HAWMC -Day 3 Superpower Day

 HAWMC Day 3: Superpower Day.
If you had a superpower – what would it be? How would you use it?

Superpower? Me? What?

I was wondering what kind of super power would be most like me. Would it involve spider webs? How about running faster than a locomotive?  I next thought what super power I could have that would do the most good for some of the people  I spend time with who have had strokes or brain injuries. It hit me. I think what I really would want is that bag of Peter Pan's pixie dust. Now I realize that I have crossed away from super-heroes and super-villains and into the realm of magic and fantasy but I feel more at home there.



One of the biggest issues for many stroke survivors is transportation and mobility. You might need a vehicle that can fit your wheelchair and you might not be able to drive it even if you had access to such a vehicle. You might need someone to help you physically move into that car. How about walking? Uneven ground, people bumping and moving all around you and a sense of confusion about where you are all in addition to the fact that you can't feel where half of your body is let alone make your leg or arm move when you want them too.

How fun would it be to fly over to my friends' homes and throw a little pixie dust on them so they could just join me and  fly over the city, unencumbered by canes and wheelchairs and walkers.  They could soar over all the barriers of the world and not spend their days sitting and waiting outside a doctor's office for someone to eventually give them a ride home. Instead of feeling perspiration in their face from the exertion of trying to slowly drag themselves, and their walkers, across a street they could be flying above the streets and feeling the breeze in their face as they swiftly go where they want to be.

The pixie dust alone was not even enough for Peter and Wendy. "You just think lovely wonderful thoughts," Peter explained, "and they lift you up in the air."
A person who has undergone such difficult and scary issues can loose hope so easily. It is hard to keep on being positive and without wonderful thoughts it is very discouraging and frustrating to work on recovery and the endless challenges one must face. Survivors needs the people in their lives to believe in them and show their support.

Yes!! I would need to leave them with their own little bottomless bag of pixie dust so they could have the independence to fly wherever they wanted.  I am going to clap my hands to prove that I believe in fairies!

Yup .. I would really like Tinker Bell to share her pixie dust with us, but I would settle for a bunch of magic flying carpets.

Here is a quote from Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie

But she did not answer. Already she was reeling in the air.
"What is the matter with you?" cried Peter, suddenly afraid.

"It was poisoned, Peter," she told him softly; "and now I am going to be dead."
"O Tink, did you drink it to save me?"
"Yes."
"But why, Tink?"

Her wings would scarcely carry her now, but in reply she alighted on his shoulder and gave his nose a loving bite. She whispered in his ear "You silly ass," and then, tottering to her chamber, lay down on the bed.

His head almost filled the fourth wall of her little room as he knelt near her in distress. Every moment her light was growing fainter; and he knew that if it went out she would be no more. She liked his tears so much that she put out her beautiful finger and let them run over it.

Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies.
Peter flung out his arms. There were no children there, and it was night time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees.

"Do you believe?" he cried.
Tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate.
She fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she wasn't sure.
"What do you think?" she asked Peter.
"If you believe," he shouted to them, "clap your hands; don't let Tink die."

Many clapped.
Some didn't.
A few beasts hissed.

The clapping stopped suddenly; as if countless mothers had rushed to their nurseries to see what on earth was happening; but already Tink was saved.

First her voice grew strong, then she popped out of bed, then she was flashing through the room more merry and impudent than ever. She never thought of thanking those who believed, but she would have like to get at the ones who had hissed."