The Wool Blanket

Sciatica.  If you haven't experienced it, you'll never know the pain that comes with it.  One evening I went to bed with no pain, and the next morning I awoke with a tinge of pain emanating from my right hip and suddenly jolting down to the center of my calf muscle as I tried to get out of bed.

It will go away, I thought.

For a week, I limped around with a condition similar to a stiff neck at my hip joint, going about my daily tasks with electrifying pain shooting from hip to ankle each time I took a step.  It was difficult standing on my feet and cooking on the nights I was open for business or teaching dance during class time.  And looming in the not too distant future at that time was the scheduled audition performance date for the annual Ethnic Dance Festival.

I hate taking pills, so I said no to Motrin or Aspirin.  But I did drink lots of wine as a well deserved excuse for pain medication.  Still, sciatica lingered.  I was really worried.  Determined not to let it get the best of me, I vowed I wouldn't let the discomfort stop the audition.  I couldn't let my fellow dancers down.  We had worked so hard on a choreography; so, I told them that should the pain persist that I would down an appropriate amount of ibuprofen if needed.

Several days before our audition, I looked up "sciatica" on the Internet.  It seems that this condition is pretty common and is usually brought on by cold weather.  Yes, it had been pretty chilly lately in San Francisco, so I thought that that made sense.  I also read that it wasn't really treatable, that it would "eventually" heal itself and go away.  The operative word here, which concerned me greatly, was "eventually".  I was now MORE worried!

I had been experiencing some really cold nights lately, so I looked around for a second blanket to keep me warm.  And there is was.  It never occurred to me to use one of my mother's hand-crocheted blankets.  These blankets are works of art; masters of perfection; items deserving of honor and respect.  But it was made of wool, and certainly offered comforts of warmth.

There was one problem, though.  This beautiful earth colored blanket had become the feast of moths over the years.  Holes had appeared and had begun to unravel the precious yarn threads that had made up this beautiful work of art.  Nevertheless, I grabbed that blanket and spread it over myself as I lay down to sleep that night.  In minutes I was warm, cozy, and toasty.

The next day, I awoke with barely a twinge in my hip.  The shooting pain that had been keeping me awake prior nights had been replaced with normalcy.  I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom without limping.

And I thought....  This is a beautiful blanket.  This blanket is my mother.  This blanket represents the hands of my mother who meticulously wove its threads to fruition. Even with the holes that might represent the bad times in our close relationship, this blanket is still solid enough that it keeps me warm and feeling safe at night.  Like a mother, this blanket tucks me in and embraces me throughout my dream state.  And like a mother, it helped to heal the pain that was preventing me from performing my dance and my duties.  If I were to end up in the streets of San Francisco, I would take this blanket as my connective comfort.  It's what would keep me sane in an otherwise punitive and cruel world.

I've since completed my audition for the Ethnic Dance Festival.  What comes from that, only time will tell; but I couldn't have gone through it without the help of this beautiful blanket.  Not only was this blanket crocheted with love and dedication, it had been crocheted with a purpose.

My dear beautiful mother is no longer around.  She passed away ten years ago in January of 2003.  But in this blanket, she still lives on, and I have it next to me.  I feel my mother's warmth and comfort embracing me as if I were still an infant while inside this blanket.  I know in the depths of my soul that, while wrapped up in this blanket, that she watches over me each night, keeping me safe.

There is amazing comfort in knowing that.

Pow Wing Chung!

Rock-Paper-Scissors.  It's a hand game two people play for the same outcome similar to coin flipping, drawing straws, or throwing dice.

When I was growing up in Bangkok, Thailand back in the 1960s, my first experience with what I later learned was Rock-Paper-Scissors was in the first school I ever attended called, at that time, Holy Redeemer School located off of Soi Ruam Rudee which was then a small extension off of Wireless Road or Thanon Witthayu.  Holy Redeemer School, now called Ruamrudee International School, was then a Catholic school which accepted English-speaking as well as Thai-speaking students.  The English speaking students had a separate area for learning from the Thais.  But when it came to physical education and games, and recess and lunch periods, we were all basically thrown together.  And being kids, we all got a long.

Being now part of the Thai culture and being as young as I was, I naturally learned the ways of the Thais, and eventually picked up some Thai expressions.  One of these expressions came in the form of preliminary choosing of sides in certain games at school or with the neighborhood Thai kids.  If there were more than two people in a game that needed side choosing, we all gathered around in a circle -- three or more of us Thai and English-speaking alike, and facing each other, would place our right hand inside the circle along with the hands of everyone else participating.  We'd then begin frantically waving them back and forth all chanting, "TEE Toe Pah TOO KAI Shy Auk!"  At the moment the word "Auk" was uttered our hands would either turned down or turn up.  This was how we chose sides. 

If there were only two of us, we'd play the Rock-Paper-Scissors game; only, we didn't call out "Rock, Paper, Scissors", we called out "Pow Wing CHUNG!"  Chung would be the word that would bring our choice of hand gestures out in the form of the tight fist, the two pointed fingers, or the entire outstretched palm, which, of course, look like a rock, a pair of scissors, or a piece of paper. 

My sister, Mary, and I grew up together in this culture, and for the first four years of my schooling at the Holy Redeemer School, we immersed ourselves in the Thai ways.  And for these first four years at the school, I played these two Thai side choosing games.  It was the most natural thing to do along with playing with the Thai neighborhood kids.

In 1964, I was pulled out of Holy Redeemer School and was placed in the International School of Bangkok, then located on 36 Sukumvit Soi 15.  This International School of Bangkok, or ISB, catered primarily to English speaking students, mostly American.  Thai citizens were not eligible to register at ISB.  Suddenly, there was no more Pow Wing Chung or Tee Toe Pah Too Kai Shy Auk. I felt like something had been taken away from me.  But I also felt like I had somehow come home.  This would become my first real indoctrination into the American culture in a foreign country. 

I learned fast to stop these expressions at this school.  Kids can be cruel.  But they have stayed with me until today.

When I see someone calling, "Rock, Paper Scissors", I still hear "Pow Wing Chung!"