Safe Passage

Suitcase Diaries Road Trip: Moving to Vancouver Island
Day 1

This image is magical and is exactly how I feel as I drive.

I'm writing from THE RICHARD LAKE MOTEL in Sudbury where Ryan Reynolds once stayed. I know this because there's a signed pic of him predominantly displayed at the reception desk. We pulled in at about 10:30; finally left Burlington around 3:30 after a tearful good bye to Flippy and Maya who will be staying at the CAT'S CASTLE until the 12th. Little Maya was a real trouper, walking around their room checking out the other residents while Flippy was having a melt down hovering in a corner in their kennel. Ron brought her a privacy tent where she could hide til she felt safe

I have been having flash backs during our drive today through southern Ontario; a place that I know well from past experiences.

I waved goodbye to the urban sprawl that is happening above the #5; something Burlington residents were promised would never happen due to the importance of our farmlands but the powers that be have not stood by their word. Rod and I marvelled that neighbours can now watch people enjoying the roller coasters at CANADA'S WONDERLAND. I don't know when this happened as it used to be in the middle of nowhere. We wondered how long it will be until residents of the neighbourhood complain about the noise.

King City, the location for my lomi trainings with Harriette and Birgit, reminded me of my lomi ohana (family). Lomi really was responsible for setting the wheels in motion for this whole adventure. As I worked with the power of intention my intentions became clearer as to who I wanted to be and one thing lead to another and here I am taking a journey I really wasn't thinking of in 2005. Thanks go out to Lynne, my flying instructor for saying to me, about lomi "You, of all people, really have to do this!"

Mount St Louis is where Nor drove to through horrendous snowstorms so that we could go downhill skiing. Across the road the cross country course where Ellen, Arnie, Rod and I enjoyed a spring skiing on corn snow wearing only sweaters and jeans being careful not to end up in the pool of water which had formed at the end of the trail cus your skis would come to a grinding halt and you'd be catapulted into the puddle in the blink of an eye.

As we pass the sign for Lake Rousseau I realize that my niece had lived up here for a few years; lucky girl! Rod and I rented a cottage on nearby Lake Muskoka in '94.  That was when I discovered my love of kayaking and the "Thacker" wave was born. My brother Rob and Dad came up with a virtual flotilla in tow including a yellow kayak. Since he had to drive at a snail's pace to accommodate the load, Dad waved on the cars behind them to encourage them to pass. However, to the mortification of my brother, Dad's arthritic fingers made it look like he was giving them "the finger" so drivers gave them "the look"as they passed.

The sign for WHITE SQUALL kayaking outfitters and school takes me back to the self-rescue training weekend with my late friend Mary. Being small, nimble and fit, it was easy peasy for me to get in and bail the craft out numerous times, not so for my much larger friend. She gained my total respect as she displayed patience, perseverance and ingenuity as she made attempt after attempt and finally, nearly totally worn out, completed one rescue.

Parry Sound carries memories of Bryan's cottage where I spent almost the whole weekend in the buff laying on a rock like a lizard when I wasn't swimming or feeding the chipmunks. Near there is a cut off for Marisa's cottage. A few years ago she hosted a wine and cheese tasting evening and sleep over for  "Council of the Sleepover" members. This was my first long drive one that I was too chicken to do the year before. And now I've embarked on the quintessential Canadian road movie experience - driving across the country to a life that fits better.

I was going to say a better life, but that isn't so. The past 27 years has been an amazing ride and I have truly been blessed with wonderful friends and clients. The past few months have been filled with emotional endings and good byes but how lucky am I to have to endure this.

The Council of the Sleepover promised me that if I returned to Ontario there would be lots of get togethers and they didn't disappoint! Thank you, thank you, thank you

The chocolates Susan and Neil dropped into the mailbox for Rod and I to savour during the journey never made it out of the house. In true comfort food fashion they comforted us during our time of need, the hectic few days of packing up our stuff.

I eat a bagel from Tim's paid for by the GC from Regina and Sandy as I drive to tunes selected for me by 2 friends Russ and Dan: one compilation CD is all about dreams whereas the other is a bit of a blast from the past - Moody Blues and the Cowboy Junkies. The walkie talkie endorsed by Andrea sits beside me and allows "little buddy" to communicate with "my guy" who leads the way in the U-haul (I'd have taken a pic of the insides of it but, being one who claims not to have a lot of stuff, I find it too embarrassing as it's packed to the gills).

On my dash is the eagle feather that I found on the island last year; the one that called me back "home". Alongside this is the beautiful safe passage basket that Sue crafted for me just for this special journey and in it is a scroll containing this poem. I'm not sure whether Sue is its author or not - she may have told me when she presented me with it but I was internally too emotional to take it all in.

I carry with me other gifts: the spectacular journal (it will be christened during dream teacher training II at Mosswood in Sept) from Di my always meant to be sister-in-law; the golden shawl from my 97 year old inspiring amiga Liliane; most special heart stones from Kalani and Flo; knitting needles from my knitting buddies Pam and Glyn; feather earrings (that I'm wearing now, that came with a fantastic necklace) from Marisa; the picture from Aust and Linda of downtown Oakville in the winter (as we won't have many of those on the island) Oakville as I remember it from when I worked across the road at Oakville Shiatsu and Massage Therapy Centre; the tree of life glass work from our "Dan's party" friends; and Rod and I will enjoy many a meal funded by Roseanne and Pete, Dave and others; the feminine pee kit from my longest time friend Janet (I promised her a product review so check in frequently to read that...)

And there are those gifts that touch my heart, fare well get togethers with: Sue and Katie; Austin and Linda; Susan and Neil; Eva; Rob, Sue, Candy and Rick; a visit from Montrealers Kathy and Jim complete with Montreal bagels from that cool 24 hr bakery and Jim's helping hands to ease Rod's load on those final workdays; Pam and my visit to Flo's where we witnessed that amazing rainbow around the sun; being drummed out for a safe journey at the last full moon fire ceremony by Janet (and the sacred spit, called by another name :-)) and the 19 other participants; Glynnie's "don't go" spontaneous burst in the middle of dinner which made us all jump and then burst out laughing at last weekend's "Council of the Sleepover" sleepover; Austin's company and help on Tuesday as we prepared to load the truck which lightened our load; the kind people at the kitty castle. Candy's last minute errands. Pam's help with the kitties, and our next door neighbour who took a ton of stuff this aft saving me from taking it to the reuse centre. The telephone chats with my sister Jude and the e-mails from so many; the list goes on and I'm sorry if I missed anyone.

People dropped by to say bon voyage (some more than once) and client's came for that one last session.

How can I leave them I ask. And, that's how it should feel. Thank you all for your kind wishes, your calls, hugs and words of encouragement and support. You are in my heart always!

And, last of all, goodbye 5305. When I came back to Ontario I never imagined I'd ever own a place of my own, have my own garden, let alone renovate it (that amazing bathroom too) with my guy. What a gift you have been!

Maya's "fuzzy" was the last thing I found when I took a final tour.

Future dreams my life

I really do wonder if the dream in the last post is a dream of the future. It feels like one.

As a young child I yearned to be able to dive into water like the bigger kids, but something held me back and I'd chicken out at the last minute to the exasperation of my doting Dad. I watched and watched the others but couldn't "get it". Then one night, I dreamt the perfect dive. I felt it in my cells, muscles and bones and I just "knew" that, tomorrow I would do the perfect dive for real. And, to the complete astonishment of my father, I just dove; not a kid's fall into the water with body ramrod straight and arms stiffly held overhead that passed for a dive, but a real jump off the deck entry.

From a young age I had a facility at drawing and would spend hours sketching away at the kitchen table. Logically one would assume that sight was my strongest sense. But when people asked me how I knew how to draw I just said that I drew what I saw. But that wasn't exactly right. I know now that when I "know" the object in my cells, bones and muscles I can render it on paper. When I'm particularly inspired it virtually leaps onto the page.

When I began my study of yoga I saw myself in a dream walking along a driveway into a yoga-retreat centre in the mountains in North America. A decade later I "knew" that I was walking that same roadway one day as I returned from picking Queen Anne's Lace for a Rudolph Steiner garden potion that I would later be stirring in the pre-dawn hours and spreading over Yasodhara Ashram's garden as a temporary resident/gardener in the spring of '78.

Again that same knowing came over me when Swami Radha suggested I check out the animation program at Sheridan College, which happened to be in my home town, a place I was more than happy to leave a few years earlier and had no intention of returning to, except as a visitor. Despite my determination to stay on Vancouver Island, the island wasn't co-operating. Nothing I did met with any degree of success: my effort to make more than a subsistence living, my cartoon strip, my attempts to get to India to study yoga. All met with failure. A friend later said that islands spit you out once your purpose for being there has been served. It seemed so.

More than this, during those years on the island 2 recurring dream themes visited me. In one I was driving in a car, with my Dad in the passenger seat. We are chatting and enjoying our trip and then he dies, while I'm driving; not due to an accident — he just dies. In the other, a vague knowing that a friend introduces me to an accountant who I later marry. The latter dream, I found particularly absurd as all my life I'd said I'd never marry. Even my dreams supported me in this declaration as I'd never gotten married in my dreams. I've made preparations for my wedding, even walked down the aisle, but all would come to a skidding halt as I'd become panic stricken, break into a cold sweat and bolt or wake up knowing for certain that I was dreaming.

But, it seems that a part of me knew and perhaps so did Swami Radha, that my destiny and a new path was opening up for me, not at an ashram in India but back here in my home town.

And, within a week of my return in the spring of '86 I did meet the man I was to marry (yes, an accountant at the time but within the year he returned to his love of contracting) after an introduction by a childhood friend; a fellow member of the "council". Realizing that this looked like, but wasn't intended to be, a "fix up", she gave me the opportunity to refuse the invitation to dinner, but I passed, assuring her that I wasn't looking for a relationship. My sites were set on a career in animation that would lead to India. I felt certain that my dream was a mistake and by that time had buried it away in a corner of my being.

Then we met and I "knew" my life had changed. And Di and I both knew (as we'd always known), that we really were actually going to become sister-in-laws.

I accepted Rod's second proposal (not his first) only after receiving a close-up "hand in hand"dream image appearing against a sandy backdrop. It felt right in my cells, muscles and bones and I "knew" that he would be there for me and that there was no reason not to marry him.

My father died in 2002, not beside me in a car I was driving. I "knew" the message of this particular dream was not literal but was metaphorically telling me that I would be there for him. The efforts of my brother and myself (who shared POA duties) along with our siblings, enabled him to live at home. He died in the hospital after a, thankfully, short stay.

What future is dreaming my life now I wonder.

Treasures in the most unlikely of places

As you can see, I was doing dishes the other day when suddenly I was moved to take this picture. I was doing the last bit of cleaning up the day after a great New Year's Eve shared with council members Glyn & Pam and their spouses. I was in a "good space" where all is right in the world; a moment of contentment. At that moment I realized how all these things I was washing give me great pleasure not only to look at but for the memories they hold.

We filled the crystal wine glasses, from my parents' collection, with champagne which we used to toast in the New Year. In my parents' day it was Sherry but no matter. A few Christmases ago  Rod and my Christmas gift to each other was this set of colourful plates to make our settings cheerful and fun. The white one tucked in behind we bought as a one off in Yorkville a few years prior, again a Christmas purchase. It was pricy, needs to be hand washed but is a lovely plate for presentation of treats. The blue-green bowl reminds me of earthy things and I purchased at the One of a Kind in Dec - a memento of a fabulous time had by Di and myself.

The little ceramic pot beside it, Rod and I found in the pottery section of the craft marketplace silo in St Jacobs when we were first together. I like to mix spices, smell them and adjust them in the little pot before throwing them in the cooking pot as my Indian house-mate Jaya did when teaching me how to make curry during my university days. Tucked in front of it is a less showy but equally serviceable stainless steel cup that I also use for that purpose which reminds me of my many restaurant stints, especially my time at Jasper Park Lodge.

On the edge of the sink is the basket for my coffee maker. I just got it about 2 years ago and it comes out whenever friends come to visit. Before this I'd take everyones order and enlist a guest to go for a coffee run with me to the Tim's on the corner. 3 stones plucked from the shores of Lake Huron are nestled into the corner reminding me of the power of mindfulness, love, healing, council friends and Florence's place up north.

The ladle, from One of a Kind years back, reminds me of many wonderful outings I've had with friends. It hangs along with other fine serviceable pieces from the same artisan, creating an ever changing glistening piece of wall art when not in use and shows up especially beautifully against the tile on the wall; a work in progress. Rod and I picked them up a few weeks ago and he got only so far before the holiday celebrations began. A contractor's place is often in various stages of completion. I'm told tomorrow will be the day work resumes. I love the subtle multi-colours in the stone. 

We don't have a lot of "stuff" but I'm fortunate that all of these things continue to give me great pleasure and I am grateful to have not only them, but the memories and messages they contain. 

It's a simple thing, but sometimes simple is fantastic!

Fashion Statements

copyright Nance Thacker 1991
click on cartoon to enlarge

Do you know someone who can go out: without makeup, wearing sweats, torn sneakers and unwashed hair tucked into a touque and still look fabulous? Well, I do. This is one of life's gentle ways of giving you a head's up that life isn't fair.

Have you ever noticed someone with: hair and makeup done to perfection; blood red, salon groomed, nails glistening in the sun; wearing her "Sunday" best in clothes and bearing; plonked down in the middle of the Hamilton bus station (circa '75) who didn't look out of place? Well, I did. I almost felt compelled to give her bus fare.

I went to the One of a Kind Show and Sale last week with Di. She took pics of us on her cel phone. Infinitesimally, it looked fine; posted it on FaceBook, holy crap, I look like...I dunno what I look like. And don't go wandering over there to see, just take my word for it, I didn't look as fabulous as I felt.

That picture challenges my belief that it is better to feel good than to look good. Billy Crystal channeling Fernando Lamas would disagree as well...



By the way, you look MARVELOUS darlings.
HAVE YOURSELVES A MARVELOUS DAY!

Accessories

(cartoon copyright Nance Thacker 1990)

(Click on cartoon to enlarge)

To Jan, Di, Pam (since we referred to this incidence repeatedly throughout the day) and to the other members of the COUNCIL OF THE SLEEPOVER who couldn't go on our outing today, this cartoon memory is for you.

How lucky I am to have spent a glorious day, the sun was shining and the weather warm with a gentle breeze, 20 years after drawing this cartoon, checking out the town of Jordan: eating, shopping and hanging out with 3 other council members and life-long friends.

Lunch was at Zooma Zooma Cafe where I enjoyed a delicious crab and lobster wrap and a glass of local white unoaked Chardonnay wine!

STITCH a lovely knitting and quilting shop was loaded with delicious yarns in every colour and blend offered at 20% off, we couldn't resist and all came away with materials for our next knitting projects. We soaked in the ambiance of their homey living room/knitting area drinking iced tea and munching cookies. Di isn't a knitter (yet) so I will knit up a scarf for her in exchange for the amber jewellery she gifted me with during her impromptu "give away" earlier this morning (Sat morning). And, though it felt like it, I'm pretty sure today wasn't my birthday.

The sales ladies at SANTA-FE LIFESTYLES stayed w-a-a-a-y beyond closing time, indulging us, as we tried on pretty much every item in the store, mixing and matching tops, scarves, necklaces and shoes. They pulled out their smallest sizes for me, which to my surprise fit! So today instead of CD's or books (consolation purchases I usually resort to when I find everything's usually too big) - I came home with a sheer jacket.

We ended the outing at the local ice cream shop called Toute Sweet— where they blend your choice of ice cream with any number of chopped up treats ranging from baked goods to chocolate bars, nuts or fruit, although I enjoyed my choice of delicate honey lavender ice cream, unadorned.

There was no sleep over tonight, we will save that for another time, as we all had to scatter in our different directions tomorrow, but we reminisced about that gathering 20 years ago and talked about family and the future over a cup of coffee at Di's before heading out.

Thanks Di, for being our gracious hostess and chauffeur and showing us the local delights. Thanks Jan and Pam for the lift and the pleasure of your company too! And, thanks to the powers that be for blessing me with these wonderful friends. I wish you all have such good fortune.

Kid, Adult...What?

(cartoon copyright Nance Thacker 1990)

(click on image to enlarge)

Red the Juggler taught me and a horde of 8 to 12 year-old kids how to juggle. I should mention that I was 30 at the time.

Catherine "the Great", a former co-op house-mate of mine, had a friend who owned a children's bookstore in Market Square in Victoria, who had a friend who was a juggler — that would be the aforementioned Red, so named for his halo of fabulous, frizzy, flaming, orange hair. Red's claim to fame was that he could teach anyone how to juggle and was going to be doing so "for free" in the middle of square in two weeks time.

Co-incidentally, she was aware that this happened to be something I always wanted to do. As I was perpetually juggling 6 or more jobs at the time: yoga teacher, artist's model, house sitter, cartoonist, and dishwasher (to name a few), it seemed metaphorically apropos.

It proved to be way more fun than the breakdancing class I took a few months later — which was a one-time-only experience, cut short when I woke up the next day to find that I was unable to comb my hair. My neck was stuck ramrod straight and though I could raise my arms up to shoulder height I couldn't get my hands to reach my head. Oddly there was no pain; just no movement, until my chiropractor cracked me out. And when he did, though painless, the action produced such a loud crack that I screamed, I kid you not! His receptionist came running into the room to make sure everything was OK, my scream was that impressive.

I'd subluxed my first rib and he said, somewhat awestruck, "This is not an easy thing to do. I hardly ever see this. What the heck were you doing?"

At the time it seemed perfectly normal to be trying something that fascinated me, but it was downright embarrassing to hear the words, "I was learning how to breakdance" come out of my 30 year-old mouth. The look on his face only served only to anchor my humiliation as I explained that I was, (to my surprise) the only 30 year-old woman clad in yoga gear, in a class of flood pants wearing pre-teen boys with the addition of one "30 something" guy in sweat suit attire. I never found out how the other geezer fared but since I was whipping his ass in the agility department that night I can assume that in another chiropractor's office somewhere in the city he too was getting cracked out.

Anyway, the juggling class was 1 hour of pure frustration. Mostly it consisted of a bunch of kids (and me) dodging each other, running after errant flying balls, getting bonked in the head by errant flying balls, retrieving them from underneath benches and chairs and picking them out of flower baskets, of which there were many in the garden city of Victoria. At the end of the class I stood in line with the rest of the kids to purchase a set of handmade juggling balls for $5. - Red made himself a decent buck that day. And hours later, after everyone else's mother had called them home for dinner, there I remained until finally my passes were met with success and I could claim to actually be a juggler.

Juggling is a form of play and a way for me to relax. Juggling wipes my mind clear of anything else; if you can't focus you can't juggle. Years ago I was told that the women of Tonga juggle to attract a mate, don't know if that is true for them but it worked for me as, "Can you teach me how to juggle?" was the pick up line Rod used before inviting me out on our first date. (He met me at his brother's place and saw me juggle for his nephews.) I can see it all now, hordes of 30 something, single women forgoing make-up and the little, cleavage revealing, black dress in favour of learning the art of juggling to find the man of their dreams. Stranger things could happen.

What brings this to mind is that Rod and I, Glennie and Pam (2 other council members) spent this past May 2 4 weekend at Flo and Jack's place in Port Albert just a 15 minute walk from Lake Huron. It was a fantastic weekend full of laughs, stimulating conversation, great food (Jack is the most amazing cook and he makes it look so easy), fantastic hospitality (Flo is a gracious and doting hostess) and wine.

On Sunday we did whatever we wanted to do which meant that: Flo, Glyn and Pam went into Bayfield to shop, Rod and Jack played 9 holes of golf and I went to the lake to walk, read and meditate. I'd been craving a silent retreat for a few weeks now so I did my own little vipasana session. Though I had only a few hours it was incredibly rewarding. I alternated sitting for 20 minutes with 20 minutes of walking. As I walked down the country lane on my way back to the house I juggled which is not only entertaining but my favourite form of walking meditation.

What was different about this particular weekend was that we played games - scrabble, cribbage, crokinole, bocce ball. Crokinole and bocce we played the way kids do, making up our own rules as we saw fit. Bocce ball on the beach took on its own unique form. As Jack carved the double borders of the court into the sand beach we set up the ground rules.

"What will we do if the ball goes out of the court?"

"The team who owns the ball gets a negative score."

"Negative score! You can't have a negative score."

"Why not?" I asked. No one could come up with a good answer so scores of minus one's and two's appeared and disappeared as the games progressed.

"And if you hit the jack (the little white ball) in such a way that it gets covered by sand then you gain a point." Jack proposed, which we all thought was a brilliant idea and was met with great enthusiasm.

We acted like children taunting and teasing the other team; rallying our own team mate to, "Shake it off, shake it off." when the ball leapt out of their hand and into a negative situation. And when the games were over the winning team high-fived and gloated victoriously.

Finally, playmates my own age!

_________________________________

About the cartoon: yes, this actually did happen years after my first class with Red. I was totally taken aback when, instead of being greeted with child-like expressions of awe, this little middle-aged woman in a kid's body said those very words to me.

I'm Ba-a-a-a-a-c-k!

It really boils down to this:
that all life is interrelated.
We are all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality,
tied into a single garment of destiny.
Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.
We are made to live together because of the interrelated structure of reality.
(Martin Luther King, Jr. (A Christmas Sermon for Peace, Dec. 24, 1967)
(I got this quote from Yoga+ Joyful Living magazine Winter 2009/10)

I have had writer’s block.

It began after a sorrow filled few months. Since last October, 2 members of the council lost their mothers. Another’s beloved father-in-law also passed away this fall; her mother had died in the spring. I have followed the journeys of these people that I love from the announcement by physicians that the death of their mothers was imminent, to the final outcome. And, I have witnessed their deepest sorrow.

One of the mothers was my good friend Pat. After her passing on Wed Oct 7th I found myself unable to write or post anything. It was not that I was bereft of ideas to write about, it was just that my heart was stuck.

During a long walk on the sunny afternoon after her funeral, when I just needed space and time for reflection, I realized that in order to get my pen flowing again I needed to write about this. I wrote other stuff but, aside from my last entry, nothing felt right. The guardian of the realm of blog posting was saying, “nope, not this one not now. Give me what you really need to write about, what is in your heart. Until you do that you’ve got nothing to say.”

It is only now that I can do so.

My experience of the workings of the world is that when someone dies a void is left. And as the universe re-organizes itself to fill the vacuum that is left behind, everything you once knew as solid is tossed into chaos: relationships, perspectives, priorities, values, sense of purpose; everything! Life can seem pointless (after all we’re all going to die) and precious all at the same time cus after all life is short …AND we are all going to die.

I write this blog for me. This is a space where I pour out my heart and thoughts. Here I can express the best that I can be, own up to the worst; turn my negativities into fodder for insight and create something positive in the process; have fun with humour; be creative; find inspiration; write of hopes, fears dreams, dreaming and intuition. It centres my mind in the power of positive thinking and the healing realms of creativity and imagination.

Friends read it on occasion. My sister-in-law and fellow council member called over a week ago now, wondering what was up - “I checked your blog and you haven’t entered anything for over month!”

“A month; has it really been more than a month?”

Actually, just checking now, it’s been over 2 months!

I tried to explain what was going on within me but found the spoken word inadequate. I couldn’t talk and organize my thoughts at the same time in a succinct, intelligible way. It’s only through reflection, writing, writing and more writing; letting the thoughts tumble onto the page that the truth, as I’ve experienced it, unfolds.

Where has the time gone? It seems like I stepped into a black hole (not a metaphor for depression, maybe a worm hole is a more appropriate term) and got spit out the other side. My own life has been busy in the process of its own re-organization – learning and offering new modalities for my clients and re-envisioning what I want to do with the new work space created as a result of ongoing renovations.

With the passing of the preceding generation I and my generation are becoming the elders of our clans and this reality changes my perception of my own future. Retirement, somewhere down the road, no longer is a theoretical slippery slope towards decline but is becoming a real possibility full of new opportunities to be explored.

What would I do if I wasn’t a wholistic health worker? Hmmm, the question brings back a conversation I had with my Dad when I was in my 20’s. He was disappointed that I hadn’t done anything with my “God-given talent” for art.

“What do I have to say? I haven’t really lived; haven’t seen anything of the world. I can draw but so can all the others in my university art classes – what made me special in high school is run of the mill here. So, maybe who knows, maybe I’ll get back into it when I’m older. Ha, when I’m retired.” I said with a laugh.

“Yah, maybe then I’ll have something to offer.”

Who knows? Maybe.

And death of course is inevitable…but until that time there is life to be lived. And on the eve of Pam and Glyn’s departure for the pura vida of Costa Rica to make happy memories with fellow council member Flo I wish them all buen viajie on this next stage of their lives.

Inside

This Saturday the inspiration for this cartoon turns 95 years old. At the time of this cartoons’ composing, my friend Pat Dix was about 76.

Pat is the mother of Pam (a member of the Council of the Sleepover). She has been a friend of mine since I became an adult, but even before that she was someone special to me.

When I was a child she had, long beautiful black hair that she braided and secured to her head with exotic combs. But she’d let it flow freely down her back or in a single braid in the summer when she was gardening. The summer sun tanned her olive skin to a perfection envied by us teens who’d spend hours slathered in baby oil with sun reflectors made of Reynolds wrap angled at our necks to get just the right distribution of rays.

She worked hard at Oakville Trafalgar Memorial Hospital handling the autoclave in the sterilization unit. Then her refined good taste, sense of style and natural elegance shone through as a sales woman at Birk’s – later to become People’s Credit Jewelers (managed by my uncle Lou). And her sense of adventure, challenge and passion for reading was employed in her position as the Bookmobile lady for the local library. During a time in which many of our mothers stayed at home she worked out of necessity – having been widowed in her 40’s. I was well aware of this and admired her strength and all the things that she could do.

Her home is filled with her artwork. Oil paintings adorn her walls; one of a beautiful, slender, black woman comes to mind as do the many landscapes. Her skills as a craftswoman are displayed on upholstered chairs which she has elaborately embroidered, quilts which cover her beds, picked-thread-work runners and table cloths. I’ve watched her do counted threadwork – in white relief no less, and manage countless bobbins of thread, skills I could never imagine having the patience for in my wildest dreams.

I think we really became friends when Pam was away in other places and I would continue to visit Mrs. Dix, who began insisting I call her Pat and we’d have a coffee and talk about art and life. She includes Coronation Street and the motor sport racing circuit amongst her many interests. She always had time for me, made me feel welcome and appreciated.

The best thing someone can do for me is to teach me a skill and help me perfect it and I am eternally grateful to Pat for teaching me how to knit. For a few years I belonged to various informal weekly knitting groups that met at her home: one was comprised of members of the council and another consisted of my sister-in-law Patti, her sister Maureen, and me.

I’ll always remember Pat and me sitting in her sun room, working on our projects; waiting for Patti and Maureen to arrive. We’d hear their car pull in to her gravel driveway. There would always be a substantial pause before a car door would slam. Then Pat and I would crack up (she’s got a great laugh accompanied by a broad smile that crinkles up the corners of her eyes) at the decibel level increase that occurred as Patti and Maureen chattered to each other on their way to Pat’s door. “Here we go.” Pat would chuckle. Pat’s a low key sort and those evenings would be filled with fevered discussions and much laughter. I’m sure we wore her out on many an occasion but you’d never know it as she always welcomed you in with a smile, every time.

With her love of colour, texture, design and her innate teaching ability, she inspired me to knit; she was surprised at how quickly I picked it up but I know it was due to her inspiration. And for years I have taken my work over to her for her perusal.

So, the cartoon, well it was an actual conversation which I slightly shifted for it was Pat who told me the story of going to a fast food restaurant and having a little “twerp” call her ma’am and how she hated it because it made her feel like some little old lady.

I was thinking to myself, "but, Pat you are" when she continued, “it’s not fair” she said, “being in an ageing body; all young people see when they look at me is wrinkles and grey hair when inside I really feel like I’m still 20. They don’t see the young person inside.”

Just last Christmas when Pam, Glyn and I were having a knitting night at Pat’s I reminded her of that conversation and I asked, “I guess you still feel like you’re 20, eh?”

“No, not 20” she paused for a while, smiled and then chuckled, “probably around 30”.

So Pat from my 18 year-old self to your 30 year-old self.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

And, to everyone else, next time you’re talking to a 90 year old remember to say hi to the 30 year old inside.

(cartoon copyright Nance Thacker 1990)

3 days at flo's

Just 2 weekends ago I was on my way up to Port Albert with Jan and Pam (members of the council) for a fun-filled 3 days at Flo’s place.

Our first day was a beach day for sunning, swimming, and summertime novel reading.

We rode our bikes to the “zoo” to visit Janet’s peeps, the sheep, who last year confirmed her as one of their own when, to our amazement, they called out “Jaaa-aaa-aaa-neeh-eeh-eet” (swear to God it is true!). The animal refuge is filled with llamas, alpacas, goats, elks and sheep and as we sped away to beat an oncoming storm 2 young alpacas gamboled alongside us.

Later that day we visited Jan’s sister’s cottage to meet up with her sister Bub, daughter Rebecca, nephew Bill, his wife Andrea and their 18 month old son Duncan. It blew my mind when I realized that Duncan is the fourth generation to make sand castles on this very beach in front of this same cottage.

As we toured the cottage Bub showed the many quilts adorning the beds (Glyn, I thought of you then; you would have loved them!). As she traced her hands over each quilt she fondly recounted the story contained in each piece as naturally as if she’d put a stylus gently upon a record and I realized that the appeal and magic of the quilt is that they contain the visual and tactile history of events in the lives of the quilters.

Each morning the others joined in my daily ritual of drawing from the Journey to Kanaka Makua cards to see what the tone of the day would bring. Then we’d retire on to the deck to take in the sun. There I’d do yoga while the others were guided by Florence in her famous face exercises.

I was banned from her class a number of years prior due to uncharacteristic, horrible, uncontrollable, heckling behaviour on my part. I admit I did sneak in a facial gesture or 2 as I did my yoga poses and, after owning up to my behaviour and humbly confessing that Florence has shown unexpected dedication and sincerity in her practice of the face exercises and that the results are indeed remarkable, was welcomed to participate. Once our faces were sufficiently stimulated we sat with our coffee, smoothies (left-over pizza in Pam’s case) and planed our day.

In Kincardine and Goderich we perused used book stores, shoe stores and a quilt shop. My stamina for shopping is no match for that of the others and I enjoyed looking in the shop windows or just hanging out on the street while they lingered. Soon I was corralled into a shoe store to see the shoes that Jan and Pam agreed “were meant for you. We thought of you as soon as we saw them. You have to get them.” They fit me as surely as the glass slipper was made for Cinderella… and they were in the bargain rack for $10.

Best thing, I didn’t have to sort through stacks of stuff to find them. I love it! These women are not only my best friends; they’re also my personal shoppers!

I spent the rest of the afternoon mincing all over the cobble stoned streets of Kincardine in my high heeled gemmed beauties, jeans, hoodie and sunglasses – the epitome of celebrity shabby shiekness.

After returning to Flo’s, so that Pam could pick out just the right “flying outfit” to set the mood, we headed out to the local airstrip for her first flying lesson. Those who know and love Pam can well imagine the permanent smile plastered on her face and enthusiasm that oozed out of her every pore in anticipation.

This last night of our stay found the gods blessing us with a glorious clear sky which had just a few hours prior been filled with grey menacing thunder clouds. This was the perfect setting for Pam’s maiden voyage in the Diamond Canata 2 seater plane at 8p.m. The pilot described it as a race car with wings so we all know that Pam was thrilled and in her element.

I was enlisted as the official photographer for said historic event and hopefully Pam will allow me to post some in a future entry. Since Pam can’t take a bad pic there will be plenty to choose from.

I didn’t get to bed til 2 a.m. that night but rose in time to bike down to the lake for one last swim. At 8:30 a.m. I was the only soul on the beach for miles! In this area of Lake Huron the cottages are mostly older and modest, set well back of the beach. The water level is up very high and the blue-green, grasses native to the area are coming back, encroaching on the beach. Much of the shoreline is pebbled.

As I walked along the beach the crystal clear aquamarine water lapped on to the shore, propelled by a gentle wind, following the contours of the shoreline. I became mesmerized by the sound of my breath, the rhythm of my foot falls and the ebb and flow of the wavelets which traveled along the length of the angle of the beach providing the perfect curls as they advanced. Perfect for surfing, if you were an inch tall.

The water called me in. For me nothing can match the sheer awe of being in nature all alone. Gratitude filled me as I swam and floated in the calm, clear waters taking in the rays of the sun until my limbs became chilled. Then I lay on my towel, while the warm wind dried the droplets from my skin.

When muffled sounds of conversation and shoes digging into the pebbled beach became louder and clearer with the approach of 2 walkers, I caught myself becoming irritated, “it’s getting too crowded; “time to move on!” I had to laugh I had just spent 2 hours in solitude on this lovely beach. How spoiled we are in this amazing country. I jumped on my bike and returned refreshed and ready to join the others packing up to spend some time in Goderich before leaving for home.

That afternoon, before we headed out to go our separate ways, we got gelato from the gelato shop in town operated by the most enthusiastic gelatineer you could ever imagine! We sat outside her store enjoying our treats, chatting, laughing and kidding one and other, reading suggestive passages from Jan’s “bodice ripper” and called our loved ones on our cels to say we’d be home soon but stretched out the leave-taking, reluctant to let go of the cottage frame of mind and our friends. It was only the raindrops heralding an oncoming storm that forced us into our vehicles and down the road.

the deer, the antelope, and me

Wow, a number of my friends have responded to the last blog that I wrote (which you’ll have to read to make any sense of this one). I know you’re looking at the comments section and see the number 0 and think that I’m lying, but this is because they communicate to me by e-mail (you’ll have to take my word for it).

This one from my sister-in-law caught me by surprise:
_________________________________________________________________

I was feeling fairly certain that I had forwarded on that one from my friend Norm who lives in Nova Scotia, but perhaps I'm being delusional, and that's allowed because my sinuses are blocking my brain from having a ..... something or other.....
The concept was (like the game show) that everyone’s answers had to be different, and by golly, they sure have been. Also I believe meant to be close to one word answers, but being the writer, you're given a pass on that one.
And what's with the deer thing??!! Have I missed something since the lasts time we talked?? It's too late to call, and I just read it, so I'm kind of freaked out because you mentioned the cell phone thing. So whazzzzup?
Love Di,
The girl with red snot. ewwww (going to the Dr. tomorrow)
_____________________________________________________________________________

I was touched and somewhat puzzled by her concern over something that I wrote for fun. So, I began to send her a reassuring response and as I did so this question popped into my mind, “what does the tale I wrote about the deer, the antelope and the cel phone feel like?” It FELT exactly like the events of Tues April 28th and before you know it all kinds of “mind stuff” spilled into my awareness. Lo and behold, her momsense was not nonsense after all.

Even as I lived through the events of Tues April 28th I thought to myself how like a dream it all seemed, riddled with frustrating, unexpected, weird events and breakdown in communication. My subconscious mind had created a dream of sorts, related to that day in the form of the metaphorical tale of the deer, the antelope and me and, in so doing, allowed my heart to speak.

In true dreamwork fashion here’s BACKGROUND INFO. about the events that lead up to the creation of “dream”.
- Mon April 27th – We are told Mom may be able to come home tomorrow. (I doubt that this will take place) I plan to pop into the nursing home tomorrow to get some questions answered re: her increased needs and get ideas of how to rearrange her room now that she needs to be in a wheelchair. Coincidently tomorrow is also my last day working at WMA and I will be moving my stuff out then.
- Tues morning April 28th – my brother Rob calls - Mom is going home this morning. (minor annoyance as I will have to be more involved than planned) but this is a good thing for her. He will take her out of the hospital and I will meet them at the nursing home to help her get settled in.
- 10 minutes later my sister’s e-mail indicates that she left my I-pod that I’d lent Mom for the duration of her stay in the top drawer of the hospital side table. Oddly, I have just begun a major sorting out, a regrouping after my failed business venture and I’m reviewing everything that I own – what to keep, what to get rid of so that I can clear old “stuff” out and allow new energy to enter into my life. My I-pod is definitely a keeper. Concerned that Rob won’t check out the top drawer, and with no way to reach him – he has his cel phone turned off in the hospital - I have to go to the hospital to get it. (Major irritation)
- At the hospital I find Rob, being his meticulous self of course, has scoured the place and safely secured my I-pod. I help clear some things out, set out for the nursing home, arranging to meet him and Mom there later on to help get her settled in. He will call me when he is leaving the hospital and I’ll be at the door with wheelchair. (resigned to the situation)
- In midst of meeting with supervisor at nursing home – Rob calls. I don’t have time to finish my conversation nor deal with her room. (annoyed)
- Waiting, waiting, waiting at front door. Receptionist comes over. My sister is on the phone. What? I check to find my cel has been accidentally turned off. (internal Tourettes-like outburst &#&*^%^*^%@+.....!!!!). Rob, with no way to reach me and without the nursing home phone number had called Candy to enlist her help.
- She tells me that Rob’s car has broken down on the way. He has called ambulance to take her the rest of the way. (In comparison my day’s not looking so bad!). Initially they want to take her back to the hospital as they usually don’t get called to shuttle some old lady stranded at the side of the road off to a nursing home. He convinces them of the purity of his intent and they comply.
- Waiting, waiting, waiting... I call to let WMA know that I’ll only be able to be there for my 3:00 apt. This change in plans means I end this association in a stressed and distracted state (major disappointment and sadness on many levels).
- Mom arrives. The paramedics comment on how sweet she is and how my brother seemed “a little stressed (major understatement), especially when they indicated they’d have to return her to the hospital”. She gets wheeled through the dining room on the stretcher to a chorus of “Hi Edith, welcome back” from staff and residents, doling out the “Royal wave” as she passes (this lifts my heart). We put her to bed and she immediately falls into a contented, relieved sleep. Mission accomplished. (sense of satisfaction)
- I make it in time for my 3:00 apt at WMA, dismantle my “office”, pile everything into my car and rush home for a session with a client at my home office. Too busy and emotionally wiped to unload my vehicle I drive around for days with everything from WMA in the back of my car (feeling like a nomad as I reinvent myself, the right place for my work and just what it is eludes me).

_____________________________________________________________________________

MY E-MAIL REPLY

Hi Di,

Don't worry about the deer thing. Creative mind wanderings.

I first answered the question about what wouldn't you want to find on your windshield - something that no one else would think of and one word - deer came up, but then when I came to the question about phrase with home in it "home home on the range..." came into my mind and lo and behold there was a deer reference in the next line and then my mind went on like a Rorschach test so when I spoke about the dead deer I connected to being pissed off that my cel phone was turned off by mistake when I most needed it (Mom's transfer). It has been turned on by mistake and run out of juice without me knowing til I come to use it many times in the past and it would be just as likely to happen in a situation like this.

Wow, now when I write about it I'm thinking it's kind of like a dream that I could have had (had I been sleeping) and a metaphor for how that transfer day went.

*So dream working it, the elements look like this:
Deer = Mom who has experienced a decline; a death of an aspect of herself.
Antelope = Rob, the “sad antelope hanging around” waiting for the tow truck to take away his “dying” car.
playing = their relationship is one full of word play and humour which they both enjoy.
The deer and the antelope play on the range but I have veered off the road and hit them = my day went off track and I became involved
cel phone with dead battery = difficulty in communication and ensuing energy drain that I was experiencing on many levels.

Huh, weird and cool! Thanks for the question. No wonder I felt so good after writing it - it was funny (at least to my mind) and a provided a big release - better than screaming, crying etc.

Needless to say I was really pissed off about the phone and realized that we need to get a new phone. That was before answering the questionnaire!

Hope your snot turns green soon!

Nance
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*SOME OF THESE ELEMENTS HAVE BEEN ADDED SINCE THE ORIGINAL E-MAIL. I ADDED THEM IN THE BODY OF THE LETTER FOR CLARITY.

There is so much more contained in this “dream” and so many different ways it can be approached but, this gives you an idea of how to begin to listen to and receive messages from the heart and in so doing participate in a healing journey of body/mind and spirit.

PURA VIDA!

I have recently returned from Costa Rica.

It is sunny and cold out today but the warmth of the weather, the place and the people of Costa Rica has penetrated into my very core, it radiates out of my cells and warms my skin; my spirit soars as I amble along the sidewalk, my unzipped jacket flapping in the wind while those around me withdraw into their parkas clutching their scarves tight against their throats to fend off the bitter cold.

Only a few days ago I was walking the beaches – playa Grande, playa Flamingo, playa Conchal, and playa Tamarindo; after a long, steep, picturesque descent to the waters edge playing in river chilled natural Jacuzzis, formed by collections of rocks at the base of a majestic waterfall and later that same day therapeutically soaking in volcano sourced heated hot springs.

I “swam with the fishes” (just as my husband predicted I would) or, to be more precise -snorkeled with them; re-enacting scenes from FINDING NEMO, engulfed by one multicoloured glistening school as I watched another group cruising beneath us on a path to some other destination, the Geiger counter-like tick, tick, tick of the coral rocks playing in my head all the while. A brilliant yellow, black stripped, slightly larger than a minnow, lone fish dances in front of my mask returning time and time again to peek at his playful reflection or swim alongside me. Even the sting of invisible jelly fish (literally – they are totally clear globs) though a really, really creepy experience during the minute or so that it takes for me to pass through them (my mind races - could some huge prehistoric eel be taunting me before I am fatally zapped) has a mystical quality here and my sense of awe numbs their sting.

I realize my life long dream of surfing and have caught the bug. Yes, really surfing, not standing on a board just to fall off, but riding a wave, feeling its swell beneath me propel me forward and carry me into shore as Glyn, Pam and Flo cheer me on and my instructor shouts incessantly, encouragingly “again Nan-sea, come, come my friend, again. Paddle slow, paddle quickly. O.K. Nan-sea, up NOW. Good, good. Again, come, come my friend.” - surfing boot camp at its best. And, to imagine I had to come all the way to Costa Rica to enter a surf shop festooned with a stuffed toy beaver, a Canadian flag and a Calgarian owner come this way via Australia.

And there’s Herson*, whom we have declared the mejor guia (the best guide) of all Guanacaste barreling along serpentine dirt roads in the dark of night maneuvering traffic as only a Tico can after a day full of venturing with us off the beaten path. Sometimes he speaks with us in Spanish to help us learn the language, other times the soundtrack of our youth streams out of his radio and we excitedly chatter about our lives, times, people and places we have known and later that night when we were all but asleep his soft voice blends with Costa Rican songs on late night radio.

What a joy it is to converse in my broken Spanish on a local bus on its way to Liberia with an indigenous Nicaraguan equally adept at English. Together we are teaching each other. He is a construction worker employed here legally for the last 7 years; the working papers he shows me testify to that fact. We have common ground – my husband works in construction too I exclaim. We talk of family, work and life. He seems as excited as I to be here and he points out places of interest to us.

I feel privileged to be one of a few gringas mingling amongst the local ticos - adults, families and school uniform clad children all gathering in town to celebrate what it is to be a Costa Rican in the Guanacaste region.

My friends and I dance with a local patron in a Zapateria (shoe shop). Doesn’t everyone dance in a shoe store? What great advertising we provide - “these shoes are so damn good they make your feet dance!”! Although I myself don’t buy any, I am too tired from all the exertion, the store takes on the festive atmosphere and as we leave the young man is still dancing in the isles inviting all who enter to come join him in this joyful expression of the vitality of life.

From a second story restaurant balcony, cervesa (beer) in hand we watch a parade of sabanerrelos (cowboys and cowgirls) riding proudly “dancing” horses as trucks of little brass and drum bands play in raucous, joyful celebration. The ease with which they ride is a tribute to the art of the equestrian and their way of life. Later this day there will be bull riding, bull fighting and more displays of horsemanship. Thought no physical harm will come to the small herd of bulls that are paraded down the street as they are taunted by the melee of boys and young men seemingly eager to display their bravery, my eyes - windows to the soul, have locked onto those of one of bulls. Suddenly I am transported. The music becomes a cacophony of sound; the crowds energy is taunting, threatening and challenging; momentarily a wave of confusion, claustrophobia and irritation washes over me and I must turn away from the scene to disengage. After a while the sensation passes, my festive mood returns and when join my friends on the terrace the bulls are out of sight.

How wonderful it is to witness Pam’s pure, child-like delight as she sees close up her much sought after perisoso (sloth) carrying her babe on her back at a wildlife reserve. To our delight blue Mono Butterflies flutter around us in one enclosure. And I am in awe of the healing power of nature as this once barren grazing land, reclaimed a mere 9 years ago is now thriving, filled with towering trees (the size of which would indicate close to a hundred years of life in Canadian forests) and lush undergrowth.

On a sunset boat tour El Capitan takes us to secluded beaches and a trip around 2 small outlaying islands. I will forever have the image of our “Bow rider” Glennie silhouetted in the setting sun, sitting astride the bow, hair blowing in the wind, snapping pics of flocks of pelicans perched in stands of trees high above us. Her initial concern for the lack of life jackets aboard the boat totally erased as she engages in this NOW moment.

And on a windswept morning I stand on the terrace overlooking the bay and the sea beyond at 5 a.m. to welcome the dawning day as I listen for the haunting sound of bands of howler monkeys declaring their presence and territory for all to hear. Is it a howling wind or this mono congos’ call? The dull lionesque growl at its end identifies the latter. Green full bodied parrots swoop and dip in clusters of threes past my head and the air is filled with bird songs beyond my description as flashes of colour – reds, oranges, and yellows flicker here and there only to disappear into the foliage and flowers surrounding me.

Life has called to me “Come, sing, dance, explore, play, swim; take it all in and become drunk with the beauty that abounds.” My wild, free soul resonates with its vibration. Ahh, PURA VIDA – PURE LIFE resonates in my heart!

*hersonsegura@gmail.com

The Council of the Sleepover

E-mails like this one fly via the net from the hearts of grateful women to their “sister girlfriends” everywhere.

Hi all,

Just wanted to add my thanks to you Jan as well.

Talking with you all helps me to put my life and its particular challenges into a better perspective. Women are repositories of real life wisdom. We poke, prod, debate, cheer on, kid, console or just listen and are present for each other - how lucky we are!

I too am glad that we could be with you on the anniversary of your Mom's passing - to remember such a special lady and raise a toast to your Mom made the occasion even more special.

And, to Glyn, Flo and Irene we missed you.

Thanks,
Love and Light to all of you who light my way
Nance

How lucky am I! I am one of 8 members of the COUNCIL of the SLEEPOVER. Earlier today I launched this e-mail in appreciation for Jan’s hosting of the long anticipated sleepover this past Sat night - the latest in a lifetime of such gatherings.

I don’t remember meeting Janet. We must have been introduced to each other by our mothers. It seems we have always known each other and we are as she says, “longest time friends”. No one has a greater sense of humour about herself. I see her 11yr old self folded up origami style, laughing hysterically - her long legs and arms splayed in all directions when the child’s stroller she was crammed into folded itself up around her as it rolled down the steep driveway into our garage finally crashing to a stop at its brick end wall. Jan emerged unscathed and still laughing.

The 2 of us met my future sister-in-law 51 years ago when she moved into the new house next door. Di and I always knew we would be sisters-in-law. The childhood crush I had on one of her older brothers made it seem likely to us that he would be my future spouse, but this wasn’t to be. 22 yrs ago Di invited me to a dinner to welcome me back to Oakville. She had also invited her unattached brother-in-law Rod. “Not a set up” she swore when she discovered the double booking and gave me the option to opt out. I was not looking for a partner so I went and the moment she witnessed her guests’ eyes meet Di uttered to herself, “Uh, oh!” Within a few months our childhood premonition came true.

Jan had known Pam before she moved into our neighbourhood with her Mom and James Dean cool, 10 years older brother. He was so cool that he had a Porsche with a racing stripe across its hood. So cool he shared his coolness with us, enlisting Pam, Glyn and I to be part of his pit crew. Think of it, 3 crazed teenaged girls in levis and tank tops running on to the side of the track flashing the chalk board with lap time and numbers as he whizzed by in his formula V car on tracks like Mosport and Harewood – we were sooo cool and had sooo much fun. A horror movie to Pam is any movie in which a really nice car gets totaled.

Within a year of our meeting Pam (whom I met when I was in about grade 5 or so), Pam introduced us to Glyn who she insisted was “really nice and not snobby at all”. This was important as she was in the enrichment class having skipped grades along the way. Glyn was, even in those days, politically aware, a supporter of noble social causes, and an unsurpassed debater with flawless grammar. If you wanted to know anything about anything Glyn was your girl. What movie trivia is to my brain; valuable info is to hers. While I still had pictures of horses on my bedroom wall Glyn had the likes of Einstein, Gandhi and Bertrand Russell.

Flo, our Joanie Mitchell look-alike, came my way via the others who were a year behind me in school. Shortly after graduation she became a court reporter - talking into a steno mask to repeat all that was said in the courtroom. We all agreed that this was a most perfect career for her as she loved to share “information” about others. With a genuinely funny delivery her light manner and gossipy style belie depth of thought and shrewdness. With great tenacity she remained in the industry adapting to technological advances along the way for the reward of the retirement pension at the end. Now retired she lives, “the life I was born to live”, that of a retiree living out her dreams.

I was aware of Marisa in high school but it wasn’t til my return to Oakville that she became part of the Council through Di. Marisa has more relatives than all of us combined. She can cook a dinner for a bazillion people, entertain visitors, take care of ailing family members, design and sew tap dance costumes for 6 kids of varying sizes in an hour, help her husband run a business, travel all over the world and maintain 2 households. I can cope with myself, a husband and 2 cats on a good day. Family is her life. 2 new grandsons have been added to the mix in the last 6 mos. – she just wants to “eat them up”.

Irene came in a few years after Marisa. She is an honourary member; an intensely private person who comes and goes. Her quiet gentle presence is a contrast to the groups’ no holds barred, outrageous, loud and rambunctious collective nature.

Nothing is sacred and everything is up for discussion: personal life, politics (the source of greatest debate), sex, money, health; you name it. We have supported each other through all of the rights of passage: births, marriages, deaths, divorce, illness, health, good fortune, retirement. And we will support each other in whatever else life sends our way because as Di said in her e-mail of appreciation, “As long as we have each other we’ll be fine.”