My Left-Handed Brain

My left-handed brain has changed my thinking. ...The other day I was talking to my incredible daughter-in-law when the subject of sweet potato fries came up. It had dawned on me that I had finally figured out how to use my hand-held potato cutter that I had owned for many years. Normally, I would attach this gadget to the potato and attempt to push it through while trying to keep the potato from moving too much on the counter. Misshapen fries always resulted.. Then one day, I decided there must be a better way. I was looking at the problem in a backwards manner. The potato, not the gadget, was the object that needed to be pushed. Simply switching the order of the potato and the cutter, suddenly resulted in perfectly cut fries. I had misunderstood the gadget's use. ... I was confused by the 'how'. Now I got it! I was so pleased. ... Had my left-handed thinking been at fault all this time?


Left handed people die sooner, are injured more often and are thought of as less, shall I say, intelligent. We represent 10 % of the population. ..Does nature or nurture factor into this left or right-handed debate? Is it a bit of both or is it neither? We cannot solely say that nature determines our life's success. If nurture can help change behaviour and help make us more successful, can it change our handedness? Does it make sense to even try? ... For my mother, growing up in another country in the early 1920's, she was scolded for being left-handed and 'encouraged' very strongly to switch hands as if that could be done, easily. She grew up, with an unease that was hard to decipher, writing with her right hand with an angular, awkward style and doing everything else with her left. Did her early restrictive childhood regimen in handwriting protocols affect her behaviour, too? I do not know. If nature trumps nurture then there would be no point to special education, surgical intervention to correct malformations, and therapy.  In our right-handed world, we lefthanders can function as well or as poorly as anyone else. ... Is using our 'other' hand any different than learning something new, be it a sport, hobby, skill or musical instrument? It takes time and perseverance. The important thing here is not to take our body parts for granted. We must be grateful and ever so careful as we move beyond the boundaries of our body's agility and abilities.

Being left-handed has forced me to figure out how to use the computer mouse the 'right' way, in the first place. As a child, I would doodle on paper, using my right hand to practice, while waiting to answer a question or finish my homework.. As a former teacher, my 'quirk' of nature forced me to learn to write on the blackboard with my right hand since using my left made writing both difficult and messy. Crocheting was done the 'right' way, the first time. (Re-calculating directions for those who were left-handed seemed more complicated.) My own handwriting is not smooth or elegant. ... I am envious of other people's handwriting in this texting world. Some handwriting is simple script, beautiful to look at and a wonder to behold. Handwriting is such a wonderful personal gift to others. It should be encouraged. But being left handed poses yet another challenge as both the writing tool and writing surface need to be carefully chosen. ... My writing can be messy as I move over the words, just written, in this fluid left to right motion. The left hand creates shadows over the words just written, a problem of seeing that is non-existent with right-handed writers. ...Because of my left-handedness, my brain seems to work harder in understanding certain things. Could my poor sense of direction be the result of my left -handedness? I don't know. What I do know is that more of my brain is used in my quest to be a better right handed person. It is easier to learn right handed, more challenging to learn, using the left hand. Maybe, my 'disability' has helped to strengthen my whole brain. ... Should we attempt to teach our children, from the beginning, to use the 'other' side, to strengthen those parts of the body that are rarely given the 'lead' in any production?


I lost dexterity and flexibility, in my right hand, very early in my life.. Did that medical dilemma change my handedness? Could it, at that late date? No one knew. But here I am: a left-handed person in this right-handed world. I have managed to 'succeed', wherever I have gone. In spite of this 'quirk of nature', I am ever so grateful as I sing, dance, play and wonder what's next? ...

An Open Letter to Mr.Steve Harvey.....

You are a funny man, Mr. Harvey. In our fast paced, instant gratification world, comedy helps slow us down as we listen to the diagnostic talents of these professional funny men. You are one such talented person  Comedy makes us laugh. Laughter is medicine, enhancing both mental and physical health. ... In a recent episode of your talk show, Steve Harvey, you admonished a mom whose 30-year-old son was still living with her. I don't recall her exact response but I do remember yours. You felt that kids should be out as soon as possible. Another high profile talk show host thinks as you do. I believe the thinking to be flawed! There is another side, a very credible one.

Today's modern, high rent, part time/no benefits/ low paying/ short term/ no severance package/, non-paying internship type job or career placement world, is the new reality for many of our children. Life is not pretty. The act of applying for a job in today's world, sometimes, requires touching base, online, with the omnipotent and talented Human Resources department of the publicly traded, governmental agency or privately owned company. How easy it is to simply delete the application without ever reading it or meeting the candidate at all? The internet can create this 'job application' disappearing nightmare most admirably while also offering up incredible opportunities, as well.

Why is it anyone's business how families decide to help their children gain a foothold in today's modern, fast paced, ever changing world? ... Also, why are hosts of top-rated shows so adamant that kicking out progeny ASAP is the only way to go? ... I am mother of three adult sons- (35,34,31) - incredibly smart, funny, caring, talented in different fields, on top of their game 'driven' people, all of whom left home in their late twenties, one remaining till he was older. We benefitted just as much as they did from this 'confinement' policy which we all understood and respected. It was not easy!  Our sons' journey to independence began in grade 9, however, under our tutelage and strict policy agenda. Their journey was orchestrated and encouraged, beginning with part time jobs, learning to drive etc. Here they learned to think of their future in real time. It was not, simply, an abstract concept to be learned later, in their twenties. Money was treated as a respected commodity for their later, independent  life. ... As returning university students, they had tasted freedom in a modified format. They understood more acutely and accurately what mom and dad had endured and experienced to get to this point. ... Life had a cost, they were realizing in short order. The cost was in dollars and the full spectrum of the human condition.

The moocher mentality: the sleeping till noon, staying out till the wee hours of the a.m., watching T.V./surfing the net, playing video games, doing nothing to help is, generally, media spin, more often that not. (We are painting a most insulting picture of our teen/adult children. That is so sad! Why do we allow it?) An adversarial approach is counterproductive. ... Our three sons, all born prematurely within a four year span, were special but not more important than anyone else - including us! They knew this from the start. They were a part of a family unit, (much like a company, with its own 'benefits package' -like so many families)- that expected much but also gave much. With pets to raise-over a span of many decades- they learned early on, the importance of caring, compassion, commitment, sacrifice and drive. To be able to care for all these critters, money was an essential resource.... (Today, all our sons are pet owners to two sister 'rescue' kitties and two dogs from different families. Their love of animals is endless.) 

The world our children inhabit is vastly different than the world previous generations have lived through. ... My mother and father assisted their siblings with housing, in the last century. That was normal. Helping out family members get a foothold on their independence makes sense all around. We all need help, from time to time and in many different ways. Our sons have been there for us – (pet sitting-health-renovations etc.) as we have been there for them. And they have been there for each other, as caring men. Life is about people. How we forge this connection for the benefit of the world at large is what matters.. ... The expectations set were high, yet simple.. (Parents can be liable for the financial consequences of the actions of their underage children. They knew and understood.)

Today, all have left home. They are hard working, compassionate, high achieving individuals. Two of them have partners, one is married. Both 'princesses' are incredible, intelligent women who I have been fortunate to include as family. Had we raised the get off the couch, get a job, stop eating junk food, do as you please boys then the joke would have been on us and I would have missed out on being a 'mother' to girls. How happy would our sons have been then? They stayed because it made economic sense while helping out the family unit and gaining invaluable 'life' experience, along the way. And that was not always funny.

Moments That Define Us

Today, as I watched our little Tiggy jump onto the back of the upholstered chair, I soon realized something very profound. Life happens in small incremental steps, chosen by us. Many unrelated snippets of unremarkable moments -quick seconds of time, unfolding in rapid succession and lasting less than 5 minutes and occurring without warning - begin to punctuate and define our lives, who we are and where we are going. Upon closer examination, we soon realize that these seeming unrelated moments in our daily existence are in fact our life, in heightened colour and dimension.


I met my husband, at the stand up restaurant/bar where I worked, on a Thursday evening, a day most people do not consider an important day of the week for 'going out'.. (Waiting for the weekend for that most coveted of social time slots simply relegates the rest of the week and our lives, to nothing status.) .. Our preoccupation with the weekend gives little meaning to our everyday life. (Since there are only 4 Saturdays and 4 Sundays per month, the rest of the month seems like a total waste of time. Are we short sighted in our thinking? Should not everyday have significance, the potential to punctuate our lives with incredible moments, these precious flashes of time?. ...


A friend of 'John's' had been visiting, that Thursday. ... A night out was suggested by his room mate. Though John was tired after a week of travelling to Detroit on insurance business, he agreed to go out for a short while. He would go to his chalet with friends on the weekend, a ritual of his back then. ... In an instant, a moment in time had begun to define our future life together. ... In spite of a misunderstanding over the price of carafe of wine. (I was a part time cocktail waitress/ full time student; he, the very attentive, somewhat elusive customer.), we clicked ... He knew cars and had an uncanny spatial ability to be able to drive anywhere with or without a map. He could find alternative routes during traffic gridlock while anticipating problems around him. Actually, he could be left in a desert, anywhere, in the United States and find his way home- without a map! If left blindfolded in a closet for ten minutes in my house, I would awaken and wonder, “Where am I”? When our children were small, one of them would always accompany me to the provincial park 's camp store, just in case. ...(Thank goodness he found me!)


When I look at our cat sitting on top of the chair, I think of the stereotypes that have been totally shattered because I found her, 11 years ago. Another moment in time, lasting 10 seconds, punctuated my life and hers, while giving me nearly 12 years of feline bonding experiences. ... (I should not have been on that road, where she had been dumped, that freezing Monday morning and have not driven on it since.)... That moment became my life. ... Back then, we had been a family of dog lovers. (And rabbits and lizards, too) ... Now our family included this fragile diminutive kitty, with incredible powers of love. Our intention was to place her in a good home. There were none available. We became her 'good home', in an instant.... The lives of our sons were re-awakened when she entered our lives in this most dramatic unplanned way. Nothing means more to us than the welfare of our pets, some of whom had been abandoned and abused.



When I met 'Mary', the teacher about whom I have written many times, it wasn't until she asked me into her primary intensive language classroom for help that a special moment in time had begun. Within her primary special ed classroom, the creation of a program of learning to think, using dough, was born. The concrete nature of working with something real to teach special needs young children something intangible and abstract, such as thinking, was a monumental moment in time, born within 5 minutes of watching her students that first morning. That moment changed the trajectory of my life, forever. It's now my life's focus. ...


The grand daddy of all moments, that has superseded all other moments, was the birth of our first child, arriving thirteen weeks too soon, whose death would have literally cancelled the rest of my life that followed. His survival-35 years ago- gave me incredible strength, courage, an invincibility of unparalleled  proportions. I formally grew up that day and my eternal gratitude and life became the focus on children. I became driven. As two more children were added to our family, a wealth of moments accompanied each of these births, woven together to create a tapestry of purpose and meaning to my life.


We are all made special and given purpose by all the seeming insignificant moments of our lives. I would not be TheMomsey without those moments. ... And no moment is insignificant. Strewn together, they become our life, in bold technicolour!

The Maternal Bonding Phenomenon

He had been born minutes earlier and was now being stabilized for his helicopter ride to the world-renowned Toronto's Sick Children's Hospital. Seeing him for the first time, with the medical team by his side, in his special incubator, catapulted me into a world of emotional turmoil. He had to go. ... He'd arrived 13 weeks too soon. His premature birth, a level 3 medical emergency, could not be handled by this hospital where mom would be for the next 5 days. He was our first. I loved him and had to say goodbye. ... The year was 1979. ... Not much was known about premature babies and the bonding experience back then. My first lesson in this overwhelming emotional attachment theory would come soon.


I was brought to my hospital room, soon after our son's birth. Later that day, I would meet my roommate, a first time mother, who, like me, had given birth to a son, that day. Her baby had been born in perfect health. He would be seen and held several times a day by her. My son would not. Every feeding for her baby re-awakened my own intense maternal feelings. My son was elsewhere. My room-mate's baby was now, his stand-in. ... The only baby I had access to was in the next bed with his real mom. .. I would sit there watching mother and son getting to know one another. Along the way, I began to have feelings for him, too. How strange! How bizarre! In those days, giving birth meant a 5 day stay; 7 days, for a C-section. My room mate would let me hold her newborn. She sensed I needed that. She was so kind, so thoughtful. ...Every so often we would laugh and carry on, leaving a sign on our beds saying, 'Leave pizza here' whenever it was meal time. I thought of her baby, often, even after they left to go home. ...


While in hospital, though, I had much work to do. My milk was 'coming in' I realized in short order. With no one able to explain to me or help me understand fully the metamorphosis unfolding inside my body, I persevered as though someone's life had depended upon it....(Indeed someone's life did-our son) I collected this liquid gold my body was producing. ... This storehouse of super nutrition and incredible bacteria fighting 'sugars' would be his only food source. ...I called Sick Kids Hospital- three times daily- to check on our son and his daily food supply. He was very sick and possibly dying. We needed each other!


In the absence of the internet in 1979, research and knowledge on mother's milk, premature births and bonding were not readily available, unless a trip to the library was possible. I simply bought books by mail. ...  My daily collecting routine in hospital and then, at home: messy, arduous and oh so important helped me focus on our son.  It did not, however, change my misplaced feelings towards Janet's baby. I could not see or hold my own so the next best thing helped me deal with my current emotional dilemma. (These 'strange' maternal feelings also assisted with the collection of mother's milk, an event known as 'let down' that helped the milk flow, more easily) ... After discharge, I began collecting more intensely: mornings, afternoons, evenings and in the middle of the nights, week after week. It was my 'mission statement', at the time. Thoughts of the other baby simmered on the back burner. A visit, a few weeks later to see 'Janet' and her baby helped to dispel any notion that I wanted or needed her baby. Janet's son, the baby I remember watching and holding in hospital, weeks ago, no longer existed. In his place was this older, bigger version of the original. He looked different, too and was not remotely connected to the tiny person, I remember meeting weeks ago.. This  'emotional' spell, cast upon me by her baby, was now gone, a vestige of my former immature self. My own baby now occupied centre stage where he belonged. Soon, he would be home 'to have and to hold' from this day forward, where he belonged..


It was nearly three weeks before I was allowed to hold our son. From a birth weight of 3 pounds 2 ounce dropping to 2 pounds 12ounces, he began to gain about an ounce a day. His dismal prognosis at birth was changed to 10% chance of survival, 2 days later. ... His diet had help make this quantifiable difference. ... He came come home one month ahead of his original due date. The bonding experience had finally come full circle. I was now exactly where I needed to be: wired exclusively to our son! The intense feelings I had for our son began to take precedent over all other thoughts and feelings. Our son, a 5 pound 2 ounce bundle of joy was home. He was ours, officially. Though I speak of my initial bonding experience for one, then two babies, my husband's devotion to our son was obvious, each and every day, as he delivered milk to Sick Kids during his hectic business day/weekends. His contributions were unending!


The attachment theory is not a phenomenon for women only. To exclude men from this profound emotional experience because it is we who give birth is arrogance on our part. This bonding phenomenon has its origins in pure, unconditional love. And no one has a monopoly on that!

Another Pet Story on My 100th....

It has been nearly two years -100 blogs later - since our sweet little kitty cat, 'Tiggy,' entered her senior years and began the endurance race known as hyperthyroidism, a common affliction for many cats in her age group, I have since learned..

One of the joys of my life has been and continues to be this fragile little indoor creature, found freezing to death over 11 years ago. (The temp. that day was -25 with a wind chill of -40.) I have written about her many times. Our precious little pea, survived, against all odds, losing her whiskers to Mother Nature's blast of freezing temperatures that day. 

Time and time again, Tiggy amazes me. These past two weeks, however, she has been sick with a bladder infection which I was not aware of and much like the one she had two years ago, she lost weight. The first time she lost one pound. This time around, however, it is nearly two. Finding out was such a surprise. ...(She weighs just 10 pounds - on a good day.)

She had masked her 'condition' well. (Cats do that well, I have learned.) ...During a 'reminder' phone call from the clinic the day before a scheduled appointment, a thoughtful suggestion was made by one of the clinic's new technicians to simply 'add water' to Tiggy's dry thyroid food might encourage her to eat more. It seemed to work, temporarily. This special food has kept her alive, for sure, these past two years. 

Iodine is her enemy. A specialty cat food, ten years in development, made my dreams come true. (All other treatment options to treat her malevolent thyroid gland had proven too costly or nearly killed her.)
Adding warm water to her dry food restored her desire in food again.. She seemed happier, too, with added excitement at mealtimes. Had I inadvertently created gravy in her tiny bowl? (We now had something in common. I liked gravy, too, especially, on mashed potatoes with homemade dressing and salad, lots of salad and coleslaw, too.)

Prior to her wellness visit, nothing had seemed out of the ordinary.. Her behaviour and litter box contents all seemed within the range of normal. She was still eating, though with less enthusiasm. (She had stopped eating the 'wet' version of her specially formulated food weeks earlier). ... At her appointment, the dramatic weight loss was made known. Her blood taken, I would soon learn the complete health truth. 

Her weight loss had occurred for a reason! Had her thyroid gland been stressed beyond belief these past three weeks because her weight had dropped? Or was there another more sinister reason? Her litter box, like a baby's diaper, provided other clues that all things seemed fine, internally. She had played, drank and ate as usual. The blood panel and urinalysis  would soon provide the answers, in this latest puzzling health picture. 

She had a bladder infection. Her blood told an opposite story, however. It revealed her thyroid gland, the gland that was at the center of her chronic health malaise, these past two years, was now in the normal range. I was overjoyed. This tiny gland, situated in her tiny neck, had not been declared normal now for nearly two years. All other 'indicators' of health agreed. Even her doctor was surprised. 

Treatment was begun for her bladder infection. ... I began to add warm water to her dry food, hoping to indulge her appetite and me. The addition of water to dry cat food had never entered my mind. (It does, daily, for our dogs for totally different reasons, however.) Canned pumpkin and low sodium chicken broth are now other food options I have been allowed to include, flavour enhancers that may help restore her appetite, once again.. (In two weeks, a follow up appointment will tell the complete story of the success of today's assessment and treatment plans.)

Apart from the diet dilemma posed by Tiggy's hyperthyroidism, she remains a delight and keeps me in a perpetual state of wonder. She comes when called which is a good thing considering her overzealous nature of going into uncharted territory and beyond. Lately, she hides whenever the situation dictates. In cooler weather, it is a window sill, near an open window, that teases her senses, safely, while during the summer months, she is allowed to go outside within the confines of Miss. S and Mr. Wiggles' playground. They instruct her well and become agitated when she feigns an escape from the compound, then runs into the house. We then all breathe a sigh of relief. 

Her antics define her. She is not in solitary. She is free to breathe the outdoor air, to remember her place in the sun. Nature is there for everyone. Her brother and sister, two model citizens, are constant reminders that family is close by, there to advise and counsel as she resides in Mother Nature's garden of life.

"Actions Have Consequences, Dear Children".

The decision was made to run away. ... It seemed like the right thing to do. Though only in grade two, he'd had enough. Nothing seemed to be going his way. ... I listened, as he spoke, feeling so sad for his present state of anxiety and upset. (His solution to leave seemed reasonable, according to him) ... We spoke for a while. I could not dissuade him from leaving .... It was time to go. 

Some things were near and dear to him. They would need to accompany him on his flight to freedom.   A large vintage suitcase was found to house the items he wanted to take with him: toys, teddies and other important things. His height would make carrying this suitcase somewhat difficult, I added. He understood but was not deterred. I counselled him as to what to expect once he was on the road. He was not deterred.

While walking about, albeit alone, our dear little boy would be noticed, I said. "All children walking alone on a street would be". He was a little person, not an adult. "Children are never left alone, unless they are 12 or 13, old enough to babysit". 

"Being alone on the street would garner a lot of attention, maybe, the police", I continued. If he changed his mind, once he left, things would be out of his control. He could not come back, just like that, I continued. Any story he would tell the police would have to be investigated thoroughly. He might live with other people while the authorities checked out his family life and his parents. It could take weeks, months or longer. I didn't know. ... He left. ... I closed the door and locked it as he moved towards the driveway. 

I watched intently through the glass panel at the top of the front door. I prayed he would rescind his decision to leave before reaching the road. .. (I was ready to pounce, like a mother lion, to stop our son from entering the busy road in front of our house, if necessary.) ... As he moved, he began to kick the stones in the driveway, leaving the suitcase by the house.. It was a time for reflection. ... He looked back at me. ... Soon, it would be supper. ... We could talk again. ... He could unpack later. ...

It was the end of another hectic school day as our little guys prepared themselves for bedtime. ...At this juncture in their lives, they all shared one large bedroom, bunk beds all around. ... Their day had been awash with things to talk about and laugh about, I could hear. I was downstairs when the giggling and incessant talking began. 'Guys, please be quiet. You need sleep”-when I arrived on the scene- for the first time. It was 8:30 p.m.then. ... 

Three little boys trying to sleep with one of them always engaged in colourful conversation with the other two was not easy. How could things be any different, though? They liked each other's company. ...”Guys, please, it is getting late. You need sleep. Remember, wake up time is 7:00 a.m”, I remarked, on my second trip upstairs. “The school bus will not wait for tardy little boys who can't wake up”, I added. “And the principal will not be happy when I speak to him and tell him everything!” Still, it continued. I went downstairs thinking the 'noise' would stop, soon. Nothing I had said seemed to matter, though. On my third and final visit, I gave in to their 'silent' demand to stay up past their school day bedtime. ... ( I was tired of  the travelling and they were reasonable, sensible boys, even now at 11 and under.) 

With no signs of their conversations winding down and my patience running low, I decided to give them what they secretly wanted - a party! The lights and music went on, the furniture 'rearranged' to suit the event unfolding this night and a resounding, “Party,” marked the beginning of the end.   I left, closing the door behind me. Ten minutes later, a final visit to the room showed my thinking had worked. Everything was back to normal. Lights were out and all were sleeping, the end to another busy day.


We had entered Harvey's, a popular Canadian fast food eatery for our special weekend treat. It was a nice change of pace. ... Inside, we went our separate ways to wash our hands before seating ourselves at one of the many booths in this small location. ... “What was all that commotion”?, I wondered when my husband and I met again outside the washrooms? To my dismay, the noise was our sons, the people with whom we had just walked in! There was no way to disguise ourselves and there was no turning back. ... Leaving the restaurant, now, was our only option. 

Everyone knew that these loud, inconsiderate young men-in-training, older and more mature than ever, belonged to us!! What were they thinking? As the boys approached us with that certain look of delight on their faces, the sad reality soon became apparent to them. We were leaving. A lesson for the future was now underway: conduct yourselves accordingly in public or else. We drove to another location where I ordered my simple lunch for takeout. (Dad was content to eat at home with them.) There would be a next time- just not today! As always, mom and dad always followed through when they did not! Dining out was a privilege not a right! ... Now they knew.

Valuable life lessons or learning gems abound for children. ...Helping them see the possibilities makes their future decisions easier, more meaningful, sensible and truthful. ... 

Research and the Power of Dance

Research from the University of Calgary, a top ranking 'young' Canadian institution, has shown the profound influence dance has on those with Parkinson disease. In dance we think, we move, we are emotionally and physically connected to the music we hear. We utilize the whole body/brain in this coupling of music and movement. Dance is now being studied as a treatment option for those with a debilitating disease. Theory or solution?


Music's benefits have been proven, time and time again. It has given us something called the 'singing pacifier' to help preemies develop the sucking reflex as they listen to mom's lullabies. Then we have family song favourites being modified into lullabies, songs for easy listening for baby. ... We also have 'music therapy', helping to  reduce the stress and the pain that preemies suffer during their long-term stay in the incubator trying to regain health. From there we have a program called 'music memory' that assists dementia patients' recall  their personal past. ...(Momsey is not surprised.) Thirty-five years ago, a music box was placed in our severely premature baby's 'home' to help calm him as he endured the intrusion of various medical procedures during the first two months of life in the incubator.) ... What more has to be said or written about music and its powerful effect on our overall health and lives?? It is an incredible tool for life, as well as incredible educational partner for learning challenged children.


Today's society is well connected through technology. The very tools that connect us can also isolate and alienate us, too. .. In our own family, music formed a large part of our sons' early years.The trumpet, clarinet, baritone, keyboard and French-Horn were important parts of their musical training/careers beginning in grade 4 until the end of high school. (Dad has grade ten piano; the Momsey, simple background of high school vocal music, choir and musical productions.) ... (Lucy, my editor, has incredible musical expertise that spans decades.) Music calms, energizes, brings joy and builds memory. It's society's glue! ... Music and dance's burgeoning societal impact became apparent to me in my grade 8 gym class. Coed square dancing was introduced then and soon became my passion that year; its grip on me, spellbinding. Following directions to music while creating this dance circle was cool. It was socialization, at its best, a meet and greet, a way to build confidence and self-esteem. It connected real people in a real world 'musical' scenario.

Dance gives meaning to beat and rhythm, while unleashing the human potential that lies beneath us in this blanket of 'structured' noise. As we move, we innocently improve co-ordination, balance and confidence. ... Done with other people, dance moves to a higher plateau, requiring trust, courage, concentration, thinking and memory. It helps to build vocabulary, as well... With special needs children, dance can be the curriculum, a first step to opening the door to their learning potential and goals. ... Dance lays bear the raw intelligence that resides within the vulnerable child but is unable to surface. ... As the University of Calgary's premise states: dance is about intellectual, emotional and physical health. ... Its effect on the mind and body is now being researched and documented. ... Music and dance can be education's dynamic partners, everyday and from the beginning. With these musical tools, we step outside our lives, for one brief moment and realize our capacity to grow. Music's link to learning and health can no longer be ignored, as startling research is now beginning to show.

The University of Calgary has given all of us something to ponder. ...Has dance's strong link in the treatment of serious medical disorders opened up the doors for its advantages to be seriously considered in the learning lives of young at-risk children? ... The risk of failure is always uppermost in the minds of these special children, who, at times, are fearful, shy and timid. With dance and music at their side, deep learning begins its magical journey. ... Dance can be this marvelous tool just as it is for people with Parkinson's disease. ..Let us open the door and let the music in. Would you like to dance? ... (I think the Momsey must find the courage to create a You Tube video about special children and dance. But she is an old lady, after all, and must remember that!!)