - or avoid that crazy relative you can't escape if they corner you. 


So, as I pack for San Jose, I'm grateful that I've "been there; done that." If I see the light of day, I'll count my blessings. If I make it to their fabulous art museum again, I'll consider myself lucky. The good thing is that I KNOW where Starbucks is and how to get to my favorite restaurants quickly. The rest? I'll map it out when I get there.

As we do our sightseeing in the SAP, all I really want to do is see our athletes do their best, no matter the outcome. Good luck to all who are looking to earn their way to PyeongChang. If you make the team, it will be a sightseeing trip like none you've ever imagined. 

Madison Chock and Jeremy Abbott - Photo by NBC

Pentimento, Kintsugi and The Art of Figure Skating

I am a huge fan of CBS Sunday Morning. I have been watching it for decades. I've found their stories wonderfully informative, entertaining and thought-provoking. This morning, however, watching a piece by Faith Salie on "How Art Can Help Shape Your New Year's Resolutions," I had an epiphany, of sorts. 

First, let me say that I have a mostly-unused university minor in art history. I say "unused" the same way I say "algebra." While I served as a trustee of our Fine Arts Center with great reverence and pride for three years, it required me to use my knowledge of art about as much as I use algebra.

Anyway, in her piece on New Year's Resolutions, Ms. Salie used art to make a very good point; one that was not lost on me as I start to pack my bags and get ready to head to San Jose for the U.S. National Figure Skating Championships where our new Olympic Team will be named. From the depths of my schooling, Ms. Salie reminded me about two of my favorite things in the art world: Pentimento and Kintsugi. 

A Matisse drawing with erasure marks.

CBS NEWS

Using her words, here is the definition of Pentimento:

"This past year, I learned two life-changing ideas from the world of art.One is "pentimento," which I first encountered when I saw a drawing by the artist Henri Matisse. 

As I got closer, I could see that Matisse had sketched over and over and didn't entirely erase his scribbles.

A friend explained this is called pentimento, which is Italian for "repent" -- to regret, to change your mind. Matisse, a master, left his stumbles for us to see, and the ghosts of his mistakes inspire us to strive not for perfection, but for creation."

Mind blown. A master left his stumbles for us to see, and the ghosts of his mistakes inspire us to strive not for perfection, but for creation. Hmm..

Then there was this from Ms. Salie on Kintsugi:

Kintsugi -
filling in a ceramic's cracks with gold.
C

BS NEWS

"The other notion is "kintsugi," which is the Japanese method of repairing broken ceramics with gold.

The idea is that the cracks of something are part of its history and should be kept visible, even shiny! It's the art of embracing damage while making something whole.

An object becomes more beautiful because of its flaws." 

Wait. What? Repair something broken with gold, embracing the damage while keeping it visible, and even shiny because the flaws are beautiful? 

Ms. Salie continued her piece with this observation: 

"What if we consider kintsugi and pentimento in our New Year's resolutions? The word itself, "re-solution," suggests we return to our shortcomings, chronically trying to solve ourselves again and again." 

Without even knowing it, Faith Salie just summed up everything about figure skating. The fact that only three men, three women, three dance teams and one pairs team - a GRAND TOTAL OF FOURTEEN ATHLETES - will represent our country at the XXIII Winter Olympic Games just mere weeks from now is important, but not totally the point. 

After San Jose, there will be many who will feel imperfect, cracked, flawed or perhaps broken - either in their own minds, or made to feel so by those around them - because they were not "perfect." It will take awhile for them to look at what they did, the hours they trained and the art they presented to realize that the gold they may not have collected this time, on this frozen canvas, does not mean that what they did to get there should be dismissed or discarded. Whether they  choose to continue to create, or move to another discipline in life, make no mistake about this one very important thing: What each one left us with was their personal form of art. The gold may not have been there for the crowds to see atop the podium, but it was - and will be - forever in their hearts. Despite critics; despite the crowd, these artist-athletes were chosen to exhibit their works because they earned their place in the grand gallery of San Jose. They may have left flaws for us to see, but in doing so they presented heart.  

"But we'll never be perfect, so perhaps our re-solutions can involve being humble enough to shed light on our cracks -- and brave enough to repair them visibly. Maybe that's a kind of time travel in which we make peace with past and future at the same time."

Words  for all of us to consider, to live by, and to use as part of our re-solution heading into San Jose, Ms. Salie. Thank you for helping bring clarity to our flaws. Happy New Year. 

Taking Stock at the Start of 2017

 It's now 2017, and it is time to take stock of what's important in my life. Certainly, my family is at the top of the list. I am eternally grateful for all of them. My husband continues to be my rock and my anchor. My 94 year old mother keeps life interesting, as do my adult kids, their partners, a beautiful and precocious grandchild and a grand-dog. They all are my thousand points of light that make up our anything-but-normal family.

 However, lately I've found myself on the fence about things outside of heart, hearth and home. I've relatively successfully transitioned from being a skate mom to being a skating mom. (There is a difference - a slightly lower level of crazy and a somewhat higher level of respect.) I don't  wear a hair shirt or flail about wailing at the loss of my previous life. I have other things to occupy my time. 

To a degree, however, that is my conundrum. 

For the second straight year, I am heading to Nationals as a spectator and not a skate mom. It is an important season for all skaters hoping to make it to PyeongChang in 2018. This is a dress rehearsal, of sorts. This is the competition where skaters will start to jockey for position and show that they are worthy opponents on the frozen world stage. Of course, next year in San Jose everything will be on the line. This year, though, we will see who stands out - and stands up to the pressure. 

This year, however, I'm going not only for the standout stories, but for the ones that are lesser known, among them is competitor-turned coach-turned competitor again, Dennis Phan. 

The same age as my son, I watched Dennis compete for many years. He was a US National Champion at Junior and a Junior Grand Prix Gold Medalist. His last senior competition was Spokane in 2010. A beautiful, stylist, Dennis did  shows and then turned to coaching. However, at 31 he felt he had not put a period at the end of his competitive sentence. Against odds, he began training again. He competed at Regionals and qualified. I watched him compete at Sectionals here in Colorado where he took Bronze. I watched him tear up with pride knowing that he had done something most adult skaters would not even dream of doing after not competing for six years. I will be there to watch him skate beautifully, for his family, friends, his coaches and himself. That will be a victory in a season of personal and professional growth. I, for one, will stand and applaud.

I will also cheer loudly for many others who continue to train hard, ignoring the sands of time that are inevitably sifting slowly to the bottom of the glass. These are the heroes of our sport. Some better known; some not. They exist in all disciplines and they continue to fight to do it their way against what others would consider insurmountable odds. They are the warriors, the soldiers and the cement that allows ice to take shape. They do not melt; they continue to add layers for the next generation of dreamers and doers. 

Why is this a conundrum for me? I should be there looking at the bigger picture, and I will most certainly be doing that. I will cheer for the men, ladies, pairs and dancers, most of whom I've known since they were mere babes on blades. My heart is with them as they make their statement about representing Team USA in 2018. I know what they are going through right now. It is all too familiar. It is a level of nerves that strikes me to the core. 


 So, I'm taking stock of what matters to me right now, and that is seeing the lesser publicized stories play out on the ice in Kansas City. It's important to remember that each skater who earned a spot by qualifying through Regionals and Sectionals made a personal statement. They worked hard to get there and they deserve their moment, and our respect. 

 

Take Note

This entry has nothing (directly) to do with the presidential debates.However, it has everything to do with how one is perceived when in the company of others -  and when one thinks they are not being watched, or heard. Today, everything is under a microscope. There isn't a move, a breath or a word that doesn't fall under the glare of some form of media, or that goes unnoticed, not only by steadfast friends but ardent critics. 

I mention this to remind you that no one is immune.

Lately, I have had texts and messages from friends who are just beginning their foray into the frozen tundra. While two are not new to skating and have been involved on the athlete side, they are now adjusting to the slightly ill-fitting and uncomfortable role of being "skate mom." Like an expensive costume, it takes a number of adjustments until it feels (somewhat) like something one can live with. The comments to me outlined not only what was happening on the ice, but in the stands. Unguarded snippets of conversation were overheard about other skaters, coaches and parents. There was discussion of body type and weight; who could do what jumps and what was "under-rotated." This was coming from parents of preliminary skaters. 

  I know that one blog isn't going to be a reason for behavior to stop, or even take a momentary pause. It is part of the fabric of who we are as people. We talk. We observe. And, yes, we gossip. It gives us something to do. For some, they use it it is used to establish their position of dominance within the "tribe." It is our nature.


But today, nothing goes unnoticed. There are virtually no secrets, no private conversations and particularly no subtle gestures, glances or physical stances that escape the eyes - or ears - from those who are merely casual and amused narrators to those whose existence seems to be defined by minutely reporting such things in great and somewhat lurid. There is no casual conversation anymore.It is all observed, scrutinized and reported in some form. 

You are not even safe in the bathroom. I have stood in many lines during an ice resurface overhearing conversations about my skater. I've sat in arenas next to strangers who have taken great pleasure in analyzing his every move, and have even made comments about our family. (Those are the most fun, particularly when I introduce myself and watch the display of 50 shades of red faces and a tumble of nonsensical words and shallow apologies.) 

All of this brings me back to the debates. The spoken word is powerful, but so is the unguarded one. The choreographed gesture is not as noticed, or reported, as the silent stance. When you step outside your private enclave, you step on stage and there is a spotlight just waiting to follow you. 

The cautionary words of a Stephen Sondheim song from "Into the Woods" drives home my point.
 

 How do you say to your child in the night?
Nothing's all black, but then nothing's all white
How do you say it will all be all right
When you know that it might not be true?
What do you do?

Careful the things you say
Children will listen
Careful the things you do
Children will see and learn
Children may not obey, but children will listen
Children will look to you for which way to turn

To learn what to be
Careful before you say "Listen to me"
Children will listen
Careful the wish you make
Wishes are children
Careful the path they take
Wishes come true, not free

Careful the spell you cast
Not just on children
Sometimes a spell may last
Past what you can see
And turn against you
Careful the tale you tell
That is the spell
Children will listen

 Everyone is watching. Everyone is listening. As my actor grandfather was fond of saying, "There are no small parts, just small actors." Nothing goes unnoticed. Nothing.