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).

FLIPPY - a tribute

FLIPPY - a recent photo

It is with deep sadness that I announce the death of our beloved kitty, Flippy (? 2002 - Nov 7/15). After a brief, incurable illness, Flippy passed at home in sacred space with the compassionate assistance and guidance of Dr Lee of Capital Cat Hospital. Rod, Nance and kitty buddy Maya were all present to honour her passing.

Flip, our BBG (big beautiful girl), a rescue kitty from Burlington Animal Aid (now the Burlington Humane Society) retired in 2013 from her job as official greeter/ therapy assistant for my clients at my home practice in Burlington, ON. These responsibilities she herself elected to take on shortly after coming to live with us in Sept of 2003.

in "flippy" mode

The lovely, sedate, "Vatican" (the name they gave her due to the little streak of a few grey hairs on her forehead) that we met at the shelter immediately revealed herself to be a wild and crazy girl, defying gravity with her aerodynamic skills and sudden bursts of leaping (aka leaprosy). We renamed her Flippy and somewhere along the line the grey streak vanished and she grew into being a big beautiful pure white cat. She possessed a very expressive face and would smile often. Flip was the smartest cat we've ever known who loved to play fetch down the hallway, scale the kitty tree, cuddle with Maya and watch birds, squirrels. She was amazed at the sight of a deer in our backyard in Victoria.

Her buddy, Maya, was adopted on the same day as Flip and Flippy took her under her wing, teaching her cat skills which Maya lacked; most notably climbing. Maya, was a few weeks old when she came to the Oakville Humane Society with her litter mates but due to bias against black kitties, remained there for over a year, long after the others had been adopted. She was a "hider", a frightened and shy little smooshball who, we were told, would probably never take to people and probably spend her life hiding away from us. So, of course, we had to take her.

We were thrilled when Maya and Flip took an immediate liking to each other. Flip became Maya's kitty therapist of sorts and was instrumental in bringing Maya out of her shell and getting her trust. Maya returned the favour, comforting a very distressed Flippy when they arrived at our new home in Victoria, BC in 2013 after spending over a week in a kitty kennel and enduring airplane travel.

Flippy sleeps restfully when Maya joins her after their long journey.

Our buddy was always a loving presence from the most challenging times in our lives to the most joyous and for this I am deeply grateful.

THE GREETER

Flippy will always be deeply loved and remembered. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other in the dream space. I send her off with this Kundalini yoga, farewell blessing…

May the long time sun.
Shine upon you.
All love surround you.
And the pure light within you.
Guide your way on.

Thank you, thank you, thank you dearest Flippy for blessing us with your presence.

SOCIAL MEDIA BLOW OUT

…I hit the wall last week on social media thanks to a wonderful family gathering with the in-laws.

It's Thanksgiving weekend in Canada and I'm filled with warm, childhood memories of simpler times and Thanksgivings gone by at Mom and Dad's. Mom was not one known for her culinary skills. Her remark, "I'd rather we could take a pill," pretty much summed up her love affair with cooking. But she always rose to the occasion when it came to family celebrations, especially Thanksgiving, after all we had much to be thankful for.

Mom was always the last to come to the table, taking off her apron along the way. Despite her pleadings for us to start without her, we'd wait for her arrival with our plates piled high.

My Dad would ask the obligatory, "Does anyone want to say grace?"…

Giggles. "Grace" said the more irreverent family members.

Without missing a beat he would continue on, "For this, our daily bread, may we truly be thankful."

We'd linger at the table over our dessert of pumpkin pie and whipped cream not wanting to break the spell of calm, contented, satiation and Dad, the old "philosopher" would share what he was thankful for. "We have our health," he would say this even when his own health was failing, "and we have each other. No matter where you are, or what life presents you with, I hope you will always remember these times and be grateful."

I do and I am.

Thank you turkey; thank you "Dad's" dressing

So what does this have to do with my social media "fast"?

During my visit I observed how we, I include myself here, have become obsessed with our devices. In the last post, I wrote that they help me connect with family members and friends who are geographically far away. There is no doubt that, used within reason, they provide the desired link. But, they also take me out of the present moment and away from my own creative devices.

Anxiety ridden, dissatisfaction-fuelled, advertising worms its way insidiously into my life filling me with impossible desires. Petitions, all for very good causes, leave me feeling powerless despite the actions I take in real life to defend the ocean and its inhabitants. Requests for donations at every turn arouse a sense of hopelessness for the earth. If only money talks and has power then we truly are doomed.

Where does the time go while I'm swiping through FB, answering e-mails, texting while "taking time out" to chill and "watch" a program on TV? Spreading myself so thin divides me up into little pieces. I'm scattered, ramped up; wanting.…What?…Anything but what I already have, it seems.

Add that to the chaos that accompanies every family gathering: the unspoken expectations, good intentions, subconscious agendas, spontaneous change-ups, miscommunication, emotional triggers; a cold in incubation, and you get someone "undone" by life. Time to unplug.

A week later, more grounded, calm and creative I ask myself, "Do I want to jump back into the throng?"

May this time with your family find you unplugged, feeling grateful, and filled with memories to warm your heart.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING ALL!

AM I DREAMING?

One of the first batches of cards which I mailed out

So much time has passed since my last post here. I've been very active on my other blog AWAKENING CHOICE DREAMS and social media: my personal FB page, my other FB page AWAKENING CHOICE DREAMS, my new FB page AM I DREAMING?, and most lately INSTAGRAM.

You'd think that I'm a computer nerd but you'd be wrong…sort of. Distance from family and friends coupled with a strange desire to connect with people in some way draws me to these more interactive venues. Face Time and Skype, FB messenger, What's Ap, phone text messaging and even the good old phone keep me in touch with my buddies.

To balance this all out, physical restlessness and a need for real life often beckons me - you know, that sphere of physical reality that exists beyond all this technology. So, I'm not sitting at the computer 24/7.

My writing has become less about "me" and more about stories and connectedness. I love to hear other people's stories about synchronicity and following the synchronicity "strings" between stories, people, events and daily happenings. I don't know why exactly. Maybe it just amuses and comforts me to see the connectedness of all things when I feel so disconnected from family and friends living so far away. Maybe I'm just curious about people in general.

Anyway, I came up with this game that I call AM I DREAMING? It all started simply enough on the invitation of a friend to join her at a workshop Bootstrap Marketing with Marc Stoiber at the Greater Victoria Public Library. I reluctantly went, more for the coffee and pastry reward we were going to indulge in afterwards than for the event itself. I felt more reluctance when we were asked to pair up and brainstorm on ways to promote/market our products. I blatantly confessed to my partner, "I don't have a product.", before the handshake and name exchange so that she could find someone else and get me off the hook.

"Neither do I."

Well this is promising.

We rebelliously stuck together and chatted while the others mingled and brainstormed as directed.

Then Marc showed us his business card; just a card with his website URL on it. That got my attention. And then he said, "Have fun with it. Be creative."

As I walked home I thought about what a frustrating pain in the ass my experience with marketing has been. All my elaborate efforts at promo, blogging, e-mailing, talking up what I do, presenting free classes and demos, posting of flyers that get torn down or, more rudely, posted over and for what?

I'm not reaching the dreamers though I know they're out there; but where? How can I reach that quirky bunch?

What the hell, make it simple, be creative and have fun.

The cards were supposed to be just about business but this has become something far more enjoyable and open ended. Will more students come to my workshops and classes? I don't know and at this point I don't care. But, I am curious as to where it will lead me, who will connect with me and what branches will grow as people participate. And, it's helping me to appreciate life on a daily basis as I've committed to making daily entries on my FB AM I DREAMING? page - my streak started on Aug 17th.

The card designs began simply as well but have morphed into more creative expressions leading me back into artwork of sorts. As I draw and embellish the cards it's freed me up to explore mediums and designs without the judgment or the harsh self-criticism that has limited my previous attempts. After all it's not really about producing "art"; I'm making cards, just playing with line, design and colour.

I have to pinch myself sometimes when I realize how lucky I am to live here

Drawing up more cards on the patio. They're getting more elaborate.
I'm having a lot of fun with them, it's very satisfying to be doing artwork again.

So, I'm out there, really I am, not here…that much…for the time being.
You will find posts at:

Awakening Choice Dreams Website:
- Am I Dreaming? explained here
- blog here where I write about dreams

Facebook:
Awakening Choice Dreams FB page where I share interesting posts and articles I've found.
AM I DREAMING? FB page where I post photos and stories about my daily Am I Dreaming? experiences (some are shares of my Instagram photos with further elaboration) and where you can send your AM I DREAMING? experiences for me to share

Instagram:
 AM I DREAMING?  I post photos and brief paragraphs about my daily Am I Dreaming? experiences and where you can post a picture and short explanation using the hashtags #amIdreaminggame #amIdreaming #amIdreamingcard #card(followed by the number of the card that you have)

If you want to play AM I DREAMING? using one of my cards, let me know and I'll send you one free complimentary card (I just need your mailing address). Send your request to me at nancethacker10@me.com
For $20 you can get a minimum order of 20 numbered, one-of-a-kind cards (10/sheet)

I had a funny realization a few days back. My Dad was in constant search of peoples' stories. After he retired he even passed out a card that said NORM THACKER A FRIEND. Yikes, it dawned on me that what I'm doing isn't really that different - meeting people from a point of friendliness and shared connections. Maybe my "Norm" genes are acting up proving the old adage that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Combing the Coast - French Beach

SURF RIDER- COMBING THE COAST French Beach 2015 from Jen Steele on Vimeo.

This beach clean up was in March and Jen got the video out shortly afterwards.

Jen spent a lot of time interviewing a whack of people. She asked permission to follow us around for a bit and after a while I kind of forgot that she was filming.

At the monthly meeting in April a few people came up to me and said that I was a pretty good spokesperson, but I had no idea that the video had come out nor that Rod and I appeared in so much footage. I have to admit that it felt pretty cool to have a record of myself in this wonderful place doing something that I'm passionate about with others who respect and are grateful for this "super beautiful" place that we have the privilege to inhabit.

Anyway, I thought you might like to see this beautiful place that I call home and the amazing people who are making a difference here on Vancouver Island. Jen did such a beautiful job filming and editing the piece; inspiring. It really just makes you want to go out and clean up a beach doesn't it?

The next big event is INTERNATIONAL SURFING DAY June 20th Paddle Out for Clean Water at Cadboro Bay Beach 10 - 4 p.m. I've got my SUP board reserved - woo hoo! Info on the event HERE
Hopefully there'll be another video to share with you all. Lots of events going on through the day - should be a lot of fun.

I'm so grateful to have gotten a second chance to do all the things that I never got a chance to do the first time around. I dreamed of being a surfer girl when I was a teenager living in southern Ontario. Well, the reality is that my surfing consists, for the most part, of falling off the board into the surf. But, I discovered SUPing (stand up paddle boarding) and the dream lives…a board, the water and a paddle; works for me! Just call me Gidget.

Blog Hop - Reality Creation

I entered a blog on AWAKENING CHOICE DREAMS but it is one of those that would be suitable here so here it goes…
Go on over to REALITY CREATION to read about a personal dream coming true.

I'm adding this pic as a follow up to the post.

There's a bit of synchronicity here, as I'd said to a group on Saturday, "When I was a girl it was not "normal" for plastic bags to be blowing in the wind from the branches of trees and bushes…" and the very next day there it was. This was in a park not in a parking lot of a mall. Sadly, this isn't an abnormal sight for generations that have come after the boomers.

So, I untangled it and gathered some small bags that were nearby and I'll use it for other litter that I find on my outings cus if I find a bag I have made a pact with myself to do so. Maybe one day bags in trees and bushes will be an abnormal sight - that's a reality I hope to see in my lifetime.

Confessions of a yoga slut

I'm a yoga slut. Ahh. There, I've said it. 

I recently purchased a first-timer's one month's trial membership to a yoga studio. In order to make the most of it, I'm holding on to it while I work on another intro membership deal from a different place. I drop in to yoga classes taught by old friends. Recently I invested in a 12 day punch card special offer at an athletic club gaining full use of facilities + yoga class. And…I'll be seeking out more intro deals, so that I can check out more studios and see what local teachers have to offer.

In the spare room at the  folks place 2010

Such promiscuity! 

I would have never done this in the past. 

For the first 7 years of my practice I was self-taught, drawing from books and TV programs. Gymnastics, or rather the lack of support for the gymnastics program at my high school, brought me to yoga. It was kind of like gymnastics. As I explored all the many different  possibilities that the asanas offered I created my own flow and sessions. The physical, mental, emotional and spiritual benefits of regular practice saved my life * 

I began to teach others now and then. In those days, if you knew more than the person you were teaching and had a certain amount of confidence pretty much anyone could teach.

I attended my first yoga class with a bunch of middle-aged female yoga teachers in 1975; we were part of the inaugural Sheridan College's Yoga Teachers' Training Program. They welcomed me with open arms and encouraged my aspirations to become a real teacher. I felt a camaraderie with these women.

Over the ensuing years I became part of, and was exclusively loyal (each in their own turn) to 3 different yoga studios.

On a deck at a cabin in the woods
a few summers back, Vermont

My first loyalty was to my fellow Victoria YMWCA yogis (aka Yoga Centre of Victoria), the group that I "grew up" with in yoga, that nurtured me through my early years from 1976 as a novice teacher. Yoga was yoga when I first began but different forms of yoga were becoming standardized through the '80's. Growing pains developed within the yoga community and along with them came politics and power struggles. Our group began to divide into Iyengar and non-Iyengar yogis. Eventually we were expected to declare our loyalty. Though I'd immersed myself in the Iyengar approach, I was quite happy doing other forms as well. It felt very un-yogic to choose one over the other but, reluctantly, I choose. I aligned with the Iyengar group and lost touch with many teachers of other methods.

That was the first and only time that I denied my love for all forms of yoga/asana practice.

When I moved back to Ontario I retreated to the sanctuary of my own practice. The voices of my mentors and peers gradually slipped into the background and the freedom and creativity that initially drew me to yoga re-emerged. It was, surprisingly a lovely time. 

My first foray back into public yoga class took place in a Church gymnasium; so old-school. I welcomed diving into a new form - Ashtanga yoga with its breath based movement. It was a big contrast to the linear and alignment emphasis of the Iyengar method. Iyengar: Ashtanga = ballet: jazz, in my experience. Both are wonderful, very different, complementary forms. 

Soon afterwards, Sue, my inspiring teacher, and her business partner opened up a studio incorporating both Iyengar and Ashtanga under the same roof; unbelievable! I found my second community. And, for a time they thrived alongside each other… and then… they didn't. Split was inevitable.

Meanwhile I resumed teaching but my style, influenced by life experience, some physical set backs and Shiatsu studies, evolved. I had classes in Iyengar influenced yoga, ashtanga yoga and my own fusion - combining Iyengar, ashtanga, tai chi, do-in and meridian stretches. All these approaches fed my body, mind and spirit and I knew some, or all of them, would be a fit for fellow seekers too.

Spare hall at a construction site this year
Campbell River 

I witnessed the torch of yoga being passed down to the next generation when Sue's gifted daughter, Katie, opened up a yoga studio of her own. Once more I found a studio and teacher to love. I enjoyed doing advanced practices alongside her. Her yoga classes "took off", her following grew and the studio moved out of my neighbourhood in order to fulfill the increased demand fuelled by the yoga explosion that was taking place. 

Around this time my body was going through the changes of menopause and a debilitating neck issue flared up. My practice needed to change. No books, nor teachers could guide me. I retreated to my mat once more and drew from the wealth contained in the many approaches I'd practiced as I allowed my body's wisdom to guide me through the adaptations and explorations that it needed.

Over the course of 46 years of practice, I've become more open to embracing the many studios, many teachers and many approaches that thrive nowadays, perhaps because I know from experience that impermanence exists, even in yoga, and that there is wisdom contained in all schools.

Everything changes. 

I've done yoga everywhere. Of course, images promoting yoga show beautiful, long, lean, lithe yoga bodies doing impossibly intricate, challenging and perfect postures on mountaintops, in exotic locations, on deserted beaches; yoga as "lifestyle" has become big business. For most of us yoga is done in the "trenches" of daily life, the non-glam places that you don't see in the glossy mags: hospital and hotel rooms, in airplane and car seats (I'm small), construction sites (during breaks - no saws, drills or dust please), cottage decks and campsites (bugs and bees drop by now and again - some leave their marks), hallways, airports, nooks and crannies in our homes - anywhere a yoga mat will fit. Yes, and in yoga studios and classes too. 

With the kitties Christmas 2012
Burlington, Ontario

But my favourite practice and location goes something like this…It's late morning, mid-day or evening. I'm in my living room, on my mat, in my PJ's (Some of you thought I was going to say in the buff didn't you? Ha, surprise!). My kitties are bathing themselves or sleeping on their "princess" blanket or pillow or crinkly paper beside me or perched on a chair overseeing my practice. Music is playing, or it's not. I embrace the sound of my breath that breaks through: silence, the sound of birds singing, kids yelling or crying crocodile tears as their grand dramas unfold in play outside my door. Light streams in through the glass sliding doors; it's overcast and/or raining; it's dark. It's cold; it's warm. I'm breaking a sweat through vigorous movements and/or I'm chilln' and hanging out in long held asanas. A candle burns, or it doesn't.

From the moment I began my own practice I knew that I'd always have yoga in my life. My practice is a joyful expression of gratitude for those teachers who have come before me. It provides sanctuary, guidance, inspiration and solace during difficult times. 

It is a physical celebration of movement and stillness which transcends the physical. As I practice I give thanks.

When it's really cooking… yoga spills off the mat and into daily existence.

* You can read about this in STORIES FROM THE YOGIC HEART
And…you can get the Kindle version - here at Amazon.com. Note: Mine is but one of 27 inspiring stories about how yoga has influenced the lives of famous people and regular types like myself.