So Many Reasons

By Pam Hadder

What is it about certain numbers – why do we find some numbers to be significant, and we allow others to escape our notice?  A 25^th anniversary, the seven-year itch, five-year plans –and what of lucky numbers?  Personally I don’t believe in luck; nor do I support the celebration of life in pre-determined, generic increments.  All we have is this moment, this breath, this heartbeat, and why shouldn't every action and word be considered through that lens of precarious glory?

We are beautifully and remarkably made, we have such amazing potential – we are each comprised of incredible, immortal energy captured for a fleeting moment in human form.  It is a very big deal; exceptional and precious – yet all the while, we are herded, prodded into preoccupations of daily survival, of the mundane, of the expected.  We become disconnected from our glorious nature; our inextricable connection to the divine; the sublime.

This year a beloved, influential person in my life is having a "milestone birthday," which has made me think long and hard about human preoccupation with numbers, the order of things, labeling, organizing, and other trivial categorizations of splendid human potential.   My beautiful friend is having mixed feelings about the pending occasion, and doesn't want any fuss.  I get that, however, I want to celebrate the moment to its fullest extent – not because I am bound to tradition or societal expectations, but because I recognize and wish to acknowledge the importance of her unique spirit’s arrival in this physical realm. On a spring day, a number of years past, she was born into this life and embarked on a journey that eventually intersected with (and super-charged!) my own modest meanderings.  By her unique influence, she has made my life richer, brighter, more beautiful and deeply joyous – she is richly blessed with wisdom, humour, spontaneity, passion for life and charismatic presence. She possesses an intriguing, intoxicating effervescence that cannot be cultivated, but she presents these extraordinary gifts with remarkable humility and selflessness.

And so, dearest FC, for you alone – if numbers must prevail and hold significance – then let it be that with each passing minute, hour, week, month and year, that we recognize another aspect of our earthly self that is to be honoured and cherished.  I know it’s pretty easy to think of thirty or forty reasons that I adore you, my dearest, sweet, kind friend!

That Happy Thing :)

by Pam Hadder

We hear a lot about HAPPY - not necessarily in a direct way... But all of the complaining, self-absorption, dialogue about sex, sensation, shopping, acquiring etc. it's really about what makes us happy; why it's hard to be happy; that possibility that happy is just a metaphysical illusion; all that gobbledygook about the funny chemicals in our bodies that give us that euphoric sensation, and so on. Happy shouldn't be so complicated, should it?  Or at least that is what my gut tells me. My gut also tells me that we shouldn't have to analyse the crap out of happy, we should just "be" and enjoy what comes naturally (smart gut - not always such a smart person, however lol!).  

The daily actions of human survival require interacting with others, and this tends to complicate the happy equation.  I can only speak for myself - I am at heart an introvert, but yet I delight in people and our diversity. I recognize that I cherish and I am inspired by those small, special bursts of light when I enjoy loving, refined, joyous aspects of human connection. You should know that it takes tremendous effort and personal energy for me to step outside of my hard shell and extend myself to others - to make the first move - it's hard work for me; a constant tug-o-war.  Even when I do it - smile, make small talk and so on, my resolutely sequestered inner self monitors it all warily with a dash of mocking cynicism: "What exactly are you playing at, Pami?" And yet, I am not truly happy unless I can interact on a personal, human level, so I continue to nudge against the walls of my perennial awkwardness - striving for that authentic moment that brings me closer to HAPPY.

When I consider the effects of technology on folks like me, it really is a double-edged sword - we have this virtual vista, a means of extending ourselves to make connections with like-minded others, or to discover new ways of looking at life and the world.  On the other side, technology cannot replace looking into another person's face, a shared laugh, or just being together and appreciating an experience - such as nature/scenery, music, art, great food and so on.

And, of course, there is the aspect of the personal cultivation of happiness - I believe that HAPPY truly starts within us - introvert or extrovert, we need to nourish this little seed, to propagate the happy self possibility. And when we choose to be happy, to see the positive, to take a chance, to hope for the best in all things, we all know that we open our tender hearts for great darkness: rejection, for negativity, for all kinds of backlash. Happy is not for the feint of heart - no wonder we get pushed off the happy trail sometimes! 

I think the trick is just to choose happy regardless, and to not take the naysayers and bashers (and so on...) personally.  Choose happy because it feels right and it energizes you, and it puts you in the best position to enjoy all that life offers.

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.

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.

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.

kd-lightful!!!

By  Pam Hadder

There may be many times that life disappoints us a little - part of it is our own expectation and/or our response to circumstances.  Then every once in a while, we literally live our dreams - the kind of magical times when you slide into this slipstream of ease, where it all goes so smoothly, the colours are pure and bright, your senses are attuned to razor-sharpness, and you feel simply invincible! And, if you are like me, you are afraid to exhale in case the bubble bursts!  (lol!)

Front row and centre stage for k.d .Lang's recent concert at Winnipeg's legendary Pantages Theatre was one of those moments.  I have been privileged to see k.d. Lang live before, and each time has been excellent, stellar, breathtaking.  I had some momentary regrets that I didn't take more photos, but face to face with a legend, it didn't seem right - I wanted to soak up every syllable of sound, every visual clip.

k.d. Lang is unique not only in her talent - charisma, vocal range, perfect pitch, musicianship - but she also gives 150% out there; it's really something special to experience her fusion of passion and music in live performance.  I have to admit, when I snapped up my VIP Nation tix, I was concerned - a previous VIP concert in California was a bit of a downer - my friend had treated me to this luxe event for my birthday, and we did not receive what was promised, and (unwittingly) paid for (at least!) FOUR tickets!

But VIP Nation was fabulous - our host, Hugo, was warm and welcoming, and proved to be as cool as his name (Hugo is one cool name, don't you agree?).   There were so many highlights, and I can play that concert in my mind, from my exceptional vantage point and it feels like it was a private concert - just for me. How great is that?  One especially memorable part was hearing Big Boned Gal while a gaggle of middle-aged babes grooved in the makeshift mosh pit - on the third (yes, THIRD!) encore - I mean, who does that any more?  Coincidentally, I had been enjoying listening to some older Lang albums this summer, and Absolute Torch & Twang is a def my nostalgic love child!

After the show, my friend and I got to attend a meet and greet with k.d.  I presented Ms. Lang with FemFest 2012 t-shirts for her and the guys, and we each got guitar picks from her and had two items autographed.  For me it was my songbird scarf (a natural choice to have your fav songbird sign your fav scarf!), and my beloved FolkFest patchwork purse.  We got our picture taken with k.d., and we will receive a link to download the pic from VIP Nation/Live Nation in a day or two (do you smell an update coming....)??? Gracious and friendly, she puts you at ease, and yet is focused and exacting - even with autographing and "small talk" - years of practice, and learning from mistakes, I suppose.  She is kind with even the more obnoxious requests - like the dippy couple in their 60s with a garage sale guitar, covered in maple leaves..."Well, they'll know where you're from..."

The cherries on my vegan cupcake were k.d. telling me "I like your hair!", and getting a big hug from her.  How does it feel to hug k.d.?- well, pretty damn fine... she's about my height (5' 5" - 5'6"), she's fit and when she hugged me  it was like when football players do that celebratory chest bump! Kaboom - before I knew it, it was over and I was asking, did that just happen?  lol  She's about a size 12 or 14 - so I don't get why people go on about her weight etc. She looks fantastic, has gorgeous, youthful skin - and, surprise, she's not 20 years old anymore!  She does not smell like incense, or rose petals or cookies - k.d. is odourless.

What's next? A self-professed "slut for k.d. luxury", I  want to inquire about Sha-Lang-grila time shares...omg, YES!!!