X-Files…part 1 of 4

Today my world is filled with thoughts of ageing, declining health and dying. Cheery, I know! But, it's odd how the universe arranges things through synchronicity.

BEING MORTAL - Medicine and What Matters in the End, the book by the wonderful medical writer, surgeon and lecturer Atul Gawande (think of a cross between Oliver Sacks and Malcolm Gladwell) stares up at me from my desk. Oddly, the sticker the library slapped on its cover says Health & Fitness. Even they don't know how to categorize a discussion on, what will come to most of us, facing the end of our life.

One of the first posts I read on FB today is from a dreamer friend who shared this THE BIG SLEEP on FB - check it out I'll wait…

And just now, somewhat in denial, I begin to write an e-mail to a 100 year old beloved former client turned friend. My fingers get heavy on the keys as I clear the lump in forming in my throat. She's probably died. The New Year's e-mail that I sent to her had bounced back; address no longer available. Despite her advanced years L was pretty skilled at the computer so…I check the obits and there it is; a loving and brief announcement, date of death Nov 14th.

E-mail to L; delete.

Looking for things to calm the restlessness building up within, I delete old, no longer needed files.
Delete.
Delete.
Delete.
… hoping that this will clear things out of my mind.

Short stories I wrote about my struggles with my parents' ageing and declining health pop up on the screen. I laugh at one titled X-FILES in honour of X-Files' Mulder and Skully's penchant for using flashlights during every investigation. "Turn on the damn lights!" I'd shout at the screen. But, to no avail. My mother like Mulder and Skully wasn't a fan of overhead lighting. We Thackers are all night people. Throughout my life, navigating my way to bed late at light was like being in a training school for the blind.

*    *    *

Perfect. Rod had adjusted the light just right. A crisp beam is cast on my side of the bed leaving him cocooned in darkness so that only soft early stage of sleep snores betray his presence.

Ah ... I softly exhale, gently settling down on the futon having tip toed across the room and slipped out of my jeans, miraculously without disturbing him; he’s such a light sleeper. Mindfully I catch a whiff of peppermint tea wafting into my nostrils as I blow on its steamy surface before a sip passes through barely parted lips. And just as thoughtfully I place it on a ceramic tile on the floor, beside the bed. A barely audible sigh of contentment escapes as I open my paperback Awakening the Buddha Within by Lama Surya Das. I pause to allow a wave of gratitude wash over me for a day full of simple pleasures - car washed, treatments done, dinner shared with Mom and Dad, a beautiful sunny day …

“Shit, shit, shit. Goddamn it all to hell!” I slap my book shut and slam it down onto my thigh.

“What the ...?” Rod torques his upper body in my direction groggily shielding his eyes.

“Ah, damn it! I forgot to fill the fucking docette.”

“Language? Geeze it’s as if you’ve got Tourette’s or something.”

“Sorry. When I get pissed off ...  can’t help myself ... Dad does it too ... low tolerance for frustration ... some kind of conditioned response further habituated by ...”

“Do I really have to hear this now?” he interrupts.

Distractedly I grab my jeans off the floor. “Left it on the friggin’ counter. Must have gotten side tracked. Shit I’ll have to go over and fill it.” 

“Now?” he picks up the digital clock recording the time with blood red numbers and thrusts it into the light. “Nance, it’s 11 o’clock at night for Pete’s sake.”

I step into one pant leg and hop about trying to locate the other, knocking the scalding tea over “shee-ite” issues crisply through my clenched teeth as I lose my balance and my shoulder slams into the wall. “Ah! Goddamn it!”

Rod tisks and then forcefully sighs for my benefit as he disengages himself rolling back over into the darkness.

Mopping the tea up with a t-shirt grabbed from a chair,“If I don’t do it now, knowing my luck, Mom’ll call at some ungodly hour. And now I can’t sleep anyway because I’ll lay awake waiting for it like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Shoes. God damn it where are my shoes?”

“Nance, you’re spinning.”

“I can hear her now.”

“Ahem, ahem.” Rod clears his throat for my benefit.

“Well, you know how she is with the answering machine. Mom can’t even work a toaster oven. Remember last Christmas when we got them that little portable tape deck and she said to Dad, sitting there with the unwrapped package in his lap, ‘I hope it isn’t a micro-wave’?”

“I’ve got to get some sleep. Unlike some people, I have to get up early in the morning.”

“Where are my shoes?” As I crawl on hands and knees upturning everything in my path in search of the elusive quarry an all too familiar telephone call plays over in my head.  “Nance ... are you there? ... I ... ah ... can’t find your father’s medications for the day ... could you? ... um ... come over? ... ah ... well, O.K. ... bye ...” Her voice; shaky, apologetic, helpless.

Augh! God my gut’s turning now just thinking about it. Can’t be woken up like that yet again. It would take me days to stop swearing from the aggravation and guilt.

“Shoes are downstairs by the door." He muffles through the duvet. "In all our fourteen years together we’ve never brought them into the bedroom. Get - a - grip.”

“Oh, damn!” I stand with hands on hips in puzzlement. "Tsk, sigh." I proceed to stomp out of the room, “I’ll just have to grab whatever I can on my way out, I guess.”  

“Please, don’t slam the door.”

It slams shut seemingly of its own accord.

“Oops. Sorry.”

“Whatever,” I barely hear him sigh and mumble. There’s a faint click and the sliver of light escaping from under the door is extinguished behind me. Ahh, I relax, blessed darkness.

I proceed down the stairs barefoot with heavy heels.            

“Shit!” I grab at the railing to keep from breaking my neck as our cat scurries down the stairs. “Max get out of the way!”

            *           *          *

Gotta work the ya ya’s out. “Let’s see.” I say aloud as I rifle through the cassettes strewn beside me on the passenger seat.

Eternal Om - too mellow, Colin James - nah, Enya, Rolling Stones ... the Stones ...

Yup, Stones it is! I pop in the tape and crank up the volume.

“You can’t always get what you wa-a-a-nt. You ...” isn’ t that fuckin’ right! I nod in heartfelt  agreement. 

Flat and off key, I break into song wailing at the top of my lungs, "you just might find you get what you need…" And, in a Jumpin' Jack Flash this Honky Tonk woman and Mick are gunning it down the driveway…(TO BE CONTINUED).

Ha Ha Ha

I'm a cheap laugh, as easily delighted by a good turn of phrase that lends itself to ripe imagery as something that brings forth humorous associations.

My brother was quite a fan of Robertson Davies writing way back when. Having similar tastes in literature, I highly valued N's opinions and vowed to dig into Davies' works but I've not been able to pull away from books on: Chinese medicine, dreams, anatomy, physiology, psychology, pathology, spirituality, shamanism etc; that is until this spring when I decided it was time to rectify the situation.

I have finally rewarded myself with "time out" for fiction and Davies' works are calling me perhaps because Robert Moss referred to Davies in his blog. Davies had said that the snowball incident in FIFTH BUSINESS that sets the story in motion was inspired by a dream and the novel is filled with: myth, magic, synchronicity, Jung and life in a small Ontario town; very appropriate reading for this Canadian dreamworker.

I began my reading reward with FIFTH BUSINESS the first book in the Deptford Trilogy which I found in the used bookstore on the corner. "Oh, you'll really enjoy this. He's such an entertaining writer, and so funny. You'll want to pick up the other two; you'll want to read them all" the shopkeeper said as she flipped through the book to find the price noted the inside the cover.

Later that afternoon I dug into the book, finding it fascinating and a compelling read but this was what really won me over... Dunstan Ramsay, at the age of 13, finds himself working as an under-librarian at his local library. Having much time on his hands he spends it perusing the odd materials in the acquisitions room. One of these is a medical text book with..."a portrait of a man with lavish hair and whiskers but no nose, which made me a lifelong enemy of syphilis."

OMG, I couldn't stop laughing. I could so relate. How much time have I spent going over just such material (not just as a reader but during my time as paste up artist for a medical text book publisher) being alternately fascinated and repelled by the text and the photos which illustrate all manner of pathology? With that phrase he won me over.

It still cracks me up and is now one of my all time favourite lines.

Another great line comes from Bill Bryson's IN A SUNBURNED COUNTRY when speaking of Australian prime minister Harold Hold's unfortunate demise (He was swept away into the sea and was barely missed as, being the resilient people that they are, Aussies took it in a "no worries" fashion. ) Bryson says that Hold took "the swim that needs no towel." Ha, ha...

Sick, I know.

On a slightly different, decidedly less literary vein, the last thing that cracked me up was a description of the 2004 Canadian movie, GERALDINE'S FORTUNE; "A local woman is randomly chosen to appear in a popular Canadian game show...". A fantasy to be sure; I was in stitches. This line triggered childhood memories of Canadian game shows and I can assure you that there was never such a thing as a popular Canadian game show.

While south of the boarder Americans were playing lively, wildly stupid, yet immensely rewarding, games often involving personal embarrassment we Canadians had the likes of FRONT PAGE CHALLENGE in which a panel of dour, ancient journalists tried to figure out what news story the hidden game challenger was related to and PARTY GAME* involving 3 Canadian "celebrities" (no such thing at that time in my neck of the woods, unless you were a hockey player) acting as the home team plus 2 other guest celebrities and a contestant as the challengers in a charades style affair.

There must have been more game shows but they were not nearly as memorable as the prizes associated with Canadian game shows. Unlike our American neighbours we had no appliances, cars, nor beautiful models waving their hands over these gleaming beauties. No curtain was drawn or floor spun to reveal what stood behind the dividing wall. We had no trips abroad; to a flea bitten motel on the Lakeshore strip in Toronto for a weekend, maybe, where, I imagined, you could have the opportunity to be personally introduced to young Dunstan's lifelong enemy. But, most common was a set of Blue Mountain pottery or 10 square feet of beige broadloom carpeting, undramatically displayed via a shot of a poster. So when I read, "...sparking a frenzy in her town" in the promo I just about fell off my chair.

* The one great thing about THE PARTY GAME was the brilliant, versatile Billy Van. As a result of his participation in that gig he landed the lead role, AND played a bazillion other characters, in THE HILARIOUS HOUSE OF FRIGHTENSTEIN a truly quirky, campy and funny Canadian TV kids' show whose 130 episodes were made in 1971. It was popular with teens and university students, after all Vincent Price, a true American celebrity was on a Canadian show; how cool was that!

Equanimity, equanimity where art thou equanimity?

My mind is an amusement park run by an idiotic, frenzied monkey.

©Nance Thacker '90

I go to the hairdresser. The young apprentice, while scrubbing and massaging my scalp and salt 'n pepper (more salt than pepper) hair with her magically relaxing fingers, remarks, "Wow, have you ever got nice skin. Not a pore on you and hardly any wrinkles."
Though I know she's just engaging in shop banter (my pores, courtesy of teenage acne carried into my late 30's with the occasional special appearance — around "special" occasions —  are craters and though I'm not the owner of a wizened apple-face, it displays signs of a long term, slightly messy tenant) I fall for it. I FEEL GOOD.
"How old are you?" She asks as I jump into the styling chair and tuck my legs under me assuming my usual half-lotus position. "Whoa, look at you. I wish I was that supple. I'm so stiff."
FEELING LESS GOOD NOW. Both the question and the comment reveals that she truly thinks I'm old. " I just turned 60." I did just say "I" — the person who feels 20 - turned 60?
"Oh, I'm 60 too." A voice from behind us chimes in. The aesthetician with flawless cappuccino-coloured Indian skin, pitch black dark hair and limpid brown eyes steps forward.
"Wow, you don't look 60!" These words, dripping with envy, spill out of my mouth. Envy. Beside her I don't look so hot now. I FEEL BAD

I go for a coffee with my, 4 years, younger sister. We stand side by side as we place our orders. The young barista's eyes dart back and forth from face to face.
"You guys are related aren't you?"she says like she's caught someone trying to pull the wool over her eyes.
Always delighted to be told that I look like the very attractive C (she of poreless, wrikleless skin, highlighted, thick, blonde hair; who could easily pass for 20 years younger) - I FEEL GOOD.
We look at each other. "Nah, never met her before," we say in unison which makes us laugh. YUP, FEELIN' GOOD.
"Yah, my Mom and I always get taken for sisters" she says as she nonchalantly completes the transaction.
OUCH!!! I FEEL REALLY BAD.
My sister has the grace to walk away as if she heard nothing. She knows it's the grey-haired babe who's been taken for Mom. And, though my mind is screaming OUCH (and hers probably laughing, maybe even smirking a little), not a word is uttered about the incident as we chat.
NOTE TO YOUNG BARISTA'S AND OTHERS IN THE SERVICE INDUSTRY.
2 people walk into a coffee shop. They look similar. One has grey hair the other not grey. You have them at "you guys are related, aren't you?" One of them will want to stab your eyes out with a fork if you continue on.

Doing yoga in our hotel room, the curtains are open to let the light in and it shines its warmth upon me as I move. I FEEL GOOD.
I've forgotten my yoga pants so I wear the boy legged undies that serve as part of my PJ's and my cotton T as I practice. Gazing beyond my newly shaven legs in downward dog my eyes light on my firm calves and my heels anchored into the mat as I stretch even deeper. My body is strong and supple and I FEEL GREAT!
My gaze travels up my knees. Wrinkles. Are those wrinkles around my knees?
And up my thighs. Yikes, even more? What the heck happened? Where did my skin tone go? Why wasn't I told about this? Wasn't someone supposed to tell  me about this?
I FEEL BAD

All I can say about this roller coaster life is, cultivate the witness AND laugh — not hysterically mind you, but a sense of humour does help.
...THANK GOD I DO YOGA!

Gettin' the ya yas out

After Rod and I'd paid our mortgage off we went nuts purchasing furniture, a new bed and bedding to go with it, blinds, a carpet (all needed, by the way) to mention just a few items, along with some other "stuff" not needed so much, but enjoyed. After all was said and done we sat on our new couches with our feet up on our new coffee table in a state of shock. What the hell had happened to us? We'd uncharacteristically spent what we would have saved from our next 3 mortgage payments.

I have a theory that we shop not only because it gives us that temporary high, but also because it gets the ya yas out. My theory goes on to explain that we also shop more when we feel anxious, sad or depressed about anything or deprived.

Keeping on a tight budget is kinda like dieting - you deny, deny, deny yourself until you just can't bear it anymore and you consume the whole damn chocolate cake instead of allowing yourself a nibble now and then.

click on cartoon to enlarge
copyright Nance Thacker 1986

What has me thinking about all this was hearing someone, just yesterday, utter the phrase "pent up consumerism". There must be a cartoon for this, I thought...and there was, from the THACKER cartoon archives circa 1986.

TIME FLIES

© Nance Thacker '90
click on image to enlarge 

Oh boy, this cartoon has me tripping down memory lane. Life was so simple back then, sigh. 

The "shoulds" that invade my space (when I have a "day to devote to art") like flies around s**t, still remain the same as back then with the addition of a bazillion others that were not even possibilities in my life in 1990. Today, when I have time to myself, I'm more likely to see what my friends (I mean real, actual, friends) are doing on facebook, Tweet, write this blog, check out my e-mail for messages from clients (somehow work creeps in there) and friends, figure out what the heck to do with Linkedin (work), attempt putting together my website (more work), muck about with garage band in the effort to make a CD or MP3 (yup, more work but with an element of play). So, if I was to add all those to the 3rd box in the panel above and the character would be obliterated by "stuff" to do. And, that's just how it feels lately, like I'm buried in housework and technology...

Excuse me, my Skype phone is ringing, I KID YOU NOT!...

...I'm back.

Well, I mistakenly punched up my e-mail instead of the Skype thingy. I quickly got out of it, but not before the little squares of messages began appearing on the bottom right of my screen, along with their cheery jingles - which is really what I was trying to get away from in the first place. I should explain, I'm in a Starbuck's as I write this. Sometimes I just have to stop being the "thing that lives at the bottom of the stairs" and come out for air, a latte and the sound of other living, breathing sorry Maya and Flippy and talking bipeds.

By the time I got to the Skype, there was no one there and I'm not up enough with technology to find out who, if anyone, was trying to reach me or if the Skype itself was just calling to say, "Hi, I'm here, don't forget about me." Hey, I'm sure this happens. Why, just the other night our phone called 911 - I SWEAR THIS IS TRUE, JUST ASK THE COP WHO SHOWED UP AT OUR FRONT DOOR AT 10PM. Seems they get 3 - 4 calls a day from lines that have shorted out or something. Anyway, that's another story...

You see how insidious this stuff is!

It's not that I don't like technology, just the opposite, I've discovered my inner computer geek waiting to get out. The other day, "Mad Mike" the computer guy, was showing me all the amazing things one could do with garage band on a Mac and I sat there in awe recalling all the time, steps, people and external stuff I once required to do similar stuff in animation in the mid '80's. And now, it's all contained within a portable device the size of a laptop. WOW!!!

Writing (using the computer) has taken the place of drawing for the moment. I wonder if, when I decide to do more cartoons, I'll even be sitting at a drawing board at all, or will the computer be the medium I choose? At this time I can't imagine forgoing the feel of the pencil in my hands, the flow of the ink on the page and the spontaneous dialogue that arises, changing the rough draft into something previously unimagined, in the time it takes to produce one panel. It all unfolded, gracefully, slowly, organically. What will happen when the speed of the computer comes into the mix?

Time. Time is the factor here. Life has sped up for us all, only us Boomers are more aware of it than the younger generations.

It's mind boggling to realize that there are actual adults walking around who were raised: always being connected to others with their own personal cel phone, who think nothing of posting their own video on youtube, who expose their bodies for all to see on facebook, who consider facebook connections as "actual friends", who will never know the joys of Sunday as a day of rest - no kidding, nothing was open at all - NO SHOPPING FOR ONE WHOLE DAY EVERY WEEK, YEAR IN YEAR OUT!!!

The amount of tasks I can do in ONE day would have been impossible in '90 due to: the car I didn't have back then, my cel phone, my computer and all the skills that allow me to: arrange appointments, gather info for free at the click of a mouse, correspond with family and friends, Google maps, and on and on...

Things are speeding up and that includes the way the brain processes information. Want proof? Got a problem with your computer? Consult a 6th grader. The more you work with this stuff the easier it becomes and not through conscious rational thought; something else is clicks in.

The computer is changing the even the way the world operates - look at how info is being disseminated regarding what's going on in the middle east; look at the wave of change sweeping through that area and so the world.

WOW!!!

What this all means for me personally is it's more important than ever to prioritize how I spend my time and discover what really recharges me. Which means that, sometimes, I just have to close up shop, turn the computer off, leave the cel phone at home gasp and walk away from it all.

BYE - gone fishin'

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.

play by play analysis of a "stupid" day

I thought that I was having a "bad" day yesterday. But, I decided to check it out to see if in fact this was so. Here is a play by play account of the events that transpired and my analysis of the day.
______________________________
LEGEND

POSITIVE VALUE:
:) This is a good thing = +1 point
:D This is a really good thing = +5 points
:-D laughing - 10 points
:'-) happy crying — priceless

NEGATIVE VALUE:
:( This is not a good thing = -1 point

NEUTRAL
:0 A sense of awe
%-( confusion
=-O"Uh - oh"
;-(  "WTF"
$%&#$%(&*#^#%^ swearing aloud
#^#&^&$*&^%^$$ swearing silently
:-@ scream
:@ Exclamation "What???"
")(" shaking oneself violently with or without jumping about as if trying to shake water off one's body
_________________________
EVENT #1
It's...well I don't know just what time it was when I was rudely awoken, not once but five times, by the sounds of my FLIPPY & MAYA barfing  :(  :(  :(  :(  :( 

Oddly enough I can tell exactly which one is barfing and get a general location of the barfee and therefore the barf.  :)  :) 

I can feel Rod laying in bed as I am, as still as possible, in the hopes that the other will get out of bed first and have to deal with it. The long wait is on, each conscious of the other.
Rod had picked up his supplies the previous night and was sleeping in  :(
I was getting up earlier than normal to meet with Candy and go for a walk.  :(  :)

I have my socks on  :)
Slithering on my belly like a Marine on a mission I am able to locate all 5 barf-land mines WITHOUT walking through them :)  :)  :)  :)  :)

Maya had horked up 1 gigantic furball (picture her without eyes or legs and you have just about the size of the furball that Tiny Perfection can project forth)  :0 (equals  :)

Flippy aka Poopy Butt Girl doesn't spew forth anything but gloppy white slime  :(
Which means explosive diarrhea will be forthcoming  :(
Which means I'll have to cover my duvet (her kitty box of choice when she's percolating) with plastic  :(  
Which means days of vigilance ahead  :(

Maya looks relieved   :)
Flips belly feels bloated  :(

TALLY - 12 :(   11 :)  TOTAL = -1
________________________
EVENT #2
Lost in thought as I drive along the QEW I see the right lane veering away from me and at that very moment I realize that I've missed my cut off  $$&^&*%&   :(

I know how to get back :)

On the return approach I'm not sure what the name of the exit is as I go by terrain and not signs. I get sucked into the Bermuda Triangle that Burlington Street exit (the same one that got me in this predicament in the first place) has become $%*%&&*&* ")(" :(

I know a different and more scenic way to get back :)  :) (I like scenery)

Though I am 30 minutes late Candy can still go for our walk, and we have a lovely one, the day is warm, she's brought some peanuts for con artist squirrels and we visit a lovely tree  :)  :)  :)  :)  :)

TALLY - 2 :(   8 :) TOTAL = + 6
________________________
EVENT #3
I am visiting my nursing home client later that afternoon  :)

My hot stone client wants to come 30 minutes early; it's a squeeze getting back in time but reluctantly I agree - I'm feeling pressured  :(

The stuff I've gotten out of the car doesn't include my keys, phone, or money all of which I've locked inside #%^&$$^*&**&  ")(" :( :( :(  

Oh well, I'll deal with it later - able to shift to positive state  :)

Session with my client is lovely & she is over the flu  :)  :)

Staff offers use of their phone and I can remember phone numbers of my brother and a friend  :)  :)  :) 

I have difficulty dialing out, need the help of staff member (not once, but 3 times, the last time she gives me a consoling pat on the back), I feel like a looser after all I'm the stress management specialist  :(  :(  :(  ;-(

My friend comes to the rescue, we call the CAA, go to her brother's to wait it out  :)  :)  :)

I realize I wont be back on time for the appointment  :(

I call my client's place of work, "Yes, she's here" says the guy on the phone  :)
No, she's not  :(
I have to call back and ask him for her cel #.  Before he'll give it out he asks, "How many daughters does she have?. (this is a good thing for security reasons and I agree with him)  $%^&*$^*$*  ")("

but...I'm sure it is 2 but if I'm not right he won't give me the number. Damn, what is the name of the daughter that I know? For the life of me I can't pull it out as it's one of those names in which the given and surname are interchangeable and her surname is different form her Mom.   :(  :(

I repeat my name and what I do. He's heard of me. He gives me her number.   :)   :) (bonus - it's nice to be recognized)

She answers, is disappointed, and "by the way I have a bladder infection"  :)  :(  :(

I can't treat someone in the early stages of a bladder infection so it's a good thing that I couldn't get home in time as she'd have come all the way out only to be refused treatment.  :)  :)  :)  :)

I visit with my friend and her brother while we enjoy rum infused home made egg nogg :)  :)  :)  :D

Later we watch the CAA guy jimmy the door lock...cool  :)

I tip him the only money I have, which amounts to... 65 cents =-O ...I'm such a looser   :(

TALLY - 14 :(   27 :) TOTAL = + 13
_________________
EVENT #4
Making the best of the situation I go to Shopper's Drug Mart with my friend.  :) 

Getting out of the car I realize that I don't have my glasses @#$%^@^^@  ")("  :-@ ")("  $%^#%&$^$&#%  :(

We decide to deal with this after we shop but I'm obsessed and become laden with tics (like a dog trying to shake off water after a long, long swim) that arise spontaneously at the thought of having to retrace my steps or worse go back to the nursing home where things have legs and walk away @$^##%^#$^#  ")("  :(  :(  :(

It's seniour's day.  Am I really that old? :@  ")("  :)  :(

After my friend's purchases are rung in she gets not only the seniour's discount but also a coupon for $10 as she's spent over $60. She really wanted the coupon and tried hard to get it.  :)   :)  :)

He then tells us that you have to be 60 to get seniour's discount, but we're not. Having already given her the discount he gives me one too.   :(   :)

I have purchased over $60 without even trying. I get a coupon  ;-(   :)

TALLY - 6 :(   7 :) TOTAL = +1
____________________________
EVENT #5

My friend decides to leave me to do the hunt on my own  :)  :)  (wise decision for us both)

They are not in her car, or mine, or the parking lot (a frail old couple approaches  %-(  as I'm crouched down snooping around their car which is parked in the same space mine had occupied  :(  :(  :(  :(

Upon leaving them I pat down my pockets again. Realizing I have an inside pocket in the inner jacket I dig in, deep down and lo and behold there they are!  But I feel like an idiot  :D  :(

TALLY - 5 :(   7 :) TOTAL = + 2
___________________________
EVENT #6

I drive home at my leisure with my glasses on so I am pleasantly aware of oncoming traffic, stop signs and the like   :)  :) 

I don my PJ's and rather than curl up into a little ball (my first inclination) Rod and I eat toasted bacon bagel sandwiches while we watch 3rd season of Boston Legal episodes 17 & 18. Our faith is restored in a previously great show that had suffered horrible writing for the previous episodes of that season   :)  :)  :)  :)  :D

I indulge, further obliterating the woes of the day, in watching 30 ROCK & OUTSOURCED  :-D  :D

TALLY - 0 :(   21 :) TOTAL = + 21
_________________________
NON-EVENT #7
POOPY BUTT GIRL DOESN'T STRIKE TONIGHT  :D

However, it may only be a matter of time  :(

BUT...NOT TONIGHT  :'-)

TALLY - 1 :(   5 :) TOTAL = + 4
GRAND TOTAL 
40 :(  to  86 :)  = + 46
________________________
Wow, my experience of "this is a good thing" things was way more than my "this is not a good thing" things; not bad.

And so, we bid adieu to — not the bad day I originally thought I was having — but, merely a "stupid" one.

May your days be fantastic, fabulous, great or at least good. And, if they can't be any of those may they merely be "stupid" but not bad.

Red faced eating humble pie moment

She brought a tiny chocolate bar & a special bottle of wine from a friend's vineyard before the other guest arrived...OK I'm officially a hypocrite.
My other guest brought the equally appreciated nothing.

Social suicide - YOU ARE ENOUGH

I am just about to commit social suicide. But, before I do, I'd appreciate a moment of silence in honour of the death of my social life...

OK, here it goes...

Remember the days when you could just pick up the phone and invite people over at the drop of a hat? And they'd come make-upless in their comfiest duds? And you'd order in pizza, eat junk food: glow-in-the -dark-orange cheesies, potato chips (dunked in vinegar), popcorn, drink pop, watch movies and just hang out? Whatever happened to those days? Where did they go? Where did we go?

We grew up that's what. We entered into the age of responsibility rife with image consciousness and rules of etiquette that we call adulthood. Casual get togethers seem to have been relegated to childhood.

Why is it that we women can't just pull up a chair and relax without hauling food, drink and groceries to every gathering we attend for fear of being judged if we don't. The rare times my mother went to social gatherings she came complete with her rubber gloves packed into her purse ready to be pulled out the minute the tables got cleared. An extremely shy individual, she felt more comfortable in the kitchen than engaging in small talk but I think that some part of her felt duty bound to perform this service as she didn't feel worthy to be the recipient of hospitality.


TO ME IT FELT LIKE SHE WAS APOLOGIZING FOR HER PRESENCE.

Lately I have been politely requesting that people just bring themselves, nothing else, no: food, drink, flowers or gifts are necessary. Yet still people feel compelled to bring grocery loads. I really don't want them to bring anything. I truly want them to let go, kick back and just chill without apology. After all men do it all the time, why can't we?

Are we afraid that we'll look bad if we don't bring anything but someone else does? This is such an awkward moment for a host. What do I do? Not wanting to offend I thank the guest for the offering, yet this very action makes me feel like a hypocrite and seems to negate the sincerity of my request in the eyes of those who've brought the very thing I asked for - NOTHING.

In my effort to provide an effortless night for my guests my latest invite came with this request in bold letters, PLEASE ONLY BRING YOURSELF AND YOUR OWN BOOZE IF YOU WANT ANYTHING OTHER THAN WINE.

And, I still got, "Can I bring anything?"

"ARRGH are you yanking my chain!? NO!"

Can you believe that you are enough? That your presence makes me happy? That there really is no expectation; no keeping score?

We're going to order in pizza. Have some wine, Coke, coffee and cookies - no fuss, no muss, just simple. The company will be the focus. What my invite really means is - JUST BRING YOURSELF; YOU ARE ENOUGH.

In order to make people feel welcome I'm threatening to body search everybody at the door. Yup, that should just about put the nail in the coffin. Please do not send flowers, thank you.

Xmas Xhale

Our Christmas tree has a heart.
Flippy is happy with her gift
of crinkly paper.

Christmas is over (yeah). I'm not a Christmas person. And every year I experience self-judgment and intense social angst around this flaw in my nature. The closer we get to the actual day the higher my tension levels rise. Shouldn't we all be Christmas people? What's wrong with me? Did I have a past trauma around Christmas?

In an effort to get into the Christmas spirit I vowed I'd get my Christmas cards snail-mailed by Dec 1st. On the 23rd those who remained on my list were getting the more familiar "I hope you had a great Christmas and that NEW YEARS IS FANTASTIC!"

Since December the first, in an effort to amp up the joy, I tuned the car radio to a 24/7 all Xmas music all the time station; blasting myself with Christmas songs on the radio. Are there only 25 Christmas songs in the whole world? The result: I drove around aimlessly in a deja vu induced Xmas stupor.

I truly enjoyed the Christmas light displays adorning neighbourhood homes. And though I'd set an intention to decorate ours a week before THE DAY, the 24th found Rod and I working together to drape our eves in multi-coloured lights to provide one of 2 displays on the darkened side of our street. Meanwhile, neighbours across the road flooded their side of the street with so much Christmas illumination that you could land a 747 on the road; tt's like looking into a solar flare, sunglasses are recommended during the wee small hours of the night. Christmas keeners all, they invited deer and elves to play on their lawns. Stars, wreaths and strings upon strings replaced Halloween's ghosts, spider webs and pumpkins the day after Halloween.

Rod and I (child-free) are extremely fortunate to have gracious friends and family who invite us to take part in their celebrations every year. They too have celebrated in our home. But logistics have changed, children now grown have formed bonds of their own. What would our Christmas be like? We wondered. And so, for the first time, we decided to find out.

As we declined invitations, "Was it something we've done?" "You're not going weird on us? Are you?" were some of the unexpected concerns that would not have come up had we told friends and family that we were going away for the holidays. We wanted peaceful time in our own home — a place that normally is shared by clients, and projects. How does one explain, "We just want to jump off the speeding freight train that Christmas has become and experience different ground?"

For the first time ever, we slept in on Christmas morning.  In the afternoon we visited Mom at the nursing home. The parking lot was full.  Other families visited their loved ones making for a delightfully upbeat experience. Mom loved listening to conversations, watching toddlers, kids and dogs bringing new life to the place. That night Rod and I cooked, shared a lovely candle lit dinner and cleaned up together as Christmas music played in the background. Rod had found a music station on the TV that played seasonal songs I'd never heard before.

And now we are in my most favourite time of the year...the time between Christmas and New Year! There should be a name for it something like CHRISTMAS IS OVER; EVERYBODY EXHALE!

And have a HAPPY NEW YEAR ALL!!!

Singers have more fun

When I sing I sound like a cat wailing. People react to my voice the same way they do to nails being scratched down a chalkboard which is very sad because I love to sing! It's worse at Christmas because while everyone else is Caroling their hearts out in public, I'm looking for a rock to crawl under knowing that I'm going to be expected to join in or be labelled an up-tight scrooge. I am anything but uptight.

People who can sing try to cajole me with, "What's the matter with you? The cat got your tongue?" Then comes the encouragement phase, "Oh, come on, you can't be that bad" which declines into the guilting phase, "everyone else is having fun. Don't be a spoil sport." So, just to shut them up, I oblige and if pained expressions were flash bulbs going off I would be blinded. Fortunately for all involved, it only takes a bar or two for the reality of my vocal inability to register and I return, without protest, to mute mode once more.

I love to sing. Fortunately I love to drive. That is where I do my best and most harmless singing — alone, locked in a vehicle, speeding down the freeway. Me and a bazillion others.

Next time around, when talent is being portioned out (I'm putting my order in, in advance) I would love to have a beautiful voice. People who sing well have appreciation showered upon them. Before they've opened their mouth to speak or done anything character revealing, it's assumed that beautiful singers, by the very nature of their pipes, are nice and good people. We assume the same about beautiful looking people too (so I guess I'll add physical beauty to that request as well, thanks).

And, I think that singers have more fun. Doubt this? Watch this video.



See, fun, right! And...they get applause too, how cool is that!

I love this stuff. Yet there are flash mobs of talented people writing in public all the time and what do we get...ignored.

Singers definitely have more fun!

PS in case you didn't notice, this is the CHRISTMAS blog post I promised you a while ago.
And I can now say MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Post notification

Warning: this post may contain some material that is offensive to readers - you have been forewarned.


I am writing this post to let you know that I have written a post which won't be published until Dec 1st as it contains a Christmas Carol. I refuse to listen willingly to Christmas Carols until December.


This is my personal stand against PCC (Premature Christmas Celebration) which begins once Halloween is over and leaves one too mind-numbed to enjoy the climax of the season at the appropriate moment.


Actually, by writing about Christmas I may be contributing to that which I protest so strongly against, but I just wanted to let you know that a lovely Christmas post is coming DEC 1st.


It'll be worth the wait!

CAR, BALL, MAN

I'm warning you now.

Read the words in the title and commit them to memory because somewhere down the road, maybe 20, 30, 40 or perhaps 50 years from now, you will be sitting across a table from someone who, almost immediately, upon meeting you, will tell you to remember those 3 little words. You will feel nervous, confused, insulted, patronized and perhaps experience something akin to "performance anxiety" as they then proceed to run you through various mental challenges. About 5 minutes after you are stirred up enough they will then ask you what the words were that they gave you to remember. And despite the increased intensity of emotion, self-doubt and confusion the words will bubble up from your long term memory and you will be able to say calmly, "car, ball, man". The thing is they will assume that these words are new to you and that you have stored them in your short term memory and you will have passed this portion of the test.

Just giving you a heads up.

OK, it might not play out exactly like this but after hearing those words first repeated in 1998 and every year thereafter at each of my parents' cognitive assessment evaluations, I can assure you that they are etched in my brain. Every time I accompanied my folks for "their" assessment all I could think was, please don't change the 3 words because I am so primed to remember them that they will block out any new incoming ones. I bet ya that almost everyone who's accompanied their parent or loved one to a geriatric assessment from this particular team has these three words burned into their brains too.

This all leads me to these observations about memory retention.


When trying to remember something state it - short, simple and to the point. Let's say I have to remember a grocery list consisting of: milk, bread and cheese. There is no need for me to say, "remember to get milk, bread and cheese". Because I am anxious about my ability to remember, using the word "remember" (in this context) triggers my belief that I have a bad memory and that I'm going to have difficulty remembering. Feeling that I won't be able to remember the list; I become anxious.

ANXIETY IS A MEMORY KILLER!

Cartoon copyright Nance Thacker 1991.
Click on image to enlarge

To embed this kind of memory it is best to feel relaxed and happy. So:

• My memory prompt is SIMPLE: "milk, bread, cheese". 
• I  REPEAT these words at least 3 times while tapping my watch (Since I am inclined to look at my watch numerous times before going to the store, each time I do it is a visual prompt for memory. In hypnosis we call this anchoring). 
• Each time, while repeating and tapping I VISUALIZE: the items (perhaps getting really specific about the images) and me picking up the items and paying for them at the checkout (this takes only a few seconds). 
• And, I FEEL how good it feels to have accomplished the task.

Now I just have to remember where I parked my car!

The key for this - I have to be MINDFUL of parking it in the first place. I liken it to getting out of "passenger" mode. It is less likely that, as a passenger, I will remember where the car was parked because I tend to rely on the driver to do this. So I have to shift to "driver" mode and note my surroundings. Since I can be an easily distractible, multi-tasker, mindfulness is something I have to come back to constantly. I call this "applied meditation" practice.

Since, in the scenario I have just described, I have a vested interest in the things I want to remember I am more motivated to recall these things. In the case of my grocery list - these items will allow me to make a meal and that makes me feel good.  And since I'd rather not wait til the parking lot is sufficiently emptied before I can find my car I'm highly motivated to take note where it was parked in the first place.

In contrast, "car, ball, man" meant nothing to my poor parents who were full of anxiety at the time of their assessment.  And, when the time comes, it will mean nothing to you too. So practice those 3 words now.

There will be a test!

COMMENT ON THE CARTOON. I'm not proud to admit this but, unlike some people, I will pick out the longest line at the checkout so that I can browse the "brain candy" mags. And I often memorize where I left off for the next visit to the grocery store.

CANADIAN ICONS - "the bun" and Gordon

I LOVE THIS!!!

In my post REALITY CHECK  (click to read, I'll wait)...

I wrote about ageing, Justin Bieber aka "the bun" (yes the sweater in the picture is that old) and his memoir, and ended the post with, "I'm waiting for his memoirs. I hear their coming out next week. That should be exciting!"

Look at this - THE FOLKS AT 22 MINUTES HAD THAT SAME RESPONSE AS I TO THE ANNOUNCEMENT THAT JUSTIN BIEBER WAS PUBLISHING HIS MEMOIRS and THEY GOT CANADA'S OWN GORDON PINSENT TO DO THE READING.  

The concept alone cracks me up. Watch it for a laugh. It's hysterical!

POW - power of women?

I saw Courtney Cox on Ellen the other day and they played this trailer. The show's been on for some time now and this was the clip that I saw most often to promote COUGAR TOWN before it went on air. Now, we're supposed to believe that the kid was distracted cus Courtney's so hot. And, I have to admit that she does look great especially for a 40something, but I can't help thinking that horny as he would be the kid would also be somewhat grossed out. Come on, someone his mother's age is flashing him.

The guy Cox's character is talking to has just said, "...you couldn't bag a young stud"and, this is her response. Young stud — the guy's what 14, and, riding a bike. Am I missing something here?

Reminds me of this cartoon I did 20 years ago (YIKES!) in response to some TV ads pitch for a weight loss program.

Cartoon copyright Nance Thacker 1990.
All rights reserved.
Click on photo to enlarge.


I'm just sayin' that, in the way we find value in ourselves, sometimes women are just... WEIRD. 

my inner geek

I've been playing around a lot more with computer stuff since taking the Betty Blogger course.

I have found the Diggo bookmarking feature really helpful and am storing all of my "must see/must save" info on it. Since the info goes with me wherever I am or whatever computer I'm on, I'm sold. Now when I have to get a new computer I won't need a computer geek to transfer the info onto.

I've been on Facebook since my nephew's wedding in 2008. My sister-in-law posted her photos on it for all of the family to see. It was incredible - pics and text to boot. But, my site remained faceless and profile-less for about a year before I dared enter any info - I've got 4 pics; only 1 of myself. If I choose to "share" I do it through my blog where I am the master of my own universe.

Facebook. I love it and I hate it.

I love that I can pop on and get a quick update on friends' comings and goings and states of mind revealed in short sound bites. I love that I can see photos of my friends and their growing families enjoying themselves. Some friends have quite a photographic eye and talent for snapping pictures and I get to see the great shots they've taken. Lately, a friend of a friend shared breathtaking photos of stars in a clear night sky; and my friend is THE Green Thumb Queen Extraordinaire with the pictures of her garden and flowers to prove it.

I love that when I  ask "friends" a question through Facebook my chances of getting relevant info has expanded exponentially.

What I don't like is that, although you can adjust your privacy settings so that only your "friends" can see your profile info, anyone can see you dancing on tables buck naked at the company Christmas party if that's what somebody chooses to share with their "friends". When it comes to picture sharing what happens on facebook stays on facebook and travels around the world for all to see without your knowledge or control (I could be wrong).

In this day and age, it seems to me, Superman and all his masked and caped friends would need to develop new super powers in order to keep their identity secret cus sure enough one of their friends, most likely the cub reporter Jimmy (having had to many shots of booze) in a drunken stupour would find the urge to "share" his shots on Facebook. Before you know it you'd be surfing some friend of a friend of a friend's photo album, come across pictures 2 through 8 and recognize Clark Kent caught in a moment of wild abandon: tossing off his hornrims; unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the tell-tale blue, skin tight leotard and hint of the tip of a red and yellow emblem before flashing to his senses and clumsily fumbling to re-button his shirt and you'd say to yourself...Hey that guy looks a lot like... .

I also don't get Farmville and all that kind of stuff but then I've never been into the "games" aspect of computers, not even solitaire, so I don't really want to know that you've just adopted a baby pig...IT DOESN'T EXIST AND NEITHER DOES YOUR FARM. GET A LIFE!  Nothing makes me exit Facebook in disgust quicker. Besides, my hamster has been waiting for me while I've been following your exploits in virtual reality land. I visit my i-google homepage regularly to feed, water and exercise it...

HEY WAIT A MINUTE WHAT THE HELL'S WRONG WITH ME? I worked in animation for Pete's sake, I should know better. Thanks to some fellow Betty Blogger (who will remain nameless) who put the cool fish swimming gadget on her blog I explored aBowman and found my hammy - see how cute he is! 

There's another love/hate thing about Facebook and social networking, one can get hooked on an infinite variety of time wasting activity - which I consider most of the apps to be. Playing around with apps during a Betty Blogger drop-in I found that friends are on Marketplace and I noticed it on my list of apps in the more section below the ones I've chosen. I didn't choose it. What was it doing there? A few weeks ago I was just browsing, I thought. So I had to go into settings and block it. I find the amount of access to my information most apps want is unacceptable. Melissa (library lady's assistant) said that many of the apps are created by third parties - I don't know where else my info might go or if I'll end up getting a lot of crap showing up on my computer. If in doubt, don't go there.

I joined the Betty Blogger Summer School "group" as part of the exercise but I can't say that I'll continue to visit the group once the course is complete - it's all I can do to write blog entries and follow blogs I like.

I'll have to limit my vices and blogging's it...except for my hammy... and I'll have to figure out what TWITTER'S all about...but, I swear to God that's it!

Reader's Digest Reject #5

It's been a while; long overdue in fact.

Boys and girls it's that time again. Time once more for (drum roll please) "Ta da" READER'S DIGEST REJECTS.

__________________________________________________

During a family reunion, a group of adults was clustered around; talking. My eight-year-old nephew was excitedly and very loudly trying to add to the conversation. My husband Rod turns to him and in a soft voice says, "Johnny lower your voice," gesturing in a downward motion with his hand.

Rod returns his attention to the group and we resume talking. So does Johnny, in a voice just as lout and excited, he says, "Is this better uncle Rod?"

We all turn to see Johnny sitting on the floor as he speaks.

__________________________________________________

Rules: word count must be 100 or less and story must be true

Words: 92

Only the name of my nephew has been changed (to protect the not so innocent anymore and much older now) otherwise this story is totally true.

If you liked this check out #1 through #4 by clicking on the label reader's digest to the right.

What do you think?

I have to be honest about something. I'm not proud of it but here it goes.


You complete me.

Yes, I joined Betty Blogger to become social media savvy but now that people are commenting on my blog (my instructors mainly) well it all feels so right. Fellow Betty Bloggers you know what I'm talking about! Sure, friends occasionally comment on my blog entries in person, through e-mail or facebook, even over the phone but rarely do they do so in the blog itself.

I don't know why this is as it couldn't be more convenient.

Picture this. The moon is full, you've had a hard day and you're seeking some "me time"; time to be entertained; time for "brain candy". You don your flannel PJ's and fuzzy slippers, schlep off to your den, plonk down in front of the computer, set your cup of steaming, black brew on the table and start surfing the web. After a half hour of mindless fun you enter into blog territory; the arena of real people leading real lives.

Ah, what's this? You've stumbled onto a site containing such whit, wisdom, and beauty that OMG you are awe struck. Unbeknownst to you somewhere out there in the real world a lonely, forgotten, wanna be writer, taps away decoding the stream of consciousness flowing out of their brain for the public to behold. From the cold, dark, damp, depths of her basement (I know, I know. Lucky her it's frikin' sweltering out there today. At least she has a basement, I don't even have central air and I'm in this tiny apartment... I already said that you're in flannel PJ's imagine that it's winter OK) she huddles over the white glow eminating off her screen.

Aw, come on, send her some encouragement. A little, "Hello out there.", "I think your stuff is fun.", even send her your own perspective or experience regarding the topic of the day to let her know that she's touched a cord. It might even spur others on to comment as well and a nice little forum could take place - sort of like facebook only you could be totally anonymous. And, hey you're already on the blog what could be simpler.

Here's a slightly edited version of how to comment courtesy of the Library Lady:

"At the end of each post you’ll find space to comment. Commenting is a huge component of blogging. Please feel free to comment on my blog. To do so, fill in the box provided, select your profile (always select Google Account) and click POST COMMENT. If you’re not signed into blogger, you can post anonymously or you’ll have to sign in. Once you’ve completed the steps, you’re comment will appear. It’s a nice way to make contact between fellow students and myself."

Please note that some bloggers, like myself, choose to review the comments before allowing them to show up on their post. As ruling monarchs of our little blog territory we get to make up the rules.

See the "tell me what you think" at the end of my post well that's your opportunity to make a comment. Just click on it and follow the directions. Yes, you do need a google account but it'll only take a second. Come on, what do you say...I'm bloody freezn' down here, and it's dark, and I'm all alone, and...
Could I make it sound any more pathetic?
You could comment on that.

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!!!

MONTREAL Je t'aime - part III of III

On the same night of my previous entries - Montreal Je t'aime parts I and II, after Kathy and I changed into more suitable atire in Jim's van with its tinted windows we headed over to the Metropolis to catch Eric Burdon and the Animals. Yes, THE Eric Burdon; but no, not THE Animals at least not in their original form, none of the members playing that night were from the original band.

How very '60's you might say.

I felt like a stranger in a strange land as they played such tunes as: It's My Life and Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood while all around me ageing hippies, or shrubbies as they're called on Vancouver Island, rocked out. The  surreality got amped up when the band went into We Gotta Get Out of This Place and the whole place was brought to a riotous frenzy as geezers pounded their canes on the floor in time with the beat. And, I was awestruck as I witnessed the audience — a sea of swaying and bobbing grey heads — tripping back to the teenagers they once were, rebelling against (even though they are now) the establishment.

These songs were their anthems of protest, not mine. The '60's was the best time of their lives; the worst of mine. I am not nostalgic for that time and I found it difficult in this context to realize that I am one of them.

Instead of having flashbacks like the rest of them I was having flashforwards. I've been doing some Shiatsu for nursing home residents and frequently visit my Mom's who lives in Burloak Longterm Care Centre. Her generation is soothed by the gentle, bittersweet songs of the big band era, Benny Goodman, Frank Sinatra, Satchmo, jazz and the like and it filters out into the hallway from resident's rooms as I pass by.

As the lyrics "We gotta get out of this place if it's the last thing we ever do" written by a rebellious youth but sung now by a grey haired 69 year old (albeit with an amazing set of pipes and agile moves) I couldn't help thinking that when we populate the nursing homes the desire to get out will rise up on occasion (as does in Mom's case) but when we do get out it really will be the last thing we ever do.

And, 20-30 years down the road when members of my generation, fuelled by songs of teenage angst and rebellion, become residents, if there's going to be any peace at all for the caregivers, we're all going to have to be heavily medicated. Soon ads like: TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE? HELL NO, JUST TRIP DOWN or YOU WON'T WANT TO GET OUTTA THIS PLACE or MARIJUANA MOMMA MANOR will have children of the '60's pounding on the doors to get in.

LOVE AND PEACE OUT

***

Now comes confession time. A most pleasant surprise of this evening was the band's virtuosity as individual musicians were highlighted with solos and tight jamming during  prolonged, blues-inspired segments. Stripped of '60's references, I can truly say that they blew me away! And they did a most excellent rendition of The House of the Rising Sun - a song I've always loved. 


And Burdon did a song called I Believe to My Soul which I'd never heard before and which showcased his amazing voice and his ability to interpret a song. Take a moment and listen to the power.


P.S. Thanks to Betty Blogger for making this so easy. It would have taken me days to search just how to do this!!!