Another Way?

I recently had an accident and broke my left wrist. It sounds clichéd, but for those of us who have had these experiences we know it’s the truth: a split second and life can be diverted along a completely new trajectory.  Naturally, I am overwhelmingly grateful that the outcome was not worse – broken bones, a bruised bottom, and pulled ligaments are minor in the larger scope of things; the pain is manageable and bones and tissues heal. I also believe these things occur to push us toward places and experiences we are meant to be.  Although, when I said I was overdue for a break from work, this was not what I had in mind!

I have only wept once during this situation, and it was not about pain or the inconveniences of my new one-handedness; it was because I miss playing guitar so much. My lovely girls, Pearl and Badessa, sit mute in their hard cases. They don’t miss my touch, but you should know I love and appreciate them so much that I kiss them after every session!  They are my confidantes, my collaborators, my oases from all of the pressures and stress of making a living and making my way in this complex world. With the girls in mind, I asked the doctor, deftly shaping my temporary cast, if moving my fingers would harm the fractures in my wrist. Happily the answer was “no.” As soon as that back slab was in place, I began gingerly forming air chords and scales with my injured hand, longing for what was temporarily impossible.

As I was leaving the hospital, the doctor ushered me to a computer station and showed me my x-rays. I felt a warm flush of thankfulness. My bones had not been displaced by my sudden, hard fall; they were healthy and strong. The doctor allowed iPhone photos of the screens; later I marveled at the smooth white structures on my x-rays, particularly the intricate bones of the hand. We are fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14).

At home and evaluating the repercussions of my injuries, another cause for concern surfaced – my dear Mother has been counting on me for the past few months.  She’s had eye surgery and cannot drive, so once a week we arrange an outing, and I take her to run errands, grocery shop and so forth.  It is never a hardship; it has been a nice opportunity for us to bond and share more than a few laughs. I knew Mom appreciated my willingness and patience, and I recognized how fortunate I was to have a loving mother.  Mom is very healthy, but she’s getting up in years, and she has given so much of her time and energy to her seven children. I wanted to do everything and anything possible for her; so, I worried about my Mom, feeling frustrated that our activities had been curtailed.  I texted my son, my adult daughters, my work contacts and called my Mom.

Yesterday evening Mom called me out of the blue – it was 9:30 p.m. and she had been thinking about me all day:  was I in pain, was I able to sleep; how was I managing. Touched by her concern, I assured her the pain was not too bad – it only hurt when I “forgot” about my broken bones and tried to use my left hand “normally.”  I told Mom that I had finally broke down and took some pain medication – just over-the-counter stuff; because I had refused any prescription pain killers at the hospital. My main reason for succumbing to pain meds was the pulled muscles and ligaments in my right leg which had given me an instant pirate swagger - that might look funny in the movies, but it is no fun in reality. I knew I needed to address that inflammation and keep my body moving. At bedtime I self-administered reiki healing; I had been doing so a few times throughout the day since the incident. I closed my eyes and focused on the pulsing sensation and heat, as directed energy passed over the areas of injury.  I imagined the bones knitting together, glowing with white light. Afterwards I was calm and sleepy – momentarily drained of mental and physical energy.  I reflected with gratitude on my Mom's concern for me and I remembered Mom telling me about a man in her small town when she was a child – he had healing hands, and a gift for setting bones.  Supported by a cloud-like network of cushions and pillows, I drifted into peaceful, comfortable sleep and dreamed of a blue cat and playing guitar.

Midnight, day two, I lay awake – more realities and practicalities were settling in.  I pondered being limited to clothes that would accommodate the bulk of a cast and which allowed for toileting – there would be no help with pants, buttons and zippers at work. What if there was an emergency at work (I work for a women’s crisis centre with limited staffing) – my right leg buckled from time to time, and my left arm was limited in range of motion and ability. I wondered if the doctor would allow me to drive to work – my return trip commute is about two hours each day; I had not considered I might not be able to legally drive with my injuries.

Morning, day three, bathing was a drawn out ritual – like trying to scrub a floor with a feather.  I still feared the shower where I slipped and fell, and so I opted for a bird bath using the sink basin, soap and washcloths. I celebrated being able to grasp my deodorant stick, only to plummet to despair when I found I could not apply adequate pressure to adequately glaze my right underarm with the product.  I satisfied myself with several feeble applications over the same area.  I thought about how hard Mom always worked and how nice she always smelled.  As a kid, I knew when she was going out somewhere special – the scent of Cover Girl face powder, hairspray and a hint of floral cologne. I awkwardly applied a little guava and peach body crème; coaxing two able fingers from my injured hand to pull their weight in the process, and taking care to massage the ligaments and muscles of my right leg. I was temporarily house-bound, but Mom would approve – I was training to "get back out there" as soon as I am able, a butterfly beating its wings against hard glass.

Queer Divine Satisfaction

By Pam Hadder

There is vitality, a life force, energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open…No artist is pleased. [There is] no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.” 

– Martha Graham

The more I experience in life and the more I learn and open myself to expression, the more I recognize how truly remarkable the moments of true connection are.  Through music, academic study, visual art and the written word, I am working to understand my place, my identity, my gifts – and I recognize that this all is part of a profound yearning to connect with my personal purpose. I have always been independent – I made the choices I made based on my internal cues, and resisted external pressures, peer pressures.  As a result of non-conformity, I have been an outsider; including within my own life – a voiceless and formless observer, lonely in crowded places, and ever-searching.I have also been malleable, naïve; constrained and framed by pre-existing external and environmental structures which (constantly, consistently, persistently) told me who I was, who I could be, what was good and bad, what was right and wrong – although I resisted internally, and also externally at times, I cannot deny that I was shaped and guided by these forces. The result was a construct, a false “self” which housed/contained/imprisoned the authentic person.

At this moment I am working on a paintings and sculpture series for a course in colonizing/decolonizing art and visual culture. Through this work, combined with other coursework I have been able to emerge from the false self – reborn into understanding, awareness, while breaking free of colonized controls.  And so, I am a very young child with new, inquiring eyes and hands; finding my way, playing, trying new things.  I find myself looking at spaces and places that seem unfamiliar.  Everything is new, curious, re-framed – the good and the bad, what it means to love, what it means to be “woman.”  And my art waits patiently, endures and forgives, while I work intuitively to express with layers of paint, with melted bits of recycled water bottles, with words strung together –haphazard ebullience.

What surprises me the most is not the level and complexity of emotions elicited by this journey, but how it has enhanced my feelings of “being without space or place” and “being out of sync with time.”  I followed this path seeking affirmation, knowledge, yes, but a comforting kind of “yes, Darling.”  I never banked on this upheaval, this brilliance, this revelation, this beauty, this sorrow, this exhaustion, this exhilaration. My spirit blazes, blinding white, tireless and spontaneous, but my mature adult physiology is at odds with that inner reality.  I now understand why I am driven toward learning new languages: music, academic/feminist, artistic/visual, cultural – my spirit has reached this critical mass of tolerance.  It is weary of being suppressed, its incarceration has been served – it pleads, it shouts “let me speak!”  Most often I am half-terrified, thrust out of my cell, my virtual and actual life prison, and sometimes I want to scream - “Hello, hello, can anybody hear me in here; out there?” But I tell myself – “keep going; fight the good fight; it’s all related somewhere, there is an ending place, a place of intersection, a crossroads where all will be realized.”  And on the other hand, I rationalize, that learning has no end, it only expands one’s field of vision, one’s reference and reveals  more bread crumbs of unknowing.

So at this moment, I struggle, I am thankful, I doubt myself, I weep, I laugh, I question, I am silent – it’s all about trying to communicate with my authentic self.  There is an awful lot of failing, failing, failing – there is no room for an over-stuffed ego.  And sleep holds no escape; I have nightmares about Tinkerbell and other free-flowing odd themes – the spirited child bucks and rollicks in a woman’s body and mind, a wild maestro of sorts assembling and commanding the unforeseen, the unimagined – I mean, good God; what am I?   When my mind is numb from thinking and stimulation, and when my body is absolutely fatigued, I tire of disappointment, I tire of trying to connect, I tire of trying to make the best out of whatever scraps the wheel of life throws my way.  I am my comfort and my playmate – a woman, being led along an uncertain path by a precocious, dancing child – slightly out of step, and definitely in the wrong space and time.  Such as it is, this is my authentic space and time; this is my authentic self.

Seeing Spots

By Pam Hadder

It's that time of the year - winter is encroaching, cramping my style. I feel myself fading and drifting off, like a dry leaf on a river current.

I came across this vintage photo online this week, and was entranced.  The glamorous woman with a pet cheetah - over-the-top, curious...staged for a vintage ad, or real??? Imagine the folly, the sheer irresponsibility of keeping this magnificent cat as an urban "pet" - crazy stuff.  So why did this image draw me in? It had such strong appeal and I wondered why.  The more I thought about it, I realized that I saw myself reflected in both the woman and the tethered cheetah.  

Like that poor cat, these days I feel trapped by circumstance and the weather. I want to get loose and run for the hills - warm hills, that is!  And like the woman in this photo, I find myself zoning out, shopping, tidying, arranging, procrastinating - disconnected and dreaming of the summer months that seem too far away; will they ever arrive? Escapism, internalized emotion, longing for a different reality. It's too quiet, too claustrophobic and I want to scream at the top of my lungs just to know that I still have a voice and some passion - a wild feline yowl complete with flashing green eyes and bristling fur! I wonder how that spectacular tantrum would go over in most spaces? Likely not too terribly well, but it makes me smile inside to think about it (see, there I go again, hiding out within - a sullen child making a blanket fort with clothes and furniture).

One positive sign - albeit rather surreal, considering the raw, face-ripping temperatures... I saw a robin at the university this week.  I honestly had to do a double take.  It was Valentine's Day, and I joked with the dude sitting beside me that perhaps it was a sparrow wearing red for his sweetheart :) 

It's great that I have my coursework to push my mind and energies outside of its selfish, snow-drifted, ice-packed February pathways. It forces me to generate a little friction with my mental muscle when all I want to do is pack it in, cover myself in polar fleece and bed clothes and hunker indoors until it is spring.

Today when I played guitar, I closed my eyes and let my mind drift forward into the future. I just enjoyed the sound of my instrument and the way the strings felt as I plucked, strummed, cajoled - and suddenly there it was, a cool breeze swirling around my bare feet. I could hear the wind chimes wildly clanging outside on the patio - was that the smell of hail in the air; a spring storm?

No, it was too cold - frigid, meat locker-esque; I felt my sad little dream bubble burst.  I placed Pearl carefully on her stand and followed the cold trail, wishing I'd put on my moccasins.  Had the blizzard ripped the roof off my little house?  

Aha...mystery solved... my son left his bedroom window open!  OMG... with -30 Celsius temperatures and howling winds - he opened his bedroom window wide, and went outside to play with his pals.

Tonight when I am burrito-wrapped in my heated bed, perhaps I will dream of the cheetah. I'll break free of my leash and run in sun-burnished fields, pausing to lap sweet water from glassy pools, and soaking up the natural glory of the day. 

Cowgirl Zen

By Pam Hadder

No one has a path without obstacles, disappointments, pain and hardship -and sometimes, if you face the world smiling, people assume that you have it easy.  They may even hate you for it and may work damned hard to wipe that little smile off your face.

And these aren't monsters or criminals coming at your heart and soul with bombs and daggers- it's all of the regular folks you are surrounded by and that you interact with while doing all those mundane life tasks, attacking you with words and little subversive actions: maybe it's your family, work mates, neighbours, acquaintances...

You know what I'm talking about and maybe you've been part of the problem - impatience, inconsiderate behaviours, snide little remarks, back-handed compliments; things you think won't think will get back to the person - or maybe you secretly harbour a little snippet of hope that those darts will hit their mark? I have experienced this strange backlash many times in my working and personal life - sometimes it comes all in a bundle and I will joke about wearing my "weirdo magnet!"  I can't explain meanness - who can?  But maybe efforts at kindness and decency are read as Pollyanna-style idealism; or maybe happy folks are seen as a mark, a dupe to be exploited?  Think about it - what makes people want to bash Barney the Dinosaur, for goodness sake (remember, Barney was created for little toddlers, not adults).  Why does the general public constantly look for ways to denigrate celebrities, politicians and other public figures? Why is there always this need to target someone and bring them to their knees?  For what purpose?

Who knows, but another side to the "bash the optimist" phenomenon is that there is something peculiar and dark about our culture that likes to seek out the dirt; to crush successes and joy, and to focus on the negative  - in fact, there is great energy expended to create negatives where none existed; to seed and nurture and grow darkness! How many times have you seen Canadian performers celebrated around the world but ridiculed at home?  Celine Dion and Justin Bieber come to mind. You may not like their music or style, but can't you appreciate their mega successes and be happy for them; be inspired by them?

Personally, I am encouraged and delighted when people are successful, happy and living within their ideals - whatever those may be - it gives me hope.  I also can appreciate that it takes tremendous focus and discipline and persistence to be true to your dreams, and to remain positive in an environment that is increasingly focused on the negative.  Happiness is a choice - but it's not an easy choice.  Sometimes its really hard to find a little nugget of goodness to hang on to.

I have occasionally cursed my buoyant optimism - because 99% of the time, I wake up happy and eager to greet the day, do my best; try and try again - and many times I hit the hard wall (or floor!) of soul-crushing resistance.  Because, the world is not kind to optimists, to peaceniks, to artists, and to dreamers. Being an optimist is NOT an easy choice - you will be labelled as unrealistic, daft, blind to reality etc.  But the reality is - my reality; my personal reality is very much a choice, a carefully crafted construct - and most of the time, the goodness wins out over all of the detractors, because I do not allow them to have power over my time, my choices, my reality.

We all know there is too much hatred, paranoia, cruelty, violence, propaganda, ignorance, poverty, unfairness, injustice, bigotry, racism, bullying, sexism, ageism, religiosity, intolerance, radicalism, and reactivity.  It's pretty easy to destroy things, to bitch, to criticize; to dismantle - but  to create,  to balance,  to remain calm, to think of gentle solutions - these take courage; a soft, subtle strength that endures much, but is often unacknowledged and under-appreciated. I imagine myself, at this moment, writing down all of those ugly words, I am out at my favourite camp site, and I am dropping them into my camp fire - I watch them blacken and see them turn to orange sparks and  bits of grey ash, rising up into the night sky; purified by the stars' eternal beauty.  It feels good to imagine that - like adding some bleach to the dirtiest laundry you can imagine ;)

So who am I  to prat on about this?  Just a person who gives a damn, some zen-minded cowgirl, trying to do her best with what she was given. I really think the Dalai Lama said it best: "My religion is kindness."

For Love...

By Pam Hadder


This year I gave myself the ultimate birthday gift - I attended a folk music retreat organized by the Winnipeg Folk Festival.


Open to all ages and levels of musicianship, the four day experience was a dream come true.  The mentors were Abigail Washburn (banjo and vocals), Kai Welch (guitar, keyboards, song writing and more!), Martyn Joseph (guitar, song writing) and the amazingly talented, Willy Porter (guitar, song writing and vocals).  


Doing this was a real push out of the comfort zone for me - I am an introvert for whom "being on" and taking the first step with groups of people is terrifying and exhausting, to say the least!  And I really didn't know what to expect from the retreat - I mean, was I worthy to be among these talented professionals? 


I knew that many areas were of interest to me: song writing, vocals, guitar and having the opportunity to interact and learn from other musicians. What I didn't know was how it would all go down - or if I would be totally out of my league!  The great news is that it was wonderful and a complete affirmation of my love of music.


By far, the highlight was succeeding in writing lyrics and music to my very first original song - it's a whole new level of passion when you create something and sing/play it from your heart (a big WOW!).  It was the most indescribable, humbling and exciting experience to interact with and receive guidance and encouragement from respected professionals - the grace, talent, enthusiasm and generosity of Abigail, Kai, Martyn and Willy was consistent and true. They each gave fully and honestly throughout the retreat -- both in performance and in mentorship.


Abigail: you encouraged me to push my voice to max volume, and hey, you were right - it's powerful and it won't break!  You were also so joyful, intelligent and passionate about life, music and people; you have redefined love, life and beauty for me. Yeah  - it's a very big deal :)


Kai: you could see my shyness and coaxed me into the spotlight; your feedback and encouragement with vocals, guitar technique, and my first song lyrics meant so much - I didn't know where to start with song writing,and now I can't stop! It's like this back log of musical expression is bursting out of me - and it's so much fun and so energizing to let it loose!


Martyn:  you showed me that even experienced performers can be painfully shy, and yet they can work within that and be successful, and you taught me that you don't have to be a highly proficient musician to write songs - you just have to get started. And... you made me look at Bruce Springsteen with appreciation - who could have guessed that was possible?


Willy: you are supernatural - and I am so glad that I was able to tell you that and to experience your beautiful spirit and positivity!  Your recorded music doesn't capture your amazing talent - what a treat to know you and to hear you perform in an intimate setting, and your feedback and suggestions for my song writing were so appreciated.


Highlights of the folk retreat were overcoming my shyness and writing my first song.  The down moments were minor (and kind of laughable in hindsight), and any bummer moments  ended up being eclipsed by the good stuff.  (Some of the young ladies were very high-school clique-ish.  And one or two of these kicked that up a notch and were simply stage whores... it was all about them... so that sucked for the band sessions where you need to feel a little "we"!)


So...yeah, I felt a bit robbed with the band sessions, because I was partnered up with these self-absorbed chickies...But it turned out to be not a big deal, because the over all experience was so fantastic!  Most of the other participants were wonderfully cool, friendly and eager to connect and share.


I've exchanged contact info with several of the people I met an hopefully some of the good musical connections will take root and I will have some regular folkie jamming to look forward to - so far I have one invite; it's a start!  If not, I know that with time, persistence and just by being consistently "true to me", I will be nudged to where I need to be musically and personally.


It feels a bit like losing your training wheels on a bicycle... I am proud of what I have achieved, I am excited to be riding fast and free with renewed purpose...and I just have this great optimism and joy - it feels amazing to be open to newness and moving forward!