Impressions

By Pam Hadder

How much do you care about what others think and/or say about you?  I am pleased to say that I am finally reaching a point where I recognize the need to remain steadfast amid the chatter and to follow my personal compass.  Another aspect of this, however, is that of impressions - not just what we call "first impressions" but all of the complex physical, temporal, and metaphysical bits we leave in our wake as we go about our daily lives!  These aspects I care deeply about; they are not petty or superficial and these intricate impressions bind us together with irrevocable subtlety. I fully recognize that I do not exist in isolation and that my actions, choices and words affect others, and as such I am humbled and honoured by the "every day," the simple interactions and experiences.  

Typically my summer allows me a bit of time for dreaming and connecting with the natural environment - just a week or two, brilliant and sweet and then it's gone; a glorious sun setting over a cold grey lake, my warm toes mourning the coolness of the sand. This summer my typical path was dealt an unexpected but truly spectacular twist!  For half of my summer I travelled to the southern hemisphere where it was "winter" - I say "winter" because it was so benign compared with the Canadian prairie winter I have lived with all of my life!   The destination was New Zealand where my business partner and I have been pursuing some investment opportunities; some good matches arose and the time to act was upon us.  And so I left summer for winter.

Our schedule was brisk but not insane - we took time to enjoy the natural, unspoiled beauty of NZ. It was a sensory feast and I am replaying vignettes in my mind as I write this - I hope the impressions I left were worthy because the Kiwis blessed me with a unique kaleidoscope of tastes, sights, insights, words, smells and experiences that is beyond measure. I can smell the briny air of the east coast; I am still in awe of the lush variety of trees, shrubs and flowers gracing the wild and garden landscapes, and I was inspired and humbled by the remarkable warmth and creative complexity of the Maori people. All the while I was conscious of consuming the beauty through all of my senses, and I imagined myself converting food, wine, sunshine, rain, vision, touch and scent into body cells so I could become a part of the wonderment, stealing a smidgen home in my flesh and bones. Looking back it was a profound physical journey of particular spiritual renewal. 

Impressions do matter - welcoming smiles, words of kindness, respect for nature and enjoyment of our time together; everyday, where ever life takes us. I hope my love remains where I leave it; I hope it binds, nourishes and grows.

The Way I Roll

by Pam Hadder

It's that time of year.  March is this pot hole in the road of life; a seriously deep axle breaker on a seemingly endless stretch of rough, blah, bleak and ugh.  At least that's the case here in the heart of Canada! And if you live here, or have visited Winnipeg in the spring, your teeth and bones will ache at the memory of our pitted and pocked streets and roads!

My dearest FC calls March "high recall time. "Why "high recall?"  Well, it seems like this is the time of year when a lot of people pass on.  Personally, I lost both my Dad and my young niece in March, and it seems appropriate somehow, that this month is devoid of beauty - a sullen, slow-moving lunk, it lurks and sulks, unable to express any joy and threatening to steal our moments of happiness. This year March has been marked by the death of Canadian folk music icon, Stompin' Tom Connors - his honesty and kindness and patriotism always touched my heart.  He was like this uncle, a favourite that could always make you see the bright side of things, and who would steer you toward what really mattered in life.  A good man.

A dreamer, I  get through March by over-compensating, by stoking the brilliant coloured fires of my fantasy world. I am restless, yet drowsy; thirsty for the outdoors, and yet languid; lounging like I am hospitalized.  Bright colour, new tastes and textures; the sensory and the sensual - these are my cure; my self-prescribed course of treatment.  My senses are all set on high to filter every molecule of goodness and beauty out of the stark, cold, grey landscape of mourning. My mind is jumping, antsy, sparking -I am building, making plans; analyzing - I can close my eyes and smell the snow melting and I hear the first rain storm rumbling in the distance.  I have wings, I am rising, I am dancing on the ashes of March - bright brush strokes of azure, pink, violet.

Flying!

Feels so damn good to commit words to a page simply for the love of expression, connection and sharing!  


Winter was a blur - business, academic, and personal demands: the overwhelming vibe was one of being slightly sedated and rolling awkwardly in slo mo, head over heels; mouth agape in wonder -- except for those powerful earth-bound moments when I was able to touch and be touched, to smile into the eyes of an understanding soul, and to explore the ephemeral continent of the spirit we call creativity. My champions, my angels -- gratitude is too small a word to capture your influence!


And quite frankly... well I wouldn't change a thing -- it was time for the push, it was time for pressure.  Sedated, rolling, floating -- whatever!  I survived, I am surviving; I have arrived and I am arriving. 


Life, like live music, occurs in real time - there is no opportunity to roll back and edit. It requires acceptance, but also provides the extraordinary boundless vista for us to create, establish; to thrive on our optimal terms. Like it or not, we are all flying by the seat of our pants, doing the best we can in this one moment we are given, and if we are lucky (or perhaps not lucky???), we will be renewed to experience another moment, and another.


I am officially taking the summer "off" from my studies (I have this in quotes, because, my ever-curious mind is never off duty!), but I am excited to have the privilege to focus on my physical health goals and also on my love of music. 

And oh, those rows of new canvasses stacked up at the studio...  I am painting them in my mind - plotting, assessing; loving their infantile purity; metaphysical secrets are hovering above their stark surfaces like wind over the grass, and will be realized in paint when the moment is right.

Comfort Me

The first time I tasted bread with olive oil, balsamic vinegar and herbs I was visiting Restaurant Pellegrino with my Mom - the owners had my drawings framed and decorating the dining room and wanted me to see the result. (The owner's wife, Paulina, had modelled for me at University).

They treated us to a lovely lunch and I experienced the Italian tradition - took to it like a duck to water, btw... Travelling to Toscana last year, and having the local ingredients at my disposal was just a fantastic upgrade! I can still smell the moist, clean air and feel the beauty transforming my thoughts and dreams.

What is cool, is that we can get wonderful balsamic from Modena and great fresh breads here at home, but I have yet to find a oil that rivals what I tasted in Italia. I didn't buy anything fancy either - just the local Co-op brands and it topped anything I had ever sampled in Canada. Paired with some wonderful wine, well that's magnifico! Unpretentious, accessible luxury for the six senses.

So, it's a rainy holiday Monday and I am relaxing and remembering driving through Tuscany - the weather changing rapidly from sun to cloud to rain and back to sun again, as we drove through that magical countryside - like a fairy tale come to life. It's such a treat to have those memories to play back like favourite movie clips - comfort for the soul and inspiration to nudge it forward.