Reader's Digest Reject #4

FARMER JOE

Peering into the coffin during a visitation, six-year-old Daniel was admiring the new suit his deceased grandfather was wearing. No matter what the occasion Daniel had only ever seen "farmer Joe", much to his family's consternation, dressed in well worn, weathered, permanently stained work clothes.

Daniel turns to his mother and says innocently, "Wasn't it nice of grandpa to get dressed up to die."

_____________________________________

Words: 64

Totally true and dialogue is verbatim

_____________________________________

This was told to me, years after the fact, by Daniel's mother.

Although I don't know the circumstances around Daniel's grandpa's death, I love that it wouldn't dawn on this sweet, guileless kid that someone would dress his grandfather after he was dead. After all, as every kid knows, grown ups dress themselves — don't they?

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.

...in a good way

Self-portrait Chillin' May 2010

Since the weird virus I had a few weeks back I feel like I've had a lobotomy...but, in a good way. Let me explain.

When I was a fledgling yoga teacher my mentors were, for the most part, middle aged women verging on menopause with households, husbands, children and ageing parents to manage. Aside from teaching yoga, participating in workshops on yoga and being part of a yoga community some of them also worked part-time at "real" jobs (teaching yoga was viewed as a form of karma yoga — selfless service and as such paid a pittance).

In comparison, during the 10 years (from my mid 20's to mid 30's) that I was with them, my life was yoga focused, simple and uncomplicated. Single, with a healthy, happy, family back in Ontario, my time was my own.

Every week we attended a class called Beyond Hatha Yoga offered at Yoga Centre Victoria's digs in the local YMWCA. Here we'd explore the works of Swami Radha through self-study, writing, writing and more writing, then discuss our responses to such questions as: what is an aspirant, who am I, what is the purpose of my life, etc.

In that class, on our yoga mats and in meditation sessions, realizations would rise up for a few, brief, shining moments. But, when my mentors returned to daily life, so easily and profoundly was their equanimity shattered that a common complaint was, "I thought yoga was supposed to make you calm!"

This comment has been directed at me by council members in the last few years.

I have informed them that, contrary to popular belief, people who are drawn to yoga, more often than not, are not naturally calm individuals. Yoga reveals what is — both the sublime and the ridiculous which is a no sweat experience for me on the mat or within the confines of a yoga studio, retreat or workshop where all have the same intention and speak the same language.

The challenge is to reside calmly while participating in life as the veils of illusion are peeled away. As we witness the reality of our lives, realize the consequences of our choices, the character of our loved ones and ourselves are exposed (in an often less than flattering light) it's difficult not to loose it, not to re-act unfavourably with anger, sorrow, frustration and all the other unpleasant moods that can befall us.

With the aftermath of "weird virus" my thoughts have been quite clear and my emotions easily manageable; as if someone has altered my sense of time. Urgency is gone, evaporated...poof... and, since time pressure is at the root of much of my anxiety, my emotional state is levelling. I am still aware of things that tick me off, that hasn't changed, it's just that they don't seem to break through to an intolerable level because they don't seem to stick to me. For the time being my hackles are down and my wei chi (defensive chi) is impermeable to negativity. In essence, I have become teflon...in a good way.

Today I'm bearing witness to the contrast between the "speed" of the Tasmanian devilish flurry that had engulfed me before the weird virus vs its aftermath, this refreshed state of calm. It seems totally unreal, incomprehensible that:

a) I could have gotten myself into such a state in the first place

b) I couldn't see it coming or building up

and

c) I could only recognize its intensity in hindsight

I know it's probably only a matter of time until I get "spun" and scattered again, but for the moment I am enjoying being in the cool, calm and collected zone and am doing all I can to identify supporting behaviours that are coming so naturally and effortlessly to me now.

I have been working with a weight management (aka weight balancing) client and one of the 4 principles of eating — to eat mindfully without distraction — she finds most challenging considering her hectic lifestyle. As an observer, it seems a simple matter of perspective and prioritizing. I don't ask clients to do anything that I can't do so I too have been eating at least one meal a day mindfully which means no reading, watching TV, talking etc.; just eat.

The idea is simple, as you chew each bite of food 20 times put down your utensils and enjoy the taste, texture, sight and smell of the food, and eating becomes a form of meditation. But, as I eat I catch myself on the verge of engaging in scattering behaviours:

• Without thought, a nervous twitch reflex prompts me to reach to pick up a magazine, the newspaper or glance at the notes on the side of a cereal box (that's how addicted I am to reading and keeping an internal voice going on).
• My mind travels backwards and forwards in time like a fidgety child unable to stay in one place trying to get me to come along.
• I have to fight the compulsion to multi-task, to do something as I'm eating in order to "save time" but, I don't know what I'm "saving" it for. Aside from breathing, what could be more important than fuelling the body; my body?
• Emotions generate stories that begin to spin themselves in my mind; at other times stories generate emotions all of which threaten to crowd out the senses that are keep me anchored in the present.

Happily, I find mindful eating, intended to bring awareness to a feeling of fullness and satisfaction, is slowing me down, shifting my perspective and increasing my mindfulness during daily activities in a pragmatic way. None of my other meditation practices has done this.

This seems a horrible thing for a yoga teacher to admit, but here it goes. I am becoming aware of what my relaxed rhythm feels like. That there is such a thing seems news to me, it's been that long since I last was in touch with it.

As I bring myself back to just eating, I now notice how violent my "speedy" actions feel; how violent I feel when I violate my relaxed rhythm. When I have the inkling that something else needs to be done at that very moment I'm engaged in eating mindfully it is felt an insult; unbelievable!

How long have I been doing this and in how many different ways?

Fear is underneath it all generating my speediness. Fear that:

• I won't be able to keep up (with whom or what seems irrelevant)
• "it" (whatever it is) won't get done in "due" time (whenever that is)
• if I don't do it right now I will forget it (but the thought inevitably recurs and with it a growing sense of urgency)

To quell the rush of things that increase my sense of urgency I'm setting priorities - 3 per day. 3 things that I feel need to be done come to the front of the line, anything else I elect to deal with is a bonus and everything else can come back another day.

And, for the moment the Tasmanian devil in me is gone. Please, let me know when you see her again. To break the spell, the phrase is, "I thought yoga was supposed to make you calm!"

____________________________________________

Synchronic happening observed - as I was in the middle of writing this the other night (Sun May 30th - ignore the time stamp on this post as I worked on it over a few days, finally posting it on Tuesday June 1st) I took a break and came upon a TV show in which Stephen Hawking was talking about Time Travel and he states these facts:

• "mass slows down time"
• Time differs in different areas of the earth i.e. time moves slower nearer the pyramids.

This got me wondering. When I feel grounded I feel more present, solid, centred as if my molecules are more collected; my sense of time slows. So, when I feel scattered and spun are my molecules dispersed a little more randomly into the universe making time speed ahead and leaving me attempting to "collect" myself while seemingly forever trying to catch up? Just wondering.

The ball is cast

Synchronicity (I know it is more accurately referred to as coincidence but I use the word synchronicity because it sounds more fun and magical) at its finest:

For this entry blame:

• Scott Adams of Dilbert
• and Lynden Blades who hosts a website offering free juggling lessons
• Rod Kimball of the Flying Kamarazov Brothers

I'll take you back to how it all started. It was a dark and stormy night...no, actually it was a sunny, Monday morning; just last week in fact.

FIRST EVENT - the unexceptionable beginning

While walking with Glyn and Jack down to the beach I began to juggle, and, since Jack knows how to juggle as well, we tried and failed miserably to juggle the 3 balls between us as we walked, so we changed the game. The "juggler" would walk while juggling until they either dropped the balls or lost control in a way that made them loose their rhythm (running after the balls not allowed) after which the balls would be passed off to the other person.

This got me talking about the Flying Kamarazov Brothers who I'd seen over 20 years ago in a venue in Toronto.

Oddly enough there was, at that same time, an informally formed group of juggling animators at Sheridan College during my student animator days and I'd hoped to drop in some time and join the fun. This is what the juggling clubs — now in the possesion of destined juggler extraordinaire Latisha LaFlamme - were intended for. But, the course took all my waking and sleeping hours to such an extent that my family thought I still lived out west and Rod began wondering who belonged to the pink toothbrush littering his bathroom counter top.

SECOND EVENT - the seed is sown

Tuesday night I read Scott Adams blog entry COINCIDENCE which got me thinking wow I really haven't had any incidences in a long while.

THIRD EVENT - a little aside, but still relevant

Next, my juggling balls are well worn, I did a lousy job of re-taping them and they are in need of re-taping or at least repair. So the on Wednesday night I googled how to make your own juggling balls and perused a number of different sites, but the one that got my attention was that of Lynden Blades when he ended his lesson with the request to, "Help me teach as many people around the world, for free, to juggle and spread the happiness around."

To my mind, this is an honourable goal that, just that night before surfing the net, I'd begun considering doing myself. I'm not that great a juggler so go to his site here and my contribution to spreading world domination by jugglers is complete.

Juggling is a happy pursuit. Yes, it can be frustrating but no one is holding a gun to your head commanding you to, "Juggle damn you or I'll shoot you in the foot." It's always, "Dance damn you or I'll shoot you in the foot." Isn't it?

FOURTH EVENT - the completion

Last night I go into my dashboard and find not one but 2 comments have been left regarding my last blog entry. Oh boy, oh boy I was sooo excited!!!

The comments were from some guy named Rod Kimball, OK so it's a bit of a promo, but it's for juggling (and world domination of...) and he's taken the time to comment on the entry, sure what the heck I'll allow it, this time. And, then a small voice says, wait shouldn't yo

u check to make sure this site is one you'd want to have on your blog after all in hypnosis you don't just let anyone into your safe, happy place, why should you let just anyone onto your comment space.

Good point. So, listening to the wisdom of my inner voice I checked it.

OMG, I couldn't believe it: that someone's out there, that they found my site and are also a juggler (How did that happen? This web world is truly amazing.), that they took the

time to comment...AND, AND...that he's a FLYING KAMARAZOV BROTHER! The COINCIDENCE blog that Adams wrote, which I read, set in motion a coincidence stream that has been completed in this very cool, totally unpredictable way!

I LOVE COINCIDENCES they are magical!

Thanks Rod for taking the time to comment (check out comments at the bottom of the previous post - he also teaches juggling) and for your participation in this event. And, thanks to anyone who stumbles upon this site for reading. I hope it's as fun for you to read as it is for me to write. Have a great one and keep those balls in the air!

Everyone needs a cool juggling bag and this is mine. It used to be my alley bag when I was a kid.

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.

Hellooooooo

Wow, there's somebody out there, not just in here.

WELCOME!

Thanks for your responses.

Have a great weekend all!

Nance

Hit Critic

(Cartoon copyright Nance Thacker 1985. All rights reserved.)

(click on image to englarge)

Hi all,

As you can see this blog continues to be a work in progress. Last night, or rather I should say early this morning, I added "reactions" at the bottom of each post so that you can respond quickly and easily with one click. Notice that the response options are all positive ones, yup I'm a wimp.

Sometimes it takes too much time to make a comment in the blog itself, you have to open (just in case you decide to open one) a Google account if you don't already have one and then each time you enter your comment you have to give additional info and decipher and type in the mystery word. Friends comment through my e-mail which is great, but it looks like no one is reading.

What's weird, is the reality that probably very few people are reading this yet here I am typing away as if I have an audience when in fact it's a fantasy that's all in my head — no wonder why writers are all screwed up. It's not like writing a diary which you guard with your life because, God forbid, you don't want anyone to read - I want that garbage (not me) to stay all locked up safe and sound, thank you very much. Nope, this stuff I'm choosing to put out here.

What drives me to do this?

Scott Adams, (I must add that he's the Dilbert guy so has definitely had his share of attention + the monetary benefits of a successful cartoon empire) whose blog I follow, says he blogs for attention (see The Value of Attention and The Attention Contest) . His theory is that writers write primarily for attention and I think he's right on — we will write (artists will paint, singers will sing, performers will perform...) to get our voices heard about anything, most often (for the vast majority of us) for nothing or virtually nothing.

Can you imagine a surgeon just dying to perform open heart surgery just for the thrill of it or your accountant saying, "Let me at that income tax form. I just loooove digging into the old shoe box, sorting out all those tiny, folded up, crumpled receipts, entering each number in its own little space. Ooooh, no, no, no don't pay me. I do it for the love of numbers!" Neither can I.

But artists...we're a whole different breed.

I used to think I write and draw just for the creative release and satisfaction it gives me, but that's a lie. I'm definitely an attention seeker. I was the kid doing flips and cartwheels in the back yard all the while yelling and waving my arms in the air to get Mom's attention. She was a captive audience (the best kind for a child) who could see me from her vantage point on the other side of the kitchen window while she perpetually did the dishes , "Look, look at me. Look at this. Oh my God, did you seeeeee me do that?"

So, I thought reactions might be a good way to go. Just "click" if you think it's funny, interesting or you like it and it's done, no fuss, no muss and totally anonymous. I know it's all so Sally Fieldish - you like me, you really like me — but humour me. It would be nice to know you're out there but if you are out there and you really don't have any comment that's OK too I'm sure on some level I'm getting the vibe.

Anyway, whoever you are, thanks for reading and have a great one!

_____________________________________________________

About the cartoon: this was inspired by a discussion I had with one of my many employers years ago.

I worked for a natural food store at the time and was in charge of advertising and managed shipping and receiving. One particular customer would always find something wrong with her order. I was about ready to tear my hair out as 98% of the time the order was correct. Eventually I handled her order personally, take the order directly from her over the phone, put it together and deliver it myself; double and triple checking all the steps along the way.

I would have the proof right in my hand but she would change her mind (consciously or subconsciously I don't know) on an item or find something to complain about and complain she did. It seemed that events in her life had to fit her theory that everyone but her was an incompetent.

I'd swallow what I really wanted to say and follow the retail gospel of THE CUSTOMER IS ALWAYS RIGHT.

One day after a particular trying interaction with her, my boss and I began to fantasize about what we really wanted to say to her. She said, "I couldn't say it myself but...wouldn't it be great if you could hire a HIT CRITIC to do it for you? Someone who could just go in there and really blast her. How great would it feel like to be a Hit Critic?"

Years later, after receiving my gazillionth rejection letter from publishers regarding my cartoons, I realized that, if there were such a thing, I'd be the one receiving a visit from an all too enthusiastic Hit Critic.

Fortunately the scenario played out in cartoonland and I got Al to take the hit for me.