To dye or not to dye, that is the question!

(copyright Nance Thacker '90)

click on picture to enlarge

(photo taken of the cartoon then worked with in i-photo - learned this in my last MAC class)

Age is a state of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.

Mark Twain

I get a lot of compliments on the colour of my hair especially from people who dye theirs to get rid of their grey.

I began getting grey hair when I was about 30. It was kind of weird buying wine at the liquor store and (if my hair was covered) getting asked for my ID. You've got to be kidding, yet deep inside it felt kind of good being mistaken for a teenager.

That, obviously doesn't happen to me anymore but for the most part I'm happy with my hair. But sometimes I'll catch a quick glance in a mirror or see myself in a recent photo and I'm taken aback as the image doesn't reflect how I feel inside. I get ma'am's on occasion and am aware that to younger people I'm old; not older but old, though my peers tell me I look young for my age despite the grey.

My older sister went grey early on too, but I thought it was the most beautiful colour and showed off her complexion, blue eyes, lush dark eyelashes and eyebrows. I thought that I too would look as good as she when my hair became more fully grey. But an odd thing happened. My features lost their definition, my skin washed out, my sparse eyebrows and eyelashes did me no favours either and my green eyes seemed lost in the space of the face.

Years ago, when I came home for a visit, Mom and Dad picked me up at the airport. It was a summer day deep in the throws of a swelteringly humid season. I'd been living in Victoria, BC for a few years where everything is moist, the colours are lush and green and the sea and sky crystal, clear blue. I was depressed with the hues that greeted me. Everything was dry and washed out by a haze of heat and pollution, even Mom and Dad had aged and become beige during my absence.

Well, for the longest time that's how I looked to myself — old and beige.

But as time has passed either I've adjusted to my appearance, my makeup application (that smudge of blush) has improved or my skin tones have changed. Still, every once-in-a-while I'm tempted to get rid of the grey.

What keeps me from going there?

• My hair grows faster than spit and I'm a lazy sod who can't be bothered with touching up my roots.
• I wonder, would I actually appear younger, or merely look like someone trying to look younger?
• I get a lot of compliments on it just the way it is.
• There's a rebellious aspect in boldly going where few others dare to.
• What I lack in follicular pigmentation I make up for in immaturity which attests to my youth.
• I can think of a bazillion ways I'd rather spend my money that keep me feeling young.
• I really look at myself in the mirror and reconnect with who I am right now and realize that I'm fine just the way I am.

Photographic Evidence of Lifes little wonders

Gravity Assistant proudly on duty at all times, doing a great job keeping everything nailed down which would otherwise fly around due to the force of the earth spinning and careening through space. We can all breathe a heavy sigh of relief knowing that millions like her are out there. If not for her tireless effort, the knitting needles inside the bag would have escaped and poked my eyes out by now. Thanks, Gravity Assistant!

DCSI - REPORT FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF THE DOMESTIC CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATOR - undeniable evidence that this is the home of a married couple. The last person at the scene of the crime was the husband.

I rest my case.

Sweet Shop or a Health Shop or just what the heck goes on in there? My husband, at first glance thought it was a sweet shop (until we saw the words Health Centre) because of the bubble gum and Kool Aid colours plus it's got what looks like a cute little wrapped candy above the i. All I know is that it sits between the COP SHOP (a bar) and THE LOVE SHOP (a, well you know, a love shop full of all kinds of naughty-fun stuff) all of which doesn't shout to me — "COME IN AND BE HEALED".

Denial in De Feet

WARNING: YUCKY PICTURES AHEAD!

I find pharmacies one of the most embarrassing places on earth, like just last week when I was on the hunt for preparation-H...

Dr. Steve, my chiropractor, suggested that I go and get some. Now you may be asking yourself, "What gives a chiropractor special knowledge about hemorrhoids?"

And my answer would be, "Nothing."

He doesn't know anything about hemorrhoids but being a runner and triathlete he does know about blisters. He saw my feet shortly after the Around the Bay 30K and wondered what had happened to me. Why had I gotten so many blisters? I sheepishly had to admit that no I hadn't trained a whole lot, the longest walk I'd done before this was two and a half hours long. And no I wasn't breaking in new shoes, in fact my shoes were ancient and had holes in the toes (which I actually thought — wrongly I might add — would be comfortable as they gave my toes more space). But, even though I broke 2 cardinal rules about training and participating in such an event, he took pity on me and shared an old runner's remedy with me.

Apply preparation-H to blisters. It helps dry them up.

So, I'm in Shopper's Drug Mart looking high and low for this hemorrhoid cream and for the life of me I can't find it anywhere. I realize that I'm going to have to ask for help locating it and curiously I begin to feel all embarrassed just like I was the first time I had to go in and purchase "feminine products". I don't want to say aloud, "Hey, I'm looking for hemorrhoid cream", or "hey, I'm looking for preparation-H" (which everyone knows is for hemorrhoids) but it looks like I have no choice. So I choose just the right moment when no one's in sight, slide up to the pharmacist and ask in as quiet a voice as I can, and still be heard, "Can you tell me where I can find preparation-H?"

"Over there in isle 6, left side, bottom shelf towards the end of the aisle," he says in a booming voice accompanied by a broad sweeping arm gesture.

Thanks a lot.

Moments after I pluck it off the shelf a big, tall guy, who'd been hovering around that very spot, begins to chat me up, "My mother has, um," he begins, a little tongue-tied, "the same, the same problem, um, that you have..."

His mother must be 80. ACK!

"Oh, no, no, no," I throw my hand up in the cease and desist gesture. "I don't have hemorrhoids. Nope, not me," I'm speaking as quickly as possible to stop that train coming down the tracks and I free my foot from my sandal in an instant and begin flashing its blister ridden surface in his face (I can do this, I'm a yogi) as I hop around on the other. "See, I have blisters on my feet from running. It's supposed to help heal them."

"You're a runner then."

"Yup, I am. I run. I run lots" (OK, OK it's a little fib) and then I left him standing in the hemorrhoid isle as I limped away with my ointment in my hand.

UPDATE:

It took 2 nights of applying the cream but it did work on the blister you see. This one I earned last week from walking in Soft Moc athletic sandals (not quite as kind to my feet as I thought they'd be). The other blisters on the heel are taking a little longer probably because the skin's thicker. And, my little toe's just about finished shedding its skin like a snake — lovely.

Will you please put your hand down!

Went to the MAC class tonight and found it much more interesting than the first one. I think the whole point is to follow along on your computer — duh.

So there I was happily tapping along with Dave our teacher as I explored all that could be done in Safari. Lots of great organizational ideas which I love as I do love to organize and put things into systems for some reason, just the same way I like bags and decorative boxes. Within no time I became mesmerized as I attempted to customize my toolbar, becoming deaf to his ongoing instructions. I didn't snap out of it until I realized that he was off and running on some other task.

It amazes me how unabashedly I can just admit before a room full of people that I am a total idiot who needs more assistance. As a teacher myself I realize that often people are too timid to ask what may seem to be a dumb question, but not me; I also realize that no question is too stupid to ask. For every person who speaks up there are always a few others in the class who have the same question.

For teachers who really don't like to teach I am your worst nightmare: I am the student who's hand shoots up like a nervous twitch; the one who makes you turn to address the other side of the room to avoid seeing this gesture; I'm the one who'll pursue the question til I understand the answer; I am the one who loves to learn. For Dave that meant there were a few times I had to say, "Nope, I still don't get it. I'll have to see you after class," (the prospect of which thrilled him no end, I'm sure). I said this, not because he was unwilling to take the time, but because I was - I knew he had territory to cover and I didn't want to risk being the object of a class lynching (there were a number of students quicker on the uptake than I - q'el surprise).

I have one more class next week. We'll be introduced to i-photo. Boy, do I have a lot of questions about that! Then I'm on my own. Well, not quite. It seems my friend's son (brave soul that he is) is going to rise up to the challenge (for a mutually acceptable fee) of being my MAC tutor.

I have promised to do heavy duty, intensive meditation in preparation for our sessions.

You had me at, "I'm listening."

(cartoon copyright N. Thacker 1990)

click on image to enlarge

Episode 415, 30 ROCK, season 4: Jack comes up with the idea of introducing women's porn to the network. In women's porn, handsome men listen to women expressing their feelings. It would be loaded with scenes of handsome men appearing interested as their women blather on and on and occasionally the listener would interject with such things as "go on", "I'm listening".

A hysterical, yet true observation — nothing is as sexy to a woman as a guy who listens, really listens, except for maybe a man who loves to cook or a guy who's gentle with children and animals.

Anyway, if there was an award for the best written, male, porn star character in the category of women's porn it would have to go to Joe Dubois of MEDIUM fame. I love this show, not for its primary story lines (which I find gruesome, nasty and far fetched) nor for the acting, but for the secondary story line revolving around the family dynamic. I really love this family and I especially love Joe. I find him attractive and incredibly sexy.

How can you not love a guy who, through years of his wife scaring the bejesus out of him night after night, still continues to sleep in the same bed as she? Does her thrashing about, gasping for air, springing bolt upright in bed, describing her dreams of the most horrific deeds imaginable make him even consider moving on to the couch, or demanding that she do so? No!

No, in fact her cute, unbelievably calm, adoring hubby encourages her, asking, "Are you OK Alison?" or "Tell me what you saw," as he strokes her shoulder. Give me a break! If that's not a female fantasy I don't know what is. I can more believe that she is psychic than that he still shares the same bed with her.

But, then again she has not yet reached peri-menopause, the time that tests even the most devoted husband, the time when the real horror begins. Yes, I'm talking about snoring. Ha, let's see what happens then Mr. Sensitive Joe Dubois. I bet that'll send you running for the couch.

I simply remember my favourite things

The phantom editor strikes again. She e-mailed the cover for the anthology for contributors to vote on which I think is a nice gesture. It looks really good too! But, until I have an actual book that I can hold in my hot little hands, I'm viewing this whole event as just a figment of my imagination.

If it ever happens you'll hear about it here.

If it does happen before my 58th birthday I'll have kind of have met one of my goals which was to have a book published by the age of 57. I was working on the material in Brian Henry's classes (see link in my favourites). The title of my proposed book is LIFE AT 139, a bitter-sweet observation of my parent's journey (in particular, Dad's) through old age and my childhood memories of our eccentric household. Bits and pieces of it will appear in this blog under the label Life at 139.

9 other goals I've been blessed to be able to achieve (if not fully, I got close enough to be satisfied) in my life are:

1. TO SURF - I learned how to surf in Costa Rica in 2008. A childhood dream come true! I'm totally hooked. Any warm place we go with surf...I'll be surfing from now on.
2. SYNDICATION OF MY CARTOON STRIP — worked on it for 4 years solidly, intermittently since then. Syndication didn't happen but it was published as STRETCHMARKS in YOGA CENTRE OF VICTORIA NEWSLETTER and other material as THACKER in MONDAY MAGAZINE in Victoria, B.C. and elsewhere. The label Thacker cartoon will bring them up in the blog.
3. WORK ON A NATIONAL FILM BOARD FILM. I was cel painter on Ellen Besen's animated film ILLUMINATED LIVES - a Brief History of Women's Work in the Middle Ages. This was a fantastic experience and I was so impressed with Ellen's talent and intelligence and am totally in awe when I think about the passion and dedication it takes to be an independent animator. It also showed me I don't have what it takes to be one so I'm very happy with this accomplishment.
4. EAT FISH AND CHIPS OUT OF NEWSPAPER ON THE BRIGHTON PIER. And for dessert — soft ice cream cone; a memorable evening.
5. SNORKEL AND DIG MY FEET INTO SUN WARMED SAND ON A CARIBBEAN BEACH — totally unexpected bonus it was my honeymoon in Antigua in '86
6. CANOE TRIPPING IN ALGONQUIN PARK — me and 5 guys (the other women bailed). But it was great and aside from the joy of exploring the vast wilderness a highlight was sitting in a tree, straight out of a Tom Thompson (member of the group of 7) painting, bathed in a warm, red, blazing sunset after a long day of paddling.
7. BE DROPPED OFF ALONE ON AN ISLAND FOR A FEW DAYS. Rod and I did this on Flowerpot Island a number of years back. Not quite alone, there were 3 other occupied campsites a fair distance from us (populated by low key individuals like ourselves in search of solitude, peace and quiet) and a tugboat or 2 dropped people off for day trips so they could swim off the rocks on the far side of the island. But after 5 p.m., when they were picked up, the sense of isolation was extremely satisfying.
8. LIVE AT AN ASHRAM — in 1978 I lived at Yasodhara Ashram: stayed on a tent on the beach, worked in the garden, lived the yogic life — had the supreme honour of studying with my guru Swami Radha.
9. GO TO PARIS - stayed in quaint hotels, just like I'd imagined they'd be, in Paris. Sat at roadside cafes lingering over croissants, crepes and cappaccino as I people-watched; spent a glorious fall evening atop the Eiffel Tower overlooking the city of lights with Rod and sketched in the Musee d'Orsay!

So, when I feel bummed about whatever my mind chooses to be bummed about I just remember things like this, take in those good feelings, spread them around and realize there are many more goals I've achieved and many yet to come. I've got a lot to feel grateful for.

The flowers are from my garden make me smile and are another thing to be grateful for. You see one reason why I love tulips — these ones open up their bright and shining yellow faces to the sun and then close up, exposing their red under-side, around 5p.m. The pics don't do them justice!

WHAT ARE YOU GRATEFUL FOR THAT YOU'VE DONE IN YOUR LIFE?

In search of the Holy Grail

Rod and I were on a mission to find the ideal patio furniture on Saturday. He defined the

qualities of the perfect patio chair and they were:

• he will never have to sand or stain another wooden chair for the rest of his life
• he will never have to go shopping for another chair, ever in his life
• comfort — it would allow for just the right degree of slouch-age as he drifts away basking in the rays of the morning sun
• its arms are broad enough to hold a cup of tea while he reads the Sunday paper
• it could be left outside throughout the year as our storage space is at a minimum

He finally saw his elusive prey inside the pages of a brochure buried amongst a bazillion others that arrives tucked in the local paper (which, itself comprises about 10 pages, more or less, of local items considered newsworthy)...

THE ADIRONDACK CHAIR

There they were gleaming off the page all shiny, bright and cheery in candy colours of orange, candy floss pink, sky blue and sunny yellow. "Make sure you pick a colour you like — you're going to have it forever." Made of recycled plastic, the ad further guaranteed "pure distilled awesomeness" and a "zero maintenance product". No warranty is needed as there is "no disappointment."

It was as if he had found God.

But, there was no price listed, so as he always does, he researched to find more of a similar design and found a $20 version at Canadian Tire. I feared a frighteningly low, unmatchable baseline was being established so I brought him back to reality. "Remember the first patio chairs we bought way back when; the plastic ones that disintegrated and stained to a yucky streaky grey. That's what those are made of. These are a lot better than that."

He thought for a moment and agreed. "How many chairs do you want to get?" he asked me and personally I really don't care, I am comfortable sitting on a rock, but our friends are not rock sitting people.

"It depends on the price and their size as the yard's pretty small." We live in a townhouse and I don't want to see fence to fence furniture blocking my view of the garden.

"OK", he mentally juggles figures and options, "I am willing to spend $50 to $75 tops for a chair. So we'll get 2 or 3 depending on the cost."

They were truly all that the brochure advertised and more because, without realizing it at the time, we fell i

n love with the higher quality, recycled plastic version made by a different manufacturer. "I call this the 'GENERATION' chair," the salesman said as he waxed poetically about it. Oh, oh I was beginning to smell the big sell — this a perfect line aimed to appeal to the '60's generation with "disposable" income (we are the former, not the latter). We couldn't give away my folk's quality, antique furniture so you think the next generation is going to be interested in hand-me-down patio chairs? Times, and styles change. We live in a throwaway culture where "NEWER IS BETTER". I don't think so.

This is what we could afford to get in our $50 to $75 dollar range. I'm not talking about the whole chair, look closer and to the left of the arm of the chair. Yup, that's right...A CUP HOLDER. A frikin' CUP HOLDER!

"No disappointment" my ass, I was stunned and Rod was numb. Not only was his dream smashed to smithereens but it left me wondering what the hell our values are around here. One chair

was $459. The price of 2 chairs would pay for one return ticket to Vancouver Island. "So we can either sit in our backyard or go for a trip" Rod concluded.

Our hunt intensified. His resolve weakened. As we visited store after store and scoured the town in his van (cleared of his tools precisely for the purpose of delivering his prize home) he began to question his mission. He began considering:

• Iron chairs which would leave "grill-like" imprints on our flesh from the blazing sun (but would last forever). We could get seat pads and replace them every year (uugh a yearly quest, don't think so).
• Bouncy ones with steel frame and plastic webbed backs; they're bouncy what's not to like? But their arms were spindly and anaemic, not suited to hold anything.
• Crappy tire's "ergonomically" friendly, plastic $20 specials would take us back where we started about 18 years ago and put us back on the road in 2 years in search of their replacements.

"Don't get sidetracked" I urged. "What do you really want? Focus on that." I encouraged in my best hypnotist fashion.

"I don't want to have to do any maintenance or look for chairs again. I like the Adirondack chair, but there's no way I'm paying that price." (Actually, I found out a day later that the ones in the brochure that captured our attention initially are made by CRP in Stratford, Ontario, and run for $299 with $20 cup holders but are "cheaply" made with rough edges and exposed screws; no comparison to the Element Squared ones made right here in Burlington, that had captured our hearts.)

The bottom line was no maintenance. Mainte...nance; mainte...nance. Could it be more clear?

Our prize was to be found standing on a podium of boxes just inside the entrance at Costco, which just happened to be the last store we were going to search. It rose above us like a beacon in answer to our prayers. For $57.99 this is what we got.

The compromise aka reality:

• Some assembly is required and though I can do it, as of this writing Rod has put one of them together. When I asked him how long it took. He said, "Four hours while watching the Master's". The production area is on our living room floor in front of the TV. As long as he's happy that's all I care about.
• We're not quite back full circle as the chairs we are replacing were weather worn wood with much thinner and more numerous slats — bigger and fewer slats = easier in my book as I will be the maintenance person.
• So every year, when the season is heralded in by the chirping of birds at 5a.m., I will be called upon to slather the water-repellant preservative over their gleaming, natural wood surface.
• They will become a garden sculpture in the winter, stored under a cheery, blue tarp.
• Since they don't have the bright, appealing colours I'll just have to plant more flowers.

Now we just have to replace the nasty little BBQ...