Saturday, September 26, 2009

movin' on up

Rod and I are moving into phase II of the basement renovations – yea!

We thankfully got to the stage where I could move my treatments back downstairs thus reclaiming our living room space - yea!

But here’s the thing, in order for the reno to be done everything from the basement had to be temporarily stored in the laundry room. And it’s been driving me bonkers; bonkers I tell ya! I can’t stand it!

I can’t stand it that: visually it insults my senses to see mounds of things
piled up taking up every inch of floor space and more – can not compute, can not compute, can not compute – I get overwhelmed.

I can’t stand it that: although I packed and organized for easy access, all the treatment supplies I would need til the job is done, in a logical order, when I go to look for them it seems that the deductive reasoning part of my brain that took charge of the operation has vacated the premises so the rummaging begins further compounding the problem.

I can’t stand it that: In order to do my laundry I have to: move a bazillion boxes on top of other boxes which were so crammed full that they can’t be closed so that everything ends up perched at precarious angles and just the wrong move: the shifting of a piece of paper, lifting of a pencil or a sneeze will set the wheels in motion for a domino-like kinesthetic event worthy of a Rube Goldberg machine.

I can’t stand it that: I hate bumping into things and even worse having things: run over my toes (my bike), come crashing towards my head (a shelf the size of a two by four) or hit my funny bone (my rebounder) all in a clumsy dance-like succession of steps. I become jumpy, irritable and tense.

I can’t stand it that: I get claustrophobic in tight spaces which makes me want to push things away from me physically, which happened to be the strongest PMS symptom for me (that is before I became post menopausal, a big yea!). Though some people would argue that it was my irritability, my mantra back then was “don’t touch me”, “get outta my way”, “Aaarrrrgh” or @#$%@$% in response to anyone coming near or placing objects beside me. So, if you think I’m bad now you shudda seen me then.

I can’t stand it that: I move quickly through crammed spaces til a clearing can be found roaring in frustration all the while (since I’m not a screaming kind of gal). So staying in the laundry room long enough to get anything done builds up propulsive tension in my body until I can’t breathe and my coiled muscles explode launching me out of the room with such a force as to scatter the cats (who are far more stressed that I) to the far reaches of the house.

After a few days of enduring this existence I began to wonder, “How do hoarders do it?” This is only one small room in an otherwise orderly home. How can they live in such chaos?

So I watched Hoarders one night.

OMG, seeing houses crammed with mountains of rotting stuff and witnessing the emotion driving the compulsion made me unbelievably anxious. So much so that it spurred me on to get back in there and get down to business. Since I’m in the process of redefining my practice and I’m still committed to clutter clearing 30 minutes a day, (how it all began) this is just what I needed to kick start me as I’d gotten stuck on clearing, responding to and organizing e-mails on a daily basis. Time to get down to the real nitty-gritty!

And I have been relentless. My motivating, “keep on track” question is, “how do I visualize my practice?” I imagine the space as I want it to be: peaceful, healing, spacious and uplifting. All non-essentials, items and info that no longer reflect who I am right now and where I’m headed; old baggage/history - no matter how fond the memories they induce, they are going. I don’t need them crowding up space anymore not only in my basement but also in my brain.

So, as I bid these things and outdated concepts adieu I say “thanks for the memories”; it’s time to move on.


As you may recall I got obsessed with the word coinkydinky and decided to play the synchronicity game. I was to track any hints of the uttering of such word or connections to it for a week. The deadline for it to be considered a synchronicity or coincidence has come and gone – it was Oct. 23rd. Results no hits, yet other synchronicities continue to delight me.
NOTE: image by Richard X. Thripp

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

African thunderstorm

Hi All,

Stumbled out of bed Monday morning at the crack of 10 with sleep still in my eyes, turned on the computer, scanned my e-mails and played this video that a friend had sent to me...

African thunderstorm

Shared via AddThis

Wow! Play it now, if you haven't yet. I'll wait...

It's magical, fun and uplifting; isn't it?

It really set a positive tone for the rest of the day.

As I mentioned in the last post. I can't sing to save my life but it reminded me that although I can't reproduce a melodic tone I sure can appreciate one. My ear has perfect pitch it's my vocal cords that are demented.

My body can't sit still once the music plays - actually that's a fact that I discovered years ago...

Life drawing class for animators at Sheridan College gave our instructor, Suzanna Wald, the opportunity to expose her students to the finest in music and culture. Classical music often drifted in the background, intended to free our spirits so that our artistic genius could emerge.

Unfortunately for her, many a classical masterpiece has been forever wired into every animator's mind (including mine) with images of Bugs Bunny, dancing hippos or some Warner Brothers lunacy which would set her class into fits of giggling or smirks. Having come to Canada later in her life she did not share the same childhood cultural reference and it took her aback.

So one day, when I was modelling for her class, she decided to change things up, play something we would have no reference to so she put on the Gipsy Kings. Suzanna had spent much of her teen and early adulthood in Argentina and had a passion for all things Latin. So much so that I thought she was Spanish but in fact she was born in Belgium. (In fact I found out a few months ago that she was the author for Spanish for Dummies - I kid you not. I was perusing the book in the ongoing effort to find the best resources with which to teach myself Spanish and lo and behold there it was, her name in black and white.) Anyway, the Gipsy Kings, whom I love, but the frikin' Gipsy Kings!?

Gimme a break!

It was nothing short of torture for my kinesthetically dominant self to endure the hours of heart rending, foot stomping, imagery inducing, passionate music of pure ALIVENESS. Music's vibrations dance within every molecule of my being. Every muscle in my body was cramping up under the strain of trying to remain perfectly still. During the breaks I'd have to run around, shake my limbs, jump up and down to releive the tension. If I remember rightly, I threatened her with severe bodily harm in the future if she ever played anything more stimulating than a waltz.

This video also made me realize why I became a cheerleader in highschool. I know this sounds unrelated but it's really not. Sure there was all the "Yea Bob. Yea Smith. Yea yea Bob Smith" stuff, the running around with pom poms, getting the crowd stirred up to a frenzy but I became a cheerleader because this was the closest I'd ever get to singing and dancing.

It's paradoxical really. I was painfully shy and couldn't bring myself to mingle with the crowd at the end of the game - instead I made a bee line straight for the change room. For a kid that spent most of her time alone drawing, working out, lifting weights, doing yoga (before it was cool) cheering made me seem "normal", gave me the chance to be somebody else and was an incredible outlet for vibrant expression.

The "silent" cheer came into vogue when I was cheering. It was simply the use of snapping fingers, clapping of hands, stomping of feet in rythmic patterns while moving into and out of formations - interspersed with jumps here and there - with the voice used minimally to maximum effect. We spent hours working out those patterns of percussion and perfecting the synchronicity of our movements. And, when we went on centre court to debut these "cheers" we were more than cheerleaders - our bodies sang and became music itself!

So, as I watched African thunderstorm, the stunningly creative, simple beauty of the singers as they used their bodies and voices to create sound and invoke image - my heart sang.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

coincidence number 4

Sunday Sept. 6th
While conversing, wine in hand, with others in my friend’s torch-lit backyard I am suddenly captivated by the realization that this is the most beautiful summer evening of the season; a fantastic night for a party. The air is calm and fresh and a multitude of stars twinkle and glimmer in a clear sky.

Situated within a virtual forest just up from 12 mile creek, it feels like we are a million miles away from suburbia yet we are a mere 10 minute drive from downtown Oakville.

Christmas lights strewn from tree to tree decorate and define the stage where GCDC (a band of 4 young musicians) are wailing out their own brand of jug band music (I especially enjoyed their rendition of Eleanor Rigby). The audience, some seated, some standing, cluster in small groups through out the yard and patio. Other partiers wander from group to group for a chat and a laugh.

On this night the Moonshine café closed up shop and relocated to their friends Lucy and Terry’s place for this private party and end of the summer celebration – school starts tomorrow heralding new beginnings for us all.

Kicking back and taking in the scene, the scents and the sounds of this festive evening this comment filters through during a musical interlude while the stage is being set and instruments are getting tuned, “Yah, the Moonshine’s really musician friendly; people come to hear the music and the performers encourage and learn from each other.”

Shortly afterwards a rousing jam session begins.

Though I sing flat and off-key and can’t hold a tune, I love music of all kinds. In fact I sing at every opportunity, most especially when I’m crusin’ down the road in my trusty Ford Escort Alf W- provided I am alone. I envy those who can get up and belt out a tune with abandon and the camaraderie that exists between musicians. I love to hear them talk about music in passionate, expressive sentences punctuated by sounds, riffs and body language when words just won’t do.

I come to hear the music.

It is 4 days later and I am in Burlington attending to some business which brings me within a block of my friend Rozanna’s holistic health clinic. I actually have been thinking of her for a few days now and though pressed for time I feel compelled to drop in. The door is open and I tap lightly. She is on the phone and waves me in. I take a seat and as I wait a man enters the room.

He is a singer-songwriter, friend re-entering the music field after some time working in another profession who has just dropped by to play his just released CD for her. In answer to a question I ask he says, “I’d like to play but I don’t want to do the bar scene again. I want to play in a place where people come to hear the music.”

Upon hearing this I have to tell him about the Moonshine Café in Oakville and (another musician friendly place) CJ’s in Bronte.

Will he follow it up? I don’t know. All I know is that for whatever reason this coincidence occurred and feeling as if I was meant to deliver the message I did so, acting as a connector as Malcolm Gladwell would put it.

Or, maybe the real coincidence is that I was meant to walk into her office and get a free CD, which I did. Maybe I really came to hear the music.
Follow the whole string of synchronicities that happened over a two day period beginning with the post of Sept. 11th - synchroni-CITY up to the present post.

Coinkydink report (see previous post)– no hits of yet.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

The game is on

O.K. the last post full of lies it wasn’t coincidence #3, but #4 that I was about to write before I got interrupted. And, obviously “I just have enough time to enter this sentence” was total bull because well I wrote more than that sentence didn’t I?

Now to the truth; I was trying to take advantage of the fact that my client was late and sneak in the post to get the word coinkydink out of my mind and then go on to write about coincidence #4 before she got here and of course she rang my doorbell as I was in the middle of the second paragraph.

But before I get to the real synchronicity; that would be coincidence #4…

This weird fixation on a word has prompted me to play the synchronicity game because coinkydink is a word that I haven’t heard or read in years. I can’t even remember when that was though it sounds like something Jim Carey would have said a film like Ace Ventura Pet Detective.

So, what would constitute a real coincidental experience?

Hearing someone say coinkydink: either in conversation with me or in a crowd (and no one has read the posts referencing coinkykink – this will not be difficult. Is anyone out there?), on T.V. or in the movies (I can’t now go out and rent Ace Ventura; however if I stumbled upon Ace Ventura and heard the word that would be a coincidence).
#2. Seeing the word coinkydink in print.
#3. Someone while reading the posts referencing coinkydink has a significant memory from the past stirred up where this word has been used in a meaningful way that has relevance for the reader i.e. my late great uncle Ferdinand used the word all the time I take it as a signal that he’s O.K. in the afterlife. No I don’t have an uncle Ferdinand I’m just using it as an example. What the hell do I know from messages from the dearly departed? I’m no John Edwards.
#4. Someone reading this post has, within the last few days, previously heard or seen the word.
#5. It needs to be a totally random, spontaneous occurrence.
#6. It needs to occur within one week, so by Sept. 23rd.

I will keep you posted on this.

And, if any of the above occur what does it mean? Probably nothing but it depends on what the person experiencing the coincidence makes of it – see ground rule #3 for an example. If you are a person for whom coinkydink is significant as per #3 or #4 let me know - enter a comment below.

So, let the game begin!

P.S. I will write about the 4th and last coincidence which occurred on the dates of Sept 10 - 11 in the next post. I promise.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Co inky dink #3

I just have enough time to enter in this sentence.

I will be blogging about the 3rd coincidence. My next client is late - unusual for her.
This word coinkydink (goofy neologistic synonym for coincidence) keeps repeating over and over in my mind. So, what the hell will write it here so that it goes away.

Here she is gotta go.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Sync #2 & #3

These 2 coincidences occurred on the same day as previous post, hence sync #2 & #3.

For the past few months every time my sister Candy and I would meet for chai she would ask me if I’d seen the Ricky Gervais DVD - Ricky Gervais: Out Of England: The Stand-Up Special.

“Oh, you’ve got to see it. It’s hysterical!” and she’d laugh and slap her thigh as she thought about it. She’d try to recount one or two bits but would give up and say, “You’ve just got to see it. You have to get it. It’s sooo hysterical.”

Despite her glowing review, I hadn’t taken the time to rent it until last Wed. night. And she was right, his thought processes are way out there (which I love), his timing is classic Warner Brother’s cartoon style and his stand-up persona is so well fleshed out and natural that his delivery is conversational (a big plus in my book) – I really liked him even when he’s saying the most idiotic things. Laughed - my - ass - off - the - whole - time - funny!!!

He really made me appreciate the art of stand-up once again.

Later that night I play a message that’s come in on my answering machine while I was watching the DVD. Someone called about hypnosis for performance anxiety. The client - a stand-up comedian! A STAND-UP COMEDIAN I tell you, no word of a lie. Cross my heart.

The next day my client *Tim (a sweet, mentally challenged, young man who’s been seeing me for Shiatsu for a few years now) arrives sporting new glasses. I can’t help but notice them as they are very snazzy and stylish and I compliment him on them.

“Nancy, see” he points down to the floor at his shoes.

“Oh, wow new shoes too!” I echo his excitement and he grins back with pride at my approval. They are scuffmark-free, sage green, with the backs intact, for the time being; I say that because Tim has a habit of slipping in and out of his shoes without undoing the laces.

As soon as he lays on his back on the futon he asks, “What do you think of my shirt?”

It is deep red and it too is new.

“It’s very nice. Red is a good colour for you.”

“Thanks” he says. His eyes squish up and he grins from ear to ear as he smiles and giggles with delight.

Periodically he repeats, “Nancy, look at my shirt.”

“Yes, yes Tim it’s very nice” I reply.

Over and over these phrases repeat, like a chorus punctuating our conversation. But it is as if he knows I haven’t really been looking at it because each time he’s a little more insistent. “Nancy, look at my shirt…Nancy, look at my shirt.”

And each time I reply “yes Tim it’s very nice”

When he turns over onto his stomach, I straighten out his T-shirt so that I can get a better idea of his alignment. This forces me to really look at the shirt and there it is… GERVAIS Motorsports with 2 black and white checkered flags (crossed like the letter X), the number 6 appears on the left one, 12 on the right.

Do, do, do, do. Do, do, do, do…

You can’t make this up. Who’d believe it?

*(Tim - not his real name)

Thursday, September 10, 2009


(cartoon copyright Nance Thacker '90)
Click on image to enlarge.

Wow, I’m being inundated by synchronicities!!!
Caught 4 over the last 2 days

I’m thinking about whether to post this cartoon that I did a numbed of years ago.
But then I realized that there was is a story about the inspiration for the cartoon. I could write about that?
Nah, I thought.
But then doesn’t a similar event happen to me – so you're getting it.

Here’s the background story.
About 19 years ago my friend Pat, who was 76 years old at the time, told me, over a glass of sherry, that she’d laid down on the floor in her sun room the other day to relax.
“It feels so good to lie down on the carpet and soak in the sun” she explained.
After some time had passed there was a loud, authoritative banging on her front door. “Who could that be at this time of day? I wondered as I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”
It took her some time to get up off the floor and make her way to the door – the pounding continuing all the while.
“And there’s a young policeman in full uniform standing there and a cruiser in front of my house. Is there anything wrong officer? I ask.”
“Ummm, well no apparently not,” he says somewhat sheepishly, looking about for a rock to crawl under. “I…ah…there was a call…someone...ah…was walking past your house and saw you on the floor, not moving and she, ah made a call. And, he looked at me to fill in the details.”
“Ahh and she thought…” they both nodded as she talked and then said simultaneously.
“I was (you were) dead.”
They stood in uncomfortable silence.
“…Yes, maam she did.”

And, the present day synchronicity:
As you know, Rod and I are renovating the basement. I spent the hottest 2. No, let me correct that. I spent the sunniest, hottest, most stinkin’ly humid 2 summer days of this summer cutting, fitting and installing insulation into the ceiling wearing protective gear that just about made me faint from the heat exhaustion and moisture loss (made me sweat like a pig).
Hiking boots served as construction boots. Socks, torn up blue jeans, T-shirt and sweatshirt were co-ordinated with the ever so sheik:
- Face mask – to keep from inhaling chunks of debris. It makes me inhale my own breath (that’s just so not right and icky) and leaves deep crevices in my cheeks for days; so bad that my friend Sue at Windsor Medical would have vehemently denied that I was one of her photo facial clients. I was thinking of going in and saying hi and seeing if she’d notice anything, but thought that would be cruel.
- Goggles - that fog up from said foul breath leaking out of the face mask, making me virtually blind, when they’re not falling off my nose due to sweat streaming down my face.
- Ear protectors - because last time I worked construction I had tinnitus for 2 months, which was crazy making.
- Bandanna - to keep the volcanic dust from the bits of insulation that fall on my hair down to a minimum.
- Gloves - so that my next Shiatsu clients don’t feel like they’re getting a micro peel.
I totally understand why people don’t wear protective gear. You’re sweaty hot, can’t see, hear, or feel anything. And you’re clumsy to boot; at least I was.
The point is that we did such a fantastic job with the insulation and the ceiling that the place is really, really soundproof. Yesterday as I was waiting for my regular lomi client I lost track of the time writing up treatment reports. It finally dawned on me that time was ticking away and when I checked my watch it was 10 minutes after the hour. My client was 10 minutes late; totally unlike him.
I went upstairs and looked out the door just in time to see him anxiously coming round the hedge.
“Are you alright?” he asked with a worried look on his face as he rushed to the door.
“Uh, huh,” Alright but feeling confused by his concern.
“I’ve been here 10 minutes. I rang 4 times. I got worried about you. The wood door was open and I got no response so I walked around the back to see if maybe something had happened to you. You’re not getting any younger you know.”
Ow, and this coming from a 75 year old!
The implications in that statement just freak me out and stop me in my tracks because immediately Pat’s story flashes into my mind, but it was me he was concerned about! Me!
Sure, sure we’re all getting older, everyone gets older; everyone but me that is.

NUMBER 2, 3 and 4 to come…

Meanwhile to check out more recent synchronicities click here, here and here.
And for the full gamut click on synchronicities in “Labels” to the right

Tuesday, September 8, 2009


I am experiencing unexplainable, unbridled optimism.
This is making me very anxious.

It’s Not About the Pencil

Having coffee with my sister today
Our elderly mother’s having problems with speech,
She asked for a pencil just yesterday.
Candy found a pencil and paper within reach
She’ll communicate some other way?

Candy sits very still
Mom looks at
the blank sheet,
the pen – cil
down to her feet.

Candy thinks
Mom forgot
she had something to say.
I think
she’s planning to pull a MacGyver someday.

Copyright Nance Thacker 2009.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Love is like a Rose

Sometimes cartoons just write themselves.

This one came about from being in character of Dealin’ Dan the Tour Man. Doodling him. Thinking about people; watching people; writing; him writing to his girlfriend – a love note. He sees another woman pass by and immediately she becomes the object of his affection.

All of this came out being in his character – aggressive, intense and fickle as the shifting sands. What you see is what you get without apology. Painfully honest, tactless and oblivious of his affect on others. Loves the “idea” of women and the idea of being in love with them though hasn’t a clue what they’re really about. He was so much fun to work with!

I ran a lot when I lived in Victoria (pretty much covered the whole city either on foot or on my trusty 5 speed bike) and one of my favourite routes would take me past the Empress Hotel and the tour buses. I’d often stop and watch the tour guides luring in the tourists and making their pitches for the double decker bus tour of the city. I thought the whole scene was kind of cheesy and Dealin’ Dan was a composite of these guys.

The decaying rose at the corner of each box just “appeared” reflecting my cynicism about love at the time and giving the cartoon an edge and deeper dimension words couldn’t express. It was spontaneously inspired after a visit with Sid Barron.

Sid Barron was a childhood idol of mine. When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait for the Barron cartoon in the Star. Mom would pass it over to me and I’d sit with it spread out on the floor to find Puddytat, the biplane towing one banner or the other or the phrase “warm isn’t it?”

I was at a yoga group party when the conversation turned to my cartoons. The yoga group was always very supportive of my work which appeared regularly in the Yoga Centre of Victoria Newsletter. Somehow I got talking about Barron’s cartoons and in the middle of the conversation I heard the words, “I know Sid.”

I couldn’t believe my ears one of my yoga mentor’s best friends knew Sid Barron! How on earth would she know Sid Barron? If I recall correctly, I think she went to school with him in Victoria. In any case she assured me that she could introduce me to “old Sid”. And sure enough she did.

We met on a few occasions in the mid-80’s. At that time he cartooned standing up, in a closet-like space which was crammed with cartoons, art boards, pens and other cartooning paraphernalia. I felt a kinship as I too had an unorthodox approach, cartooning sitting cross-legged on the floor using a portable drawing board that my brother had made for me.

He talked about his process of coming up with cartoons. One time he found himself doodling, drawing chairs from every possible angle – that provided the basis of a cartoon. When he found he had a difficulty drawing cars to his satisfaction he put more in to challenge himself. His irritation at clothes hangers inspired another piece. (Every time I struggle with clothes hangers I too get irritated but it reminds me of him and the irritation disappears.)

I always loved the many tid bits of humour hidden away in the bigger picture. So, when you’re reading a Barron from this link I hope you take time to find Puddytat, the plane, and/or “warm isn’t it?” as you scan for the intricacies in each cartoon. I hope you too appreciate his gentle humour and sense of style as I do.

Sid was a truly funny, quirky, gentle man, who was amazed and genuinely flattered that the National Archives (now Library and Archives Canada) were in the process of gathering together a collection of his originals. What a delightful gift it was to have met him.
*cartoon copyright Nance Thacker 1985

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


One of the many things I love about dreamwork is that you don’t have to get the message right away. If you let it sit with you, your dreams, coincidences, or your life will offer up the connection that delivers insight. Such is the case with the 3rd coincidence JADED that I wrote about yesterday.

What was behind the need to write about and explore this coincidence?

Why now?

Every year at about this time a feeling of insidious melancholy creeps up on me. The chill in the air, the shortening of days and the morning dew that appears on the blades of grass bring with them a feeling of longing that grows deep and dark, penetrating my very core. And, true to form this year is no exception.

When I look at my life there is nothing to be worn and weary about, but its tone is contained within nature’s changing seasons. Am I too not a product of nature? Water stirs in my bones, tissues, and cells; the moon and the tides are evidence of its capacity for plasticity. What makes me expect that I should be consistent; remain unaffected?

In last night’s dream I am returning to school. Moving to a higher level; excitement coupled with loss.

Leaving loved ones and dreams behind – some by choice, others have chosen to leave me. Relationships change, “We only have so much energy to expend. One must choose to bring relationships into right relation.” says a friend living the immediacy of the battle between life and death that cancer brings.

FALL – I fall back in time. A time of harvest, of good byes, celebration, appreciation, regrets, gratitude. It is a time for laying the fields to rest. Paths taken at the expense of others; words spoken, those left unuttered; choices made consciously or by omission revisit my soul in this the season of the days of reckoning.

I am being tugged away from the vibrancy and the distractions of summer before I am ready to embrace the journey towards winter’s dormancy. Though I know it is inevitable it is ever so! Resisting the cycle I cling to stories of past choices and futures lost which play over and over, intensifying, torturing and entangling me in their web.

…If this I choose.

The recollection of and the need to write about the coincidence of JADED was perhaps meant to do nothing more than lift my spirits or maybe it is the way to something more.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009


“We need to take dreams more literally, and the events of waking life more symbolically”
- Robert Moss
- tapping the power of dreams, coincidence & imagination
(note: click on the link then Books Media and then on the book itself for more info)

This is a quote from the book that I’m reading at the moment. I love this stuff!
I really love to play with what is commonly called synchronicity or more accurately coincidence; I look for these happenings every day and today caught 3.

First one:
Rod and I are renovating. We have been sanding the walls all morning and Rod discovers that we need a specific type of primer paint to allow us to paint acrylic paint over the oil paint we have on one wall. I, being the gopher as well as demo-woman, have to go to the paint store. “But before you go, check yourself in the mirror”, he advises.

I have to laugh as my hair and face are covered with white dust reminding me of native cultures who cover their faces with ash during various ceremonies.

On the drive back from the store as I wonder in what direction my particular dubious skills will take me in the future, in the distance I see a man in his early 30’s. At first glance his face looks like it’s painted like a lion. But that can’t be I think to myself and then I question, “why not?” Upon closer inspection he looks a little wild and crazy as he has thick white cream of sorts smeared irregularly over his face.

Second incident:
Rod and I take a break from our painting. On page 2 of today’s SUN newspaper is this headline “Documents suggest former Rolling Stone Brian Jones was murdered”.

On our drive home from our holiday on Sat I had my ipod on shuffle and up came a Stones’ song, which for some reason, lead me to comment that there was another Stone at one time but he was found dead in his swimming pool.

Now, I’ve listened to the Stones many times without ever thinking about that particular piece of trivia.

Third one:
Thinking about what to write next in the blog I consider writing about one particular coincidence (before either of these two events had occurred) but discount it. Then just a few hours ago as I’m reading Moss’s book, these words on page 183 “And you’re not too old or jaded to develop a fresh (italics his) connection” jump out at me. Though this is referring to the use of images of superheroes or cartoon characters in boosting the immune system’s abilities to fight off disease, the word of interest is jaded.

Here’s why.

I was going to write about a delightful, synchronic event that happened a few years back.
Melissa, my friend Sue’s daughter had a song that was just starting to get some air play on the radio. It seemed every time we talked her song had just been played, but I’d always missed it and was disappointed. Then, one day while driving, I noticed the license plate of the car in front of me – JADED. No sooner did I begin to laugh when lo and behold Melissa’s voice came over the radio singing her (then) latest release called - JADED. I got so excited and delighted by this coincidence that I had to then and there call Sue (who also works with dreams as well) to tell her just what was happening.

I got her answering machine and left a hysterical message beginning with, “you’ll never guess what is happening at this very moment…” with the music blaring audibly in the background.

All the while I figure I have to pass this guy and get his attention regarding this magical (to me anyway) event. I speed up, roll my windows down as I do so, crank the volume up even more, and as I pass, wave to the guy to get his attention and then point to the radio and to his license plate.

Well, I don’t know if he "got it" or whether all he saw was just this wild, crazy woman flailing about in her car but I do know that in that moment I was not jaded but in fact was quite the opposite!

So what does all of this mean?

I don’t know if it means anything.

But, it just makes life magical! And, that for some reason I needed to blog about this today.

I just checked the thesaurus, for antonyms for jaded to use as a title for this entry, they are: unused, fresh. Well, I didn’t know that. Apparently that's another word of interest.