Ode to Victoria

I loved Victoria B.C. I just couldn't make a living there. I struggled for 4 years to work on my cartoon strip while I housesat and worked at various jobs to pay rent on my studio space, provide for basic necessities, art supplies and fund mailers containing full sized packets of cartoons - 6 weeks worth of dailies, Sunday pages, character bios and an introduction into the world in which they lived.

In need of a break and some family TLC, I scraped together enough money to return home to visit with family and friends. At an evening get-together as my friends talked about their homes, husbands and children or of exciting single lives with well paying jobs it became apparent to me that the reality of my life was something they could not imagine. Maybe I really was, as a sister-in-law had thought of me at that time - a Don Quixote of sorts.

A year after I wrote this poem, at the age of 34, I gave up my quest, made my way back to Ontario and moved in to my folk's place in search of a new beginning. I did not know then the unexpected turn my life would take.

Cartoon and poem © Nance Thacker 1985

Winter wearing thin

Click on image to enlarge
© Nance Thacker 1985

I have been loving this winter! I love that we've had snow that's lasted for weeks and weeks, that the days for the most part have been cold, crisp and sunny and... that we've had a "snow day" which is like the best excuse ever to drop everything you have to do and just kick back.

But, I've been getting the first sign that my enthusiasm is beginning to turn. No, I'm not getting tired of the cold or the snow. I'm getting weary of all the layers and layers of clothes that such a winter demands I wear especially today as I moved through 3 totally different venues: a business meeting, skating with a friend and doing a Shiatsu house-call. Inside, outside; inside, outside... layers on, layers off; layers on, layers off...further burdened with sessions of choosing and changing from business to sporty to therapeutic attire.

Then there's keeping track of all the gloves, socks and scarves. It's no wonder that Mom lined all 5 of her brood up, zipped us into our snow suits with hooded jackets, shoved our feet into winter boots and our little hands into mitts attached with strings and tossed us out one by one into the cold til the last was wrapped up and delivered. She shut the door and locked it behind us (I know, unheard of nowadays) until we'd gotten the prescribed dose of healthy fresh air (it was actually believed that being outdoors daily was good for children). Of course once the last child was turfed out the bladder of the first one was just about ready to burst. The sensation of full bladders would spread through the little troop like wild fire and all 5 of us would be pounding on the door and wailing dramatically to be let in.

Mom, from her vantage point at the other side of the closed door, using her "mom knows best" voice, would re-assure us that our little bodies had this amazing capacity to re-absorb the offending liquid, all we had to do was run around in the snow a bit and we'd see that it was true. And, for the most part, she was right.

Once the howling stopped and the older ones took charge, she'd retire to the most coveted place in the house, her sanctuary — the bathroom where she'd enjoy an uninterrupted flow of her own, sink into a hot, bath infused with baby oil and drift to a place where only mothers go on such an occasion; the most incredible dimension imaginable.

All this tripping down memory lane emphasizes the point I that I wanted to make which is — when I begin to yearn for the days when a tan is all that one needs to wear I know that the shine is beginning to wear from winter's appeal.

NOTE ON THE CARTOON: No, I didn't go to Hawaii in '85, but friends of mine did. I could only send Dealin' Dan the Tour Man there in my imagination.

LILY PAD LION

She knelt
as she gazed
into the glimmering pond
which had drawn her near
by its purring, lapping sound.

Just below its surface
she caught a glimpse of a green, lily pad.
Ripples of sound emanated
from its blurred form
beckoning her to peer deeper and deeper
into its centre.

As she did
two amber spheres took form,
a nose sniffed,
a mane tossed,
and a tufted tail swished.

A splash broke the eerie twilight;
a golden lion climbed onto the bank,
shook drops from its glowing coat
and padded away
with nary a backward glance.

And now throughout the jungle night
night birds sing,
crickets chirp,
and a glimmering pond laps and sobs.
___________________________________

This "poem" began as a doodle (since tossed out) of a green form that... became a lily pad, that... took on amber eyes... and then my imagination took off from there. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. It evokes, for me, the mysterious mood of a Henri Rousseau painting.

I wrote this for an English course in 1986.
It has been re-worked into the form you see here.
copyright Nance Thacker 2011

Poem for a young girl

She loved to sing.
But, her voice was a thing
Off key and flat.
So, she wouldn't do that!

For joy she'd dance,
Til she saw people glance
In an envious, sour way.
"What's there to dance about?" they would say.
Though it wasn't a sin,
She'd keep her urge to dance within.

She dreamed she'd draw.
But, soon she saw
She was no Da Vinci, Raphael
Nor O'Keefe neither.
Then, just as well
She wouldn't do that either.

She hoped to write.
But all day and all night
Not a thought would come into her head.
T'was as if she were dead.

So she wanted to cry.
But, her heart was so dry
That she curled up so small
Til nothing at all
Was left of her.

Without her will
The world stood still.
And all was doom
All was gloom.
Black
For the lack
Of hopes, dreams, joy and love.

She seemed forever
Lost in this land of never
Where no songs were sung,
No dances danced,
No colours seen,
Nor thoughts expressed.

But what few people know
Deep down there's a glow
Deep within
Where Black is thin
Is buried an ember
That can remember
Hopes, dreams, joy and love.

Gradually the ember stirred
The Black blurred
Out Light spilled
A heart it filled

The light grew stronger
And brighter
Eventually spilling
Into the form of a young girl
Eyes welling
With tears that fell, soothing
Her spirit and clearing her mind
Because in her heart
Hope, dreams, joy, and love were entwined.

Now always she sings
In a voice that still rings
Off key and flat
But, she doesn't care about that.

And, when she dances
She notices glances
Joyous as well as sour
Some are just meant to be dour.

She'll draw and paint
So what!  A master she aint
Her work's unique
Not
At its peak.

Now her writing flows
Cus, in her heart she knows
In doing these things that are part of her
Doesn't matter what others think of her
The expression's the thing
Makes her free spirit sing
Sweet, clear and true
And,
That's
Just
What
She
...
Loves to do.



Poem copyright Nance Thacker 2010.
Cartoon copyright Nance Thacker 1985.

No "ums"

The night before leaving for beautiful Vancouver Island I was sitting cross-legged on a stool at CJ's Cafe in Burlington, reciting my poem ODE TO A YO-GI. This was no small feat and I'm not talking about my precarious perch - that's a piece of cake (I'm sitting this way on a stool as I write my blog). I'm talking about public speaking.

In public school every year from about grade 5 to 8 we had to write and give a 5 minute speech. My older sister excelled at this task and the unspoken expectation from my teachers was that I would too. But this wasn't the case. Being shy, short and feeling out of place in my pleated skirt that hiked geezer-like above my waist and knee socks that rolled down at my ankles, I decided to stand behind the lectern. As I spoke, for what was at that time the longest 5 minutes in my life, soft sounds of someone counting in the background could be heard.

"25...26...27..."

My teacher grinned all the while I must be doing pretty good. And at the end he applauded... and then broke into gales of laughter. "That was the funniest thing I've ever heard". (My topic, an informative presentation on Mario Lanza, my Dad's favourite singer of the moment, was, I assure you very earnest and without any hint of humour.) "You said 105 um's (he looked at the boy who was counting them for confirmation) in a 5 minute speech. Not only that, we couldn't even see you."

I was mortified, I'm NEVER doing this s**t again I vowed as slunk back to my front row seat.

I was told, in high school by my English teacher to stop talking once, "I find your voice extremely irritating" was all he said. I shut up for the remainder of the school year.

This from people in a position who should know better!
It's enough to give someone a complex.

Yet here I am, someone who's been a yoga teacher for the past 34 years; a hypnotist for 3. Somewhere along the line I was able to let these experiences go. Amazingly to me, people ask me to record hypnosis sessions for their use and often I've been told that guided relaxation is the favourite part of a yoga class...because of my voice.

It wasn't a conscious thing, it just happened.

When I found myself sitting under the glare of the spotlight that night a brief shiver of foreboding, remembrance ran down my spine. But, I had practiced for this moment over and over in my mind as I drove the car, went to sleep, showered; I spoke it aloud to establish points of emphasis; I imagined sitting in front of a hushed crowd listening to my flawless recitation. All pure SELF-HYPNOSIS 101 techniques for conquering stage fright.

What I didn't account for was laughter (this time welcomed) nor for the cloak of darkness the spotlight illuminating me, cast over the crowd, cocooning me and lending the moment an unexpected feeling of intimacy.

Best of all, there were no "ums" in my recitation of the poem nor in the other selections that I read that night and no one counted in the background.

Thanks Brian and CJ for the opportunity to give it another shot after all these years.

*     *     *

BRIAN POSTED ODE TO A YO-GI (and added some nice pics) IN HIS BLOG QUICK BROWN FOX

EARWORMS? BELIEVE IT!

I woke up this morning
And jumped out of my bed

I believe it
Yes, I believe it


With plans of Forrest Gumping
Dancing in my head

I believe it 
Yes, I believe it


Alf W was relaxing
Pedalled my bike instead

I believe it 
Yes, I believe it


Ate a croissant, drank ice coffee too
At my favourite cafe, Pane Fresco-oh-oh-oh

I believe
I believe
I belie e e e e eve


Wrote in my journal
Of dreams and plans to do

I believe it
Yes, I believe it

Went to Spencer Smith Park
And juggling did I do


I believe it
Yes, I believe it

Biked home in time
*To watch the Germans win


I believe it
Yes, I believe it

And through this time
Earworms
were singing from within


Believe it
Yes, you can believe it
You can belie e e e e eve it down in your soul
_____________________________________
*was watching World Cup Soccer - Germany won and placed 3rd

"EARWORMS? What are earworms?" You might ask.

If you have a touch of neurosis, (and who doesn't) you, no doubt, have at one time experienced that: "tune wedgy", song, portion, words or melody that you just can't get out of your head.

The above bad poem shows you just how I experienced my day yesterday. Since sharing and playing I Believe To My Soul I haven't been able to get it out of my mind.

It's a lot better than Skidamarinky dinky do which was my constant companion days after taking a trip with my brother and his family when this happened...

(copyright Nance Thacker 1990)

Skidda (I am not so cruel as to post this as a video as, as any Canadian parent knows, it's totally viral!) was played, over and over and over again to the delight of my sweet niece during a prolonged bit of driving. If she was happy; we were happy.

I also read somewhere that earworms tend to work their magic when people are feeling optimistic.
So to all you optimists out there here is another bit that'll worm its way into your brain. It's full of such great energy and so much fun that it's worth listening to and risking infection.

ENJOY!!!

The Turn Around

Aspirations blocked at

every turn

Fire of desire

Turn me

inward

Oppression, compression, tension,

Drive me

Deeper, deeper...

Diamonds bursting forth

Cascading

worlds

in Moon-drops

Sunlight dances

on water's rippled edge

(Poem and photo copyright Nance Thacker 2010. All rights reserved.)

guru kitty

Spirit

heavily laden

with

worldly matters

Pillow sitting white cat Smiles

Spirit

Soars

tough cookies

The week long silence is broken
As he offers her this token
From his throne upon the couch
This mopey, grumpy, grouch

“The cookies you’ve been buying me are stale", he grumbles
As the cookie crumbles
From beneath furrowed brow
He wonders
What will she do now?

The cookie
A bird of peace
The dove
A token of her love

Cookies,
Love
Ovaries
Moment of unease

Cool, calm, collected, as if unaffected.
She says steely eyed
“Don’t mope about, just throw them out”

Buy him more?
What is she, some kind of pimp or cookie whore?

A fresh gesture of love she’ll make?
Cookies from scratch she’ll bake…

For him?

OR…

“Buy them yourself.

Go to the store.”

(poem and photo - copyright N. Thacker 2010)

Brainfarts

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
then
down to her feet.

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

Copyright Nance Thacker 2009.

Pubic Betrayal

Was feelin’ fine,
Was feelin’ sound,
Til one grey pubic hair I found.
Odd that the ones on my head
Don’t fill me with such sense of dread
Of my
Impending
Ending
As
One grey hair
Down there.

(poem Copyright Nance Thacker 1984)

I’m sorting out mental clutter today, can’t you tell, as for some reason this bad poem is stuck in my head and I figured that the best way to get rid of it is to get it out into the open.

The fact is I’m so over this now.

Is this a good thing or a bad thing?

ODE TO A YO-GI

I am a yo-gi.
I walk in slow motion,
Don't cause no commotion
In body or mind,
Of whatever I find,
Except for the occasion
When I might be raisin'
A little hell.
Oh well.
Even too much
Moderation
As such
Is no moderation
At all. And it seems
I'm a woman of extremes.
But that's me
A paradoxical yo-gi.

I'm a yo-gi.
Asleep by eight.
Oh, isn't it great
To be up at four
For the pranayama I adore,
Or, at least up at six
To get my fix
And stand on my head
Instead of laying in bed
But, I can't you see
Cus I'm still awake at three
A.M.
I am.
Oh, why isn't the sun
Rising at one
Just like me
The late-night yo-gi.

I am a yo- gi.
And celibacy
is the key,
To keep my mind free
Of base thoughts of the flesh,
Or of lust, or passion, or sex,
Or...
All of the above.
But keep only thoughts of love
Of the noblest kind,
Of limbs entwined...
Sigh... AAUUGH be gone from my mind!
And leave in my head
Sounds of chants instead.
But, is that really for me
This lusty yo-gi?

I'm a yo-gi.
The serious type.
Don't get off on the hype
Of fun and laughter.
It's the "other realm" that I'm after.
Don't want the distraction
Of comic interaction.
But... would it be heresy
For me to say
That the spirit within
Might observe with a grin
How I fumble and stumble so seriously
With this life so laden with glee?
Must admit to be
A cosmic/comic yo-gi.

I'm a yo-gi.
And poverty
'S not new to me.
But lately I've a yen
For a Mercedes Ben
'Z, a vacation in the sun,
Seems I'm just about done
With just getting by.
I'd rather have a high
Income,
A home
Of my own,
A bed, a T.V., a hot tub, a sauna.
I guess I don't wanna
Be poor
No more.
Just call me
An aspiring yuppie yo-gi.

(copyright Nance Thacker 1985.)
This poem was first published as Retreat Reflections of a Meandering Mind (For the unenlightened only) in the summer 1985 edition of the YOGA CENTRE OF VICTORIA NEWSLETTER.

I couldn't get this piece of "bad" poetry out of my mind today. It just demanded to be posted. Maybe it's because this time next week this yo-gi will be havin' her "vacation in the sun" with some of THE COUNCIL her non-yo-gi friends, sittin' on the beach, havin' a drink, sleepin' in - livin' the dream. So here it is with appologies to Ogden Nash (humourous poet extraordinaire) and Janis Joplin who's Mercedes Benz song (except, unlike Janis, I did and continue to, have a lot of help from my friends!!!) were sources of inspiration.