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.

Pure Imagination: Part II

 

Like almost everyone I know, my hope was that pure imagination of what a season could be would give way to actual competition as 2020 came careening around the corner to hopefully a hard stop. Unfortunately, it was not to be. COVID continues to rock our rinks, upending the 2020-21 season and forcing us to find new ways to experience skating. At this writing, the Grand Prix season is all but decimated. Skate America is happening in what's being called The Bubble at the Orleans Arena in Las Vegas. In lieu of an enthusiastic audience, many of us chose to do virtual appearances via cardboard cutouts, the proceeds of which benefit the USFS Memorial Fund. It's the next best thing to being there, I suppose. I can't complain about having a front row seat for the entire competition for my donation, however.   

📷 by Zach Donohue at Orleans Arena Las Vegas Skate America 2020

Of course, nothing can truly replace the roar of the crowd, the flash of sequins, the thrill of victory and the abject agony of the Kiss & Cry when you're sitting there with your friends and skating family. It is what we live for each season.

So with this in mind, I contacted my co-author, Master Jack, and asked him to elaborate on what skating might be like in the future - say 100 years from now. Having touched on this in Part I of our blog, my young friend sent me a further explanation of how he sees equipment evolving. 

I have no doubt that some forward-thinking boot and blade companies will take note. Some of these ideas are already being incorporated to a much more modest degree than Master Jack envisions. But it is only 2020, after all. Who knows what the future holds for those who dare to dream. 

 

 

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.

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. 

Keepsakes

There it was. 

In an Instagram story on the day before Thanksgiving, it all became clear. My son, sitting at a table with his idols, who became mentors, then friends, were now his extended family. Twenty nine years of skating was summed up in only a few words inserted over a photo taken in a restaurant.

I don’t know how to describe exactly how I felt; perhaps that’s why it has taken me a few days to organize my thoughts. But as the last Grand Prix of this Olympic season got underway in Lake Placid today, it made me think of everything it took to get us to where we are now, to every experience along the way, and to all the people who were the tight fabric – or the loose threads – that wove our journey to this revered and almost sacred place in skating called “Family.”

The timing for his post could not have been better because I had just spent a week with my daughter in Idaho culling through a mélange of literally hundreds of old photos that had managed to find their way into boxes, envelopes, tattered scrapbooks, crates and suitcases. Some I hadn’t seen in more than 25 years; some were more recent. For better or worse, they all brought back a flood of memories surrounding that one particular moment now frozen in time.

Images scattered on the floor took me on a visual and mental roller coaster ride from Vancouver in 2010, back to Aspen in 1989, and forward at seemingly warp speed to Sochi 2014 and Stars on Ice this spring. Years of competitions were laid out before me. Not all the images were salvageable after decades of wear, weather and bad storage, but most of the memories remained, even if the pictures were faded.

I bring this up mostly because today we live in a digital world where we are posting our lives by the hour and minute to a multitude of social media platforms like Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, Twitter and Tumblr. Everything is in the “now.” Many are designed to simply disappear. It is true that they are not all jewels worth preserving, but the aggregate make up the more linear stories of our lives.

Nick Kole, Evan Gibbs, John Coughlin, Jeremy Abbott

My point is this: 

Make sure you document and preserve important milestones for posterity. Make sure you don’t discard those photos from a young age with friends and competitors alike. Take pictures with coaches and judges. If you meet someone you look up to, make sure to record the moment. We live in a world of disposable media, but that doesn’t mean we should also dispose of the memories that caused us to press the button and save the moment. Images are catalysts. They can remind us where we have been so we can appreciate how far we have come, and how quickly the time in between has passed. And how, along the way, idols became mentors, and mentors became trusted friends who are now truly family - not just in skating, but in life.

Nothing But The Truth - From My Perspective

Since 2009, when I began writing "Life on the Edge of Skating," the intent was to have it be from my perspective as a skating mother following the journey from the stands, imparting Yoda-like wisdom along the way and seasoning it with a large dose of humor. What it has always been about, however, is perspective.

There is a fine line between perspective and truth. Unfortunately, we are seeing that in every aspect of our lives these days. Except for death and taxes, there is little else that is absolute truth; the rest is how you perceive it to be - it's your truth because you're living it.

Thus it is with skating - and with moving on. The "truth" is (at least for me) the transition from being a skating mom to being whatever-it-is I am now has been much simpler than I thought.

Don't misunderstand. I still love skating with a deep and abiding passion, it's just that my perspective has changed. Instead of looking from the inside out through frosted windows where everything has a fun house mirror effect, my perspective has broadened. I don't find myself automatically turning onto the road where the rink is when I'm driving past. As a matter of fact, I rarely think about it any more.
 I rarely go to competitions, except for Nationals which is an annual (slightly dysfunctional) "family reunion" that I wouldn't miss for the world, unless other things in life get in the way.

Okay, I have to come clean. Truth:

• I am still wearing the earrings my skater gave me when he was seven years old - the ones I said I would retire when he finished competing. 
• I can't bear to pack away the years of costumes that still occupy too much space in a closet. 
• I still watch YouTube videos. 
• I still stand and cheer. 
• I still occasionally cry. 
• I am always and forever grateful and proud. 
• I will always and forever be a skating mom. 
•  Every E ticket paid out provided a thrilling ride.
•  Every friend I've made along the way has given me far more than I could ever give them. 
• Everything that's happened has shaped us into the people we are and the family we continue to be.
  
  

And that's the truth - at least from my perspective.

Blast Off...

 

It’s that time again. The season has begun. With it comes a cacophony of voices similar to the screeching sounds reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds.”

Skating boards are aflutter. Social media hangs on every tweet or post. The flock has returned to the nest and they are looking for the next new leader to take them, in wedge formation, headlong into infinity and beyond, or at least into this second half of the quadrennial leading to 2018.

Now that I’m on the outside looking in (or is it the other way around), I find myself concerned for the fledglings in the flock. Up until now, they have flown somewhat under the radar, protected by Regional competition and the occasional foray into the wild blue yonder – meaning across one border or another to sample what it is like to fly in the Jetstream; to test their wings.

However, once they’ve come of age, once they’ve landed at Nationals and earned their position in the wedge, the air becomes decidedly more rarified. The scrutiny becomes more intense. There are many people offering advice, observing, criticizing and pontificating based on every scrap of video posted on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook and YouTube.

The cacophony rises and falls with every practice, every run-through and every warm up competition at a local rink. New leaders are chosen and discarded by the minute, by the jump; by the spin; by the music or by the belief that a coach will somehow bestow magical flying powers to boots and blades and mystically infuse the chosen with interpretive talents yet to be observed.

Silly.

Let’s come down from the clouds for a moment. The fledglings are just that. For the most part, they are young. They may have athletic prowess that seems beyond their tender years, but they don’t have the flight time, or the experience with the tremendous amount of pressure born of unreasonable expectation. Sure, some will shine – for a while. Some will soar. Some will be grounded for mechanical failure. Some will, unfortunately, crash and burn. Learning to fly takes practice; it takes time to hone your skills as the pilot of your internal and physical ship.

My hope for this season is that those who place sometimes inappropriate pressure born of unrealistic expectations find within themselves some level of tolerance for those learning to navigate the sometimes not-so-friendly skies. After all, you’re not the pilot. You’re not the co-pilot. You're the flight attendant. So, like those of us who have lived this for so long, fasten your seatbelt, observe the no smoking (from your ears) signs, and if the oxygen mask drops from the ceiling, take a DEEP BREATH.

It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride to PyeongChang.

Make sure you know what the flock is going on before you blast off.

 

Dear Universe....

"Dear Universe,
Thank you for letting me live out my dreams since I was five years old. I know you're thinking there were other unfollowed follies in these 30 years of mine, but figure skating has always been my first and foremost love. So, I thank you.
Sincerely,
Me"

My son recently posted this on his Instagram and Twitter accounts for all the world to see. It not only made me very proud, it was corroboration that all those frozen moments of the past 26 years were worth every second. Not that I didn't already know, but to see it in print - to see the image and emotion of pure joy behind the words - actually took my breath away.

It also made me stop and think about what this sport can really mean to  skating parents like me as we transition into our new "Normal."   

Many of my son's contemporaries have now left competitive skating. They have moved on, but many have not moved out. I follow on Facebook and Twitter; I marvel at what they are still accomplishing - some without national and international titles; most without realizing the Olympic dreams they harbored since childhood. They have taken their passion for skating in new directions that will do nothing but improve the sport for the new generation coming to the ice. We have many who are touring the world doing shows, either with companies or on cruise ships. Their travel photos and posts of the places they've been and the things they've seen are better than I could have imagined.

Some have moved on to working as professional skaters and choreographers for companies who are exploring alternative movement on ice. It's exciting to see their creativity as they defy convention and push the boundaries of what we thought could be done.

Several skaters have moved directly into coaching and are bringing along exciting new singles and teams. A few have chosen the path of commentating, replacing the "old guard" with a freshness born from understanding the system as it is now because they've been there, done that and they can communicate it in a way that makes sense.

And certainly, there is immense pride in those who took the discipline of practice and competition they learned in skating and applied it to becoming scientists, researchers, doctors, lawyers, accountants, nutritionists, trainers and teachers with the same passion and dedication they exhibited in their years on the ice. 

As parents, what more could we ask of the Universe than to see our children follow their passions and make it their lives? I guess the only other thing we could hope is that they see it, acknowledge it and say thank you. It makes us realize that, in some small way, we did something right.



An Open Letter to My Son on the Occasion of His 30th Birthday..

 

There are many things you know, many you remember, and some you may not. But on the occasion of your 30^th birthday, it seemed like an appropriate time to share with you 30 very special memories:

1.       I had eight miscarriages between you and your sister.

 

2.       I had a tubal pregnancy and emergency surgery.

3.       You were supposed to be “twins.” (Looking back now, I can’t imagine having two of you – identical or fraternal.) I lost one six weeks into the pregnancy. You were tenacious and hung in there. Thank you.

4.       I was confined to bed for three months after you decided to shift. I begged the doctor to allow me to work through World Cup on Aspen Mountain. When the event ended, so did that stint of working for Aspen Skiing Company. The upside was that I learned how to crochet; it’s a skill I’d like to relearn when I have the time, and inclination.

5.       You were going to be named Gregory. Your sister chose your name.

 

6.       After having one Cesarean, because Gwen was quite comfortable hanging out, I was going to try to have you in the “normal” way. Like everything in our lives, “normal” is how you define it. Apparently, for me, that meant another C-section.

7.       In the delivery room, I lost a lot of blood and they nearly lost me. I remember hearing general chatter go to hushed whispers. I remember seeing a white light. I also remember thinking this was not how this story was going to end.

8.       When they put you down beside me, the only clear memory I have was looking at your hands and saying to the doctor that you had remarkably long and slender fingers. At that point, I thought you might play piano. I was correct about the musicality, just not the instrument with which you would create it.

9.       During a short hospital procedure , to the amazement of the doctor and two nurses, instead of crying you fell asleep on the table. That was the start of your being able to sleep almost anywhere and at any time, a trait that has served you well.

10.   You (mostly) slept through the night right from the start. When you didn’t, I’d sit in a rocking chair and sing a song I made up for you.

11.   You never had colic. I learned from having Gwen six years before that Mexican spices and breast milk are a lethal combination.

12.   Both you and your sister had chicken pox – TWICE. As you get older, remember that because you’ll need a shingles shot when you are my age.

13.   You hated (and still hate) peas and tomatoes, which always made me wonder if you were switched with another baby in the hospital. Same could be said for your sister and her taste. Apparently I failed you when it comes to pedestrian veggies, though you recently taught me to like Brussel Sprouts.

14.   You were blonde. Sometimes, you still are.

 15.   For years, you worked on a “condo” made from a large box that was stored in the garage of our friend Laura in Denver. It was quite intricate, with wall paper, furniture and – oh yes – curtains. I would never criticize your curtains as a guest in your home. That would be impolite.

16.   Your favorite books were “Good Night Moon,” and “Where the Wild Things Are,” but you also loved Dr. Seuss, and anything that had sounds, like “Smelly Jelly, Smelly Fish.”

17.   Your sister used to be merciless in her teasing. I told her that when you were big enough to whip her tail, you would be best friends. Moms are smart like that.

 

18.   I still have the ONLY Halloween costume I ever made by hand since my favorite response to you and your sister, when you’d say, “So?” was, “No I don’t.” Actually, I don’t. I do wish I still had your red felt crab claws from the costume I made you when you were Sebastian in “Under the Sea.”

19.   Costume boxes that started out for Halloween but turned into so much more for you, Aaron and Gwen. It became a constant source of amusement.

 

20.   I still have your derby hat from “Big Spender,” and the leather one from your John Denver version of “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” in the Aspen club shows.

 

21.   I still have your “Happy Feet” bejeweled neck tie from the Silver Circle opening.

22.   I still have most of your collection of masks, like the one you personally “negotiated” the price during a visit to Chicago when we visited an international fair on Navy Pier. You were so proud of yourself for haggling the price.

23.   I still never hang clothing on the rear hook in the car behind the driver’s seat after I smashed the car on the way to Pueblo Invitational. That was your second-ever competition. You got an ear infection and were sick as a dog but you wanted to skate. I had been up with you all night and we even stopped outside of Monument at a rest stop where you tossed your cookies and I considered turning around. We stopped in Colorado Springs looking for the old World Arena and I saw the International Center. Thinking it was the arena, I parked and we went in to find out it was a convention facility. As we were pulling out, we were hit by another car. It was Valentine’s Day. When we got to Pueblo, I had to call Allen and tell him about the accident, something that was not easy since he had roses delivered to our hotel room. Funny that, all these years later, I now work next to that building at The Broadmoor. I think about it every time I walk outside.

 24.   Having you take me through my basic dance tests was a highlight. I remember judge Virginia Mount watching stoically as we skated by. You came just above my waist and it was everything she could do from laughing – not at your ability, but at my lack thereof.

25.   Pueblo Invitational Solo Dance when you were seven or eight. Aspen Skating Club competitors Gary and Ozzie were standing in corners signaling “One Two Three – Four Five Six” as your dance coach Lisa Warner and I sat on the floor laughing so hard we were crying because you appeared to be dancing to music playing in another rink.

26.   Ice Dance and Pairs. Ice Dance and Pairs. I’m happy you are still friends with at least one of those partners. I don’t know how teams do it. I bow down to Meryl and Charlie, who we saw for the very first time at Junior Olympics when they both were no bigger than a minute.

27.   Drives every weekend from Aspen to Colorado Springs, then flights when Allen started working for the airlines so we could get the benefits.

28.   Planes, trains and automobiles. Fighting over map directions (pre GPS and Siri) and redefining “Terminal Entrance” when we couldn’t get out of the airport in Philly on the way to Wissahickon.

29.   HSBC bag from Junior Nationals in Buffalo that was redefined by Jack Courtney as “Holy S#!T Buffalo’s Cold” when we went from warm to a foot of snow overnight. That was also the start of the now famous “Go Alexander!”

30.  People don't realize that you have an oh-so-not serious side that you graciously share with us. As you continue in your journey, do more of this.

 

 We have been around the world and back; been to two Olympics and countless national and international competitions. It all happened because when you were four you saw Robin Cousins skate at a show in Aspen. That was the beginning of this amazing journey that is far from over. Thank you for that.

Happy Birthday, Jeremy. You are the SON-SHINE of my life.

Love, Mom