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.

Gifts

By Pam Hadder

"Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us" - Albert Schweitzer

It's been a long haul, but as convocation draws near I find myself pondering the meaning of it all - beyond the coursework, content and theories; what did I really learn?  It is said that no one can steal from us the things that we commit to memory, but I also recognize that those things we cherish the most are much more than any factual knowledge!  Larger themes have bloomed and overlapped: indigeneity, human history and the power of inter-connection - transporting me to vistas I could not have imagined.  

I have been thinking about a friend's remarks on higher learning.  I congratulated her on pursuing her masters degree and she said that the more she learns, the more she realizes how much she doesn't know! As I prepare to celebrate my graduation, I feel the same sense of joy mingled with deep humility.  I am deeply grateful for the loyal few who encouraged me, and did not belittle my musing - their influence and support have been immeasurable gifts. My world is altered, perceptions heightened, and I have the tools to address any impediments that cross my path.  However, I recognize the necessity of continual learning, and I am eager to pursue new academic goals.

Learning is often taken for granted, but it is a privilege to which not every person has easy access - I faced many barriers; without the support of others I could never have been successful.  Even within my program I faced constant challenges - for example, required electives which seemed irrelevant and that terrified me: "I can't believe I have to take this course - oh my God, this is way out of my league!" Interestingly, it was these "tough nuts" that left the deepest impact. Additionally, by overcoming my fears and objections, I began to recognize that beyond any external factors, my greatest limitations were self-imposed! Ultimately, however, the things I resisted the most became my treasure chest and my fortress, reshaping my self-view, inspiring my heart, and replacing voids with bridges to hope and increased understanding. Looking back on my childhood and young adult years, I can now see how I have allowed naysayers to destroy my aspirations. 

This time of learning has breathed new life into me, and has firmly nudged me back on my path. I know that I want to keep on learning. I know there are more obstacles than scholarships. And most of all I know that I have value, purpose, a place, and a voice - I want to make the most of every day that I am given. Each day is a sacred gift that is beyond value; infinitely precious, and all of the people we interact with, the choices we make influence outcomes far greater than ourselves. Looking out my window at a bleak, grey sky, I don't see hopelessness any more - I think of this Earth, its beauty and its people. I imagine the potential and happy tears well - oh, my feet are restless!

The Mother Load

By Pam Hadder

I have picture of my two girls, my daughters, in my bathroom - 4 x 6 photos in clip frames. They are ages two and four and they are playing at the lakeside. One of the frames has been cracked - an oopsie from their pre-teen years. As I recall, I kept trying to be a Martha Stewart, but kids are hard on things, and after all, things are just things. Nonetheless, the fact that I need to update those frames niggles away at me every time I brush my teeth.  But my days are always full; without reprieve, the weeks and months fly by, and details get lost in the blur.  My Mother warned me that once you have a baby, the calendar pages fly by just like in a black and white movie. Mom didn't tell me about some things though - like when you raise your girls to be independent women, and they become those independent women, that it feels like all of it never happened. Is this the empty nest, or is this symptomatic of some undefined brokenness? 

I remember the first time those wee girls said "Mom" and "Momma" - the sheer joy of them growing and all of the "firsts." My older daughter liked to tickle my toes as I made her dinner: "Tooka, tooka, tooka, Mommy, tooka, tooka, tooka."  And my younger daughter would have spent all day in the baby sling curled into my warm body - if I had the fortitude to carry her for that duration! I feel like I should explain - I did not experience a lot of physical affection during my childhood years, and I wanted to be a different kind of parent than what I had known. I never heard the words, "I love you" from my parents; I think it wasn't considered appropriate for parents to be physically affectionate in their era, but I wanted my babies to know what it meant to be loved, completely and unconditionally - I poured out my words, my hugs, my kisses without reserve.  I did not believe in corporal punishment - I had been beaten, but I used time-outs to discipline my babies. I didn't want my kids to fear me the way I feared my Dad. But somewhere in the busy-ness of working, domestic chores, and all the stuff in between, I finished raising my girls. The butterfly kisses have disappeared like soap bubbles popping on a summer breeze; Momma is no more.

More memories... how I dressed the girls alike, fussed with their hair, read Fox in Sox until my tongue felt numb and worked at crappy jobs so I could spend as much time as possible with them. I remember knitting little sweaters as I dutifully attended Super Bowl parties with their Dad, sewing Halloween costumes in a cold corner of the basement, and falling asleep beside them when singing "I See the Moon" at bed time.  I remember all of the busy mornings, feeding bathing, dressing, playing, reading, walking/hauling, and repeat. The baby powder, the dear little hands holding mine, the raspberry kisses on soft tummies, the tickles.  I remember walking them to school, making brown paper lunch bags with a new doodle for every day, and sweating with anxiety as I walked home from work to pick them up from after school care - oh my God, I always felt guilty because it was sunny outside and they were in the basement of an old school.  How my feet, back and legs hurt from standing all day, how I lost sleep to catch up on laundry and cleaning, and how I fell worthless and powerless because I was always financially strapped. Their childhood was an intense time for me, but I tried to shield them from my struggles and fears. I wanted them to have a better life, more opportunities and more happiness than I had known. But so much of the time I was isolated by the sheer volume of what had to be done, and my fear of what would happen if I tried to change the pattern, let myself emerge from the automaton I had created to manage it all.

At some point the 24/7 care of our children is over, and their friends become closer connections, and the seeds of independence bear fruit - and it may not be a fruit you have ever tasted before. I suppose that a Mother becomes symbolic of everything they are not/don't want to be, and something they can't relate to. So, I suppose I have succeeded: they will be better, they will be different from the imperfect, frightened, ignorant, idealist that was Momma. I have tried to organize girls' outings but their young lives are full and focused on things of which I have only sketchy glimpses. Occasionally they let me buy them a meal.  My younger daughter regales me with stories of how great her friends' Moms are, and my older daughter is a mystery who keeps her communications superficial. I have finally connected the dots, and the image is an unrelatable construct of female parenthood, rather like the female symbol on a washroom entrance. 

So, when we have dinner together, I savour each moment, always hopeful that some trickle of the love that I poured into them will emerge, will morph into this amazing, positive thing that makes their eyes mist over, that makes them remember everything that was Momma - that some little piece of what I did is worthy of their time and memory. But they could be talking to someone on a bus - a random stranger to whom they extend courtesy for  few minutes. I inhale and exhale and drink in their beauty, grateful that at least they will sit and eat with me, grateful for this moment; grateful that I knew motherhood. A perennial optimist, I know I will keep trying, will keep revisiting my memories, and will keep returning to face their rebuffs; their thinly veiled contempt or worse - ambivalence.

My birthday is in July, and this year I was away with my job - it was a special time because it was the first time since I was 14 that I have had a whole month away from work. I had some work commitments, but it was combined with travel in some of the most beautiful areas of Tuscany, Italy.  The whole time I was accessible by email, text and phone. I don't like a fuss, but I do love my children and I have tried to raise them to be mindful of life's milestones - their birthdays were always celebrated; sometimes two or three times to accommodate the demands of family, in-laws and their own school friends. But this birthday passed with no cards, no calls, no texts - nothing. When I got home from my trip, my younger daughter was fussing over buying a card and gift for her former boss (an alcoholic chain smoker about who she constantly complained to me about). At this point, it hit me with painful clarity that Mom, Mommy, Momma was dead - I was just this image, this memory.  

All of the hugs, the sweat, the fears, the work, the tears, the sleeplessness became meaningless in this context. I had to face that it was quite likely that I would never have daughters who called me "just because," or because they wanted to hear my voice, or simply to see how I am doing. Momma was a station along their way, and even the vile former boss now ranked higher. DNA is just DNA, and all of our good intentions are just thoughts, after all. I stretch the pale skin of my lower belly as I shower and trace a soapy finger over the fine white scars.  Yes, this body delivered three babies into the world and gave one baby to the angels, it is a good baby maker and has the marks to prove it's use, and yet it could be any baby maker. My body bears witness to the signs that only one person cares about.

My son is 13 - he still holds my hand and tells me he loves me.  He still talks to me - not just to ask for something or because he needs something. Pinch me; will this time be different, or have I just forgotten these moments with my girls? He is such a sweet child and I fear for him in this world of violence, excess and indifference - most of all, I pray, "Please don't take his love from me." My friends tell me I am a good mother, but because I was cut off from my friends and family for so many years, I have a very small circle of friends - I sometimes worry that "Friend" may go the way of "Momma." I  look through a another sampling of old photos in the bill basket, and they don't feel like they belong to me. I see my old, worn gym hoody has fallen off the door hook again - I look down on it and imagine that is who I am to my girls: a dead grey shell, a husk of some creature that used to exist but is no more. I pick it up and smell the soft cotton - it smells like baby powder.

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. 

A Full Moon

By Pam Hadder

The moon was full a few nights ago - I was driving down the highway and it lay ahead of me, resting on the dusky horizon like an immense, glowing, orange egg.  Gazing at it with wonder and humility, and feeling particularly small and yet honored by this audience, I half-expected something supernatural to happen - like a giant cosmic butterfly emerging from that glorious pod, or a crackling of meteorite fireworks across the sky vault!  That spectacular sight has defined my final hours of 2012 - I am thankful that I can replay the video clip in my mind, because my iPhone camera certainly had no hope of capturing the moon's incredible beauty.  I didn't even try - it was crazy, amazing; gorgeous - a living dream.

The moon was still large and silver-bright this morning when my dual-alarms woke me from a heavy sleep - albeit with some wear on her right cheek, like some amorous giant besmirched  her flawless beauty with clumsy maneuvering.  In the midst of great busy-ness and commotion that makes up a typical day, I have been meditating upon that great and glorious pearl in the sky and wondering about 2013 and what this new year will bring.

Typically, as the year wraps up, a word comes to me that serves as my guide, my mantra, my focus for the year ahead.  This year has been so full, so over-run with words, emotion, art, activity, and I find myself serene, hovering in the centre of a maelstrom, but without a word of my own.  Perhaps the message is in the sky, in the moon, in her strength and unparalleled beauty. She who we take for granted, grows full, wanes and rises anew with new brilliance - She who pulls the great oceans of the Earth, mastering the tides and affecting the patterns of life.

Ah, there it is - the word, hidden in the shadow of a moonbeam - ATTUNEMENT. The meaning is immediately understood.  Attunement is about stopping to break away from man-made patterns and connecting to the natural rhythmic ways which we take for granted but which are essential to our lives.

Here at midday, I feel the cool white slip of the moon across my skin; up my shoulder, to my face - the gentle, guiding touch of a Mother's soft hand.  She is affirming my choice as I look skyward to the arrival of the new year.

Shimmy and Roll!

By Pam Hadder

Ok, I admit it, I am grieving summer like a mother bird who's watching her last chick take flight.  And to comfort myself, I am thinking of the past months and all of the little joys and pleasures I have been so fortunate to enjoy.

At one point in my life - I'd been laid off from my dream job and was making a go of it for a good, but low-on-personal-fulfillment employer - and I used to keep a small notebook handy: a gratitude journal. Everyday, in the stark lunchroom, on my own; feeling orphaned and hopeless, I would religiously list everything I was grateful for.  Like a mantra, some of the entries were redundant and repetitious, but it was more socially acceptable than rocking in a corner and gnawing on my nails! It was comforting and kept my mood up in spite of the bland, sensory deprivation I was experiencing.

So, now I'm in a much better place, I have so much autonomy and so much opportunity, but it's still the little things that make my day - the little gems, the glimpses, the subtle richness of life. My list is an oddball mix (like the author) - experiences, tastes, textures and products too.  But what ties it all together is appreciation.  More and more I recognize and acknowledge that  I have been blessed and that awareness of goodness on my path is in itself a great beam of providence, shining down on my unworthy head.  So here's the list...

Sunsets - have they been more spectacular lately, or am I just more in tune?

Avocados - one should always have two: one ready to eat, and one just about ripe.  So good for you too, so that's just a bonus!

Brow powder - "brow powder?" you say? Yes - consider life without eye brows, they frame the eyes for goodness sake!  And the powder gives a much more natural enhancement vs. pencil.

Music and guitar - my teacher was so right when he said, "...just strum that guitar and enjoy the sound and the vibrations against your rib cage" - a little slice of heaven, when the sound is just right!

Frank's Red Hot Sauce.... omg, where were you earlier in my life, Frank?  That stuff is just so fan-freakin-tasty!!!!  Really love it on tofu stir fry and my curried chick peas... nom... nom...

Aveda Madder Root hair conditioner - keeps the fire in my reddish locks :)

Friends - my Dad always said I'd be lucky if I had one or two true friends in life - you know who they are... the ones who don't try to tell you what to do; to change you.  They would be disappointed if you weren't you - and when you see them, it's like no time has passed, even if it's been years.  They seem to know when you need a hug and they are your champion, cheering you on with every lame-brained idea you have and every crazy obstacle you tackle.

The list goes on and on... but you get the idea.  And the friends, well, they are the constant throughout all of the tasting, trying, failing, laughing, swearing, crying, sleeping, waking, sharing, caring, failing again, falling, singing, rising, being, and loving.

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.

Tough Choices

By Pam Hadder
Choice - it is a word brimming with tension, controversy and optimistic anticipation. It makes our heart perk up a bit when we are given a choice, but the initial excitement can be dampened by "what if." What if we choose this over that; what if we make the wrong choice?


Each choice "cocktail" is hounded by potentially nasty chaser words like commitment and regret, often because we tend to weigh and measure our choices using systems owned by other people in our lives - both intimate personal connections and more distant, societal ties. Choice can mean freedom and affirmation of our dearest life values, or it can be muddied by the recriminations and disapproval of others who may not support our selections.


We've all heard those words, "Choose wisely!" And for those of you with families, you may have employed the choice trap with your kids - that is, offering up two or more choices to your little ones, with the clever trick being that all choices align with your parental master plan! So, let's face it, choosing is fraught with pot holes and petunias - an exasperating, joyful tug of war with fear and glory!


But we still all make choices every day - the little ones that seem inconsequential, and the big ones that we may have stewed over for days, months or years before finally succumbing - too often, out of pure exhaustion. So how can be offload the garbage, the guilt, the doubt and simply enjoy the freedom of having options in life?


Choose for YOU - trust your heart; your instinct. At the end of the day, all you have is you. The only action you can truly control is your own. Choose for you, and every choice will impart personal harmony and, over time, wisdom.

And the Word is...

We made it! The passing of one year and the birth of the next - for some, a joyful passage; a celebration, and for others it was somewhat wistful, or coloured by complex, mixed emotions.

Whatever your experience, the ability lies within each of us to make the most of the time we have, using our unique gifts and interests, and with the intention set to enjoy what we do on our terms.

As 2011 wrapped up, I was filled with a sense of refined anticipation - not the wild enthusiasm of child, but more a knowing, well-arranged prescience of many good things to come. This feeling was paired with a sense of stepping out in faith toward goals and yearnings, but with the knowledge of imminent success - thus, without fear or anxiety, knowing the safety net was in place and secure.

After a couple of years of uncertainty and turbulence, there is a gentle settling of matters - this has eased up to me so gently and slowly, and yet with persistent progress. With each step forward, I was looking back over my shoulder - should I trust this promise of peace, prosperity and affirmation of purpose?

Well, why not? Why not trust in instinct for good, for abundance and for personal fulfilment? I am going to go with it, and stifle any anxiety with celebration. Like icy champagne exploding from its vessel and bubbling over into the expectant air - that is my vision for 2012. And so, at long last my muse, my meditation - the word is EBULLIENCE, and this year is rich with predestined accord and promise. Capture it, taste it, savour it - it is your birth right.

Red Letter Days!

Thinking back over 2011 this morning - enjoying looking over some photos. These images represent a few highlights of a very full, very productive year.

Late in 2010, my New Year muse, my inspiration came to me, and the word was EMERGENCE. I wasn't sure of what that meant for me, but I do recall this bubbling-up feeling in my heart - something wonderful was brewing

As I think about all of those red letter days of 2011, I am wondering what 2012 will inspire, where I will be, who I will meet and so on. Many thoughts and words have fluttered past my frame of interest in the past few weeks, but nothing seems to "stick" or resonate with me. There is, however, this internal tug-of-war with anticipation and temperance -no doubt about it, the future is tantalizing and teasing me! Patience, I must be reminded, is my hidden talent!

Red letter moments in 2011? There were so many: watching my kids grow and achieve so many wonderful things; sharing San Fransisco adventures and the blue skies over the ocean at Monterey; perfect weather all summer long, two live performances of kd lang (awright!!!), my new guitar (love you, Pearl!), returning to university, time with friends, and so much more! All the while, it's been fast, furious and frenzied, but with an underlying sense of purpose - like a supernatural booster pack was stapped to my soul to blast me to the next level!

What's next? Bring it on!

Transforming Transformation

Early morning lends itself to intropsection and reflection. On this particularly peaceful morning, I am thinking back upon 2011, and I am feeling especially grateful for the many experiences enjoyed and lessons learned.

Some times in our lives are just so full - the content forming, contantly changing and billowing over, faster than we can take it all in! It takes tremendous focus and energy to grab onto what we can and really be present in a particular experience or situation.

If, like me, you have many personal and business interests and many competing demands upon your allotment of daily hours, you will appreciate the angst that can brew to the surface during these highly productive, fast-paced life moments.

Every year, a word comes to me as the old year wanes away - for 2011 the word was EMERGENCE. What was I emerging from? From time to time throughout the year, I was doubtful of my muse! However, as events and opportunities and disappointments all unfolded, I began to see that I was emerging from self-doubt and inertia and reconnecting with my truest self and her dreams. The result, as I look back, is a remarkable free-flowing creation that is my unique interface with this lifetime.

So, on the cusp of a new year, I eagerly await the next gentle nudge that the from the universe - I feel so fortunate and so joyful. I know she will not disappoint me, if I only attune myself to her cues.

Hard 2 Love

Admit it, we all know them - those folks that make us feel like a cat having its coat stroked in the wrong direction. At best, we can accept we are just on a different page, and at worst we want to scream and rush from the room... or jump from a moving vehicle!

When I was ten or eleven years old, a woman from my church told me that "...some people are just hard to love!" I recall how I groaned inside, and thought, "Good grief - beam me up Scottie!" But recently, frustrated by general rudeness and self-centredness around me, I remembered her words.

A light turned on inside of me - not a brilliant starburst, just a dull glow, like a kid's comforting night light :) But I got it - or at least I was able to recall her message, and I found something that I could both live with, and live within!

Those hard to love people... they are missing something that we have an ability to share with them, and they need our love more than they know or can appreciate. Think of it like a vitamin deficiency - if it is serious enough, a doctor will recommend a treatment plan; perhaps injections, or high doses of pharmaceutical grade supplements.

We should give our goodness and our love freely and without discrimination, not because we will feel better, and not so that we will be rewarded in any way - and it won't necessarily make us like those hard to love folks more! We should give with love because we have been blessed with the ability and means to do so, just like a Doctor has the training and ability to facilitate physical healing.

Also, I am wondering if when I feel that revulsion and resistance with others, if I have crossed over to some awkward state where human contact is repugnant, or worse yet, where others find me unworthy of kindness and consideration.

Deep thoughts on a dark and rainy night...it appears that I have my work cut out for me!

To Thine Own Self

The past two years have been very hectic - not without joy, delight or accomplishment, but with little room just to be, just to exist. I think creative folks just need that down time - the mind and body seldom rest from purposeful processes and analyses.

My Mom used to say that once you have kids the fast forward switch goes on - one day you look in the mirror and the lines and grey hairs are there and you just think, what the...???

I often wonder if there is something scientific behind my Mom's prediction ? As my kids grow and become increasingly independent, I keep expecting to be able to draw on a little more of that precious life-affirming juice, aka "down-time", but it seems like the reverse is true! Am I overly conscientious? Do I need to be more assertive at home and in the work world? Where is the time going (really; truly) - I feel too busy, to involved to really take stock and the self-bank of me-ness is running low and lower!

Recently, I asked a group of adult learners to list their top ten strengths - referring, of course, to personal attributes that they could draw upon for the creation of a resume and during job interviews. Most could only list three to five, and this dismal response and disconnection from self awareness and potential was just so discouraging. Then I remembered a pearl of wisdom I once heard - that we are frustrated most by shortcomings we also share.

Although I am not in the market for a new career, I also began to think that maybe I was losing touch with my own strengths - I always maintain that a person should keep an up-to-date CV, cover letter template and references at hand, as a way of remembering all you are and all that you have to offer the world. It is so easy to become lost in the busy-ness of daily life and to forget the intricate richness with which we are each blessed.

I began the list and it flowed fast and easily...

COMPASSIONATE
ANALYTICAL
CREATIVE
ETHICAL
PASSIONATE
ARTISTIC
MUSICAL
ARTICULATE
LOVING
POSITIVE
ATHLETIC
APPRECIATIVE
HUMOUROUS
FORGIVING
LOYAL
HARD-WORKING
RESULTS -ORIENTED
JOYFUL
KIND
RESOURCEFUL
CARING
RESPONSIVE
ACCURATE
LIFE-LONG LEARNER
COMMITTED
VISIONARY
BIG-PICTURE THINKER
HUMANITARIAN
MENTOR
VOLUNTEER
LEADER
TEAM MEMBER
CAREFUL

Last week I also entered four of my colour photos in a National Geographic photo contest - a small thing, yes, but significant to me. Although I majored in photography in university, my recent years have consisted of mostly "Mom shots" of my three kids. Of the four images chosen, my favourite is featured in this entry - the dragonfly photo that I call "Backyard Angel".

I remember how that dragonfly patiently posed for me on the weathered fence boards. I was fascinated by the blues and greens of his steely armoured plates, and how, up close, the delicate wings looked like ornate wrought iron railings. I think also, that at my best, I relate to the dragonfly - buzzing purposefully, efficient and sturdy; a profound asset in my chosen environment.

But at times, when my fuel tank feels low and I lose sight of my talent and abilities, I envy the dragonfly's freedom - it's time to dust off, time to use my wings; time to soar... I was made to soar.

River Poem

For the first time in a long while, I walked alongside the river tonight after dinner, all on my own - felt so nice not to have any earbuds in, to not have to hold a conversation, and just to enjoy the sounds and smells along the way.

I used to walk the same route five or six times a week with about two or three variations in the route. I never seemed to tire of it - even at -50 degrees celcius, there I'd be trundling along like Sir Edmond Hillary, gender-questionable in my multiple layers. Then somehow, work got more hectic and life more stressful, and I slowly got out of my established routine. Now I am starting to schedule some of these favourite things back into my days - mostly because I miss how my body used to feel after those walks; strong, supple and glowing.

RIVER POEM
Sweet clover, road tar, corn on the cob and dill weed -
Strange but compelling perfume!
Mallard's cluck, boat motor, frog chorus; sparrow's song -
My ears are eager for each new tone!
Foot fall percussion - gravel, grass, tarmac, grass...
My heart drums happily along :)
When I smile at dogs and they smile back -
That's a precious connection;
Windblown hair and dusty paws!
Waiting at home, my chiller mug with water
Simple luxuries - just to move, to breathe and to be
Alone by the river, but complete in myself.

Chasing Rainbows

Hard to explain why certain sounds, tastes or colours make me respond so profoundly - and why do the things that make MY cheeks flush and heart race leaves others asking, "whaaa...???" All part of what makes me an individual, I suppose.

Case in point... just got back from a musical pilgrimage to San Francisco. k.d. lang and the Siss Boom Bang were performing at the Robert Mondavi Winery, near Oakville California, and I have been captivated by k.d. lang since I first saw her doing some crazy hokey pokey with semi-fauxhawk hair in the 1980s - my friends went "whaaaa???" while I hokey pokey'd along smiling and clapping like a happy toddler.

My recent trek to Cali was part deux of what has become The k.d. Summer; starting with my birthday wknd at the Winnipeg Folk Fest, where she rocked the mainstage with her magnifcent talent. She is a rare artist who is exponentially better live - and the new band def kicks ass!

Her performance at Mondavi was equally breathtaking, btw... Now that my double dose of k.d. has passed, however, I feel grateful but decidely post-experience-MEH - no doubt spoiled by the sheer fire and beauty of her live performance, and too low on $$$ and free time to chase down another k.d. rainbow... in yet another city!

This was my first visit to Mondavi, and I was happy to confirm a few days ahead of the concert that the venue only holds about 1500 people - rare today to be able to enjoy an acclaimed artist like La Lang in such an intimate setting. The downside... some disorganization among the well-intentioned volunteers and staff at the event. We actually (inadvertantly!)paid for FOUR VIP tickets (for two of us, LOL) and had a devil of a time getting our correct seats near the stage. Finally it was sorted, but we did not get to finish the second half of our $195.00 dinners, and did not receive the two special bottles of wine we had pre-ordered/pre-paid for with our tix, waaay back in March. And my friend (another long-term k.d. lang devotee) also was dismayed to find that "VIP" ranking we were so happy to get in on, did NOT include any hope of getting an autograph, in spite of the small crowd.

What was supposed to be my long overdue k.d. connection was a bit of a disconnect, I'm afraid. At Folk Fest, I had friends working back stage, and had been offered back stage admission to possibly meet k.d. and co - I couldn't believe that this opportunity had landed within my clumsy grasp! Again, the gods were against me and, by the time I could connect with my contact and get anywhere close to the back stage, the band had already left the venue (over 35.000 folks at this performance!!!).

So, my k.d. dream has been uprooted, replanted, uprooted and replanted again. Will it ever be realized or will it simply become a larger and more wistful fantasy? Time will tell...as k.d. sings, long after she's gone the music will live on - xo!

A Day of Daisies

Have you ever walked waist high in a field of pure white daisies? It is surreal and lovely - like the hand of God has touched the land in an unsolicited gesture of benevolence.

Today I went to help a dear friend clear out her summer cottage of personal items - after much thought, she has opted to sell the property.

The lovely, lake-front lot is large - about 200 feet in length and 150 feet wide, and from the road way to the shore line it was full of the joyful white blooms, blazing bright in the midday sun - absolutely unexpected and spectacular. We were not alone in our wonder - while we were working there, a neighbor stopped by with her elderly mother, wondering if they could pick a few of the blooms! Like us, they were drawn to the vision of thousands of flowers filling the property lines from edge to edge.

Coming home this evening, I was curious to learn more about the daisy - I knew that white daisies symbolize innocence and friendship but knew little more than that. Reading up on the flowers, I discovered some interesting folklore attached to their sunny faces - apparently daisies have long been considered to be comfort sent from the heavens for all of the children lost as infants, explaining the root of their connection to purity and sweetness.

Curious how those daisies chose to dress my friend's property in particular - you do see daisies here and there along the road side, but this was a complete floral white-out!

As I type this, I am thinking of that empty cottage resting quietly in the summer moonlight, surrounded by a living sea of pure, white blooms - heavens' comfort for the loss of happy times and child-like joy? It feels good to know that those little flowers are there, gentle guardians; sturdy and abundant reminders of the enduring power of goodness through adversity.

I am sure the daisies are are equally wonderful under the starry skies, and I feel fortunate to have witnessed such a unique and beautiful natural event.

"The has but a summer reign, the daisy never dies." - James Montgomery, The Daisy

20 Reasons I Suck

You might as well know it - I am the original all-day sucker! Yeah, for starters, I generally wake up all bright and shiny and absolutely oblivious to the licking I am going to get each day!

Some days I just let all the drivel and drool roll down my slightly rounded shoulders - ah, the beauty of my design; form following function; blah, blah, blah.

To add to my plight, I am one of those 70s suckers with the Happy Face on it - it goes through all of the layers of my composition, so there is no escaping that daffy grin.

Today I just was ready to get in my car, drive it 'til the gas was gone and then start walking, like Forrest Gump. No beard to grow, but in time I am sure the shins would get some impressive fuzz happenin'.

I just feel like I am forever hitting the wall, missing the mark and failing at everything and with everyone I know - and then I have this stupid happy, chirpy thing going on, like a car with something shaking loose under the hood that no one can quite figure out, and even if I am dying, crying, melting, screaming, absolutely tortured half outta my mind, no one seems to notice anything but how stupid and incomplete and wrong I am. They just count on Sweet 'n Smiley to keep haulin' ass - right in the opposite direction.

So today I needed to get away and reflect on my situation. What if I just disappeared, what would happen? A few tears - dutiful ones from the adult daughters who really don't know what to make of their Momma. Real ones from my Son, who loves routine and I think really loves The Big Sucker a.k.a. His Mother. More dutiful tears from a handful of close friends - but in private they'd say, "Knew she was different..." And of course my own tears (I started early, btw... and told myself I was just practicing!) - my tears at being born such a big sucker! That would be about it and life goes on. Hardly worth my effort to disappear.

Bottom line - I am different, awkward, broken up a bit; that odd coloured sucker that someone buys because it is marked down and they are short on cash. I have never been quite the right Lolly for the job - too young, too old, too fat, too stupid, too shy, too loud, too religious, not religious enough, too geeky, too wordy, too dutiful, too ugly, too short, too tall, too many questions, too punctual, too white, too curious, too happy -- yes, way too happy and world really doesn't like happy because it creates tension; stretchy, smiley tension.

So I guess I will be sticking around, smiling (no choice, remember?). And that's at least 21 reasons - my rough count. Did I count wrong? Oh, sorry...

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.

Red, White, Green

Last March I was travelling through Tuscany with my son and my best friend - it was Spring Break for my little guy, and we all had an amazing adventure. This year, I am sticking close to home, but Italy has been on my mind! I used to really hate March because, not only is the weather miserable and fickle (is spring coming or not???), but I also lost my Father (1999) and my niece (2004) in March, so there was always this association with loss, grief and emptiness. Having visited Toscana and experienced the warmth of the people, the surreal beauty of the landscape and unmatched flavours, textures and colours that only that region can provide, I am finding that my memories of that magical time have cancelled out the muddy, cold patch that was my March experience.

Breathing the cool air and face to the sunshine, I recall my bare feet on the terra cotta floors of our villa, making Cafe Vergnano in the little kitchen that opened to a private terrace. The succulent blood oranges, dreamy yogurt, incredible prosciutto and cheese, and just the scent of the air -- I can replay the experience with complete, vivid recall.

I feel fortunate to have experienced such beauty and goodness, and that my son also enjoyed and remembers fondly our time together in Italy. It is such a gift to have memories of sorrow replaced by ones of creativity, engagement of the six senses and rejuvenation of the spirit.

Until we can return, Toscana, I will recreate little pieces of you in my daily life: wrapped in my moss-green cashmere cape, walking in the sunshine and cool air, and looking for beauty in the ordinary things around me.