Cosmic Prose

Natasha Regehr

Category: Choir

2023 Gratitude List

October 10, 2023 / / 1 Comment

It was over 15 years ago that I came upon the idea of keeping a gratitude list, and since then I have maintained the habit of taking a few minutes each evening to reflect on the goodness of the day.  Some days are naturally radiant, and sometimes it requires some serious excavating to find a glimmer of light.  But without fail, I have always found something for which to be thankful.

Nine years ago I began the tradition of posting the year’s list to my blog each Thanksgiving.  It’s a way for me to travel through the ups and downs of the year through a lens of positivity and good humour, and to share with others the little sparkles that have sustained me through that time.  I’ll warn you — it’s a rather long read; but maybe it will inspire you to find the sparkles in your year as well.  Happy Thanksgiving!

  • Advice is just advice
  • Triage
  • When things are calm
  • When conversations go well
  • When I finish reading OSRs
  • When I remember I have pretzels in the car
  • When there is no longer a dead squirrel on my driveway
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Do Not Enter

September 13, 2018 / / 1 Comment

Three years ago I had a disastrous encounter with a maestro who shall not be named.  It would not be a stretch to say that there were elements of trauma to that evening.  Before you go any further, you should probably read the amusing, but heart-wrenching account of my first audition experience in Casablanca.

Now, three years later, I did the unthinkable thing, and repeated the experience.  Same never-ending round-about.  Same obscure church entrance.  Same ghastly maestro.  Same everything.  But not the same me. Continue reading

Exultant!

October 27, 2015 / / 3 Comments

What I Learned at my First Moroccan Choir Rehearsal:

  1. Our voices are part of what makes us who we are. Use them happily!
  2. Funny sounds are welcome here. They help us find our missing courage.
  3. Mistakes are welcome here. We enjoy being human.
  4. We are capable of great beauty. Just look at the smile on our conductor’s face when he hears our sweet crescendo.
  5. We (every one of us) can access, activate, and feel that beauty. Just look at everyone else’s faces. Our souls are showing.
  6. People are welcome here. Even people who still think in English. We don’t mind helping them wade through the French if they get a little stuck.
  7. We like each other. You can tell from all the kissing.
  8. We both use and do not use sheet music. We’re flexible that way.
  9. We are all so glad to be here; we have found our musical home.

Choir: Take Two

October 11, 2015 / / 6 Comments

This is how you audition for a choir in Casablanca.

First, you hear people talk about it a bit, and you have a brief but friendly Facebook exchange with someone who apologizes for his poor English, even though his English is pretty fantastic.

Then, one day, someone mentions that there are going to be auditions tonight at 7pm, and you go and ask your angel of a French teacher if her driver would mind taking you to the appointed location. You feel you can do this, because you bawled your eyes out in front of her after your last cataclysmic audition, and she gave you her phone number, and said, “Call if you ever need anything. I have a driver.” A driver who speaks neither English nor French, but that’s okay, because your angel of a French teacher hops in the car and goes to the audition with you, even though she’s just worked a ten-hour day. This is what angels are made of.

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How Do You Solve a Problem Like…

September 20, 2015 / / 4 Comments

Sound-of-music-nuns-630x315This is what it’s like to audition for a choir in Casablanca.

First, you email the director, in impeccable French (or, should I say, infantile French that has been nicely elevated by your conveniently bilingual pal back in pleasantly predictable Canada). The director emails you back –eventually– in a casual French that lacks the standards of punctuation and capitalization to which you have grown accustomed in such exchanges. No matter. She is a native speaker. You will allow her this linguistic license.

The content of her message is, essentially, “call me, maybe.”

The second step in auditioning for a choir in Casablanca is a brief moment of panic. Continue reading

Swan Song

May 11, 2015 / / 2 Comments

“Hey, are these guys any good?” I asked, gesturing at the Peterborough Singers brochures on the counter. It was February, 2008, and I was hauling yet another load of mistreated school band instruments to B Flat Music for a little TLC.

“Oh, yes, very good!” declared Peg McCracken.

“You’ve heard them, then?” I asked skeptically.

“Heard them? I’ve sung with them for eighteen years!”

Undaunted, I pressed her further. “What kind of music do they sing?” I was not into the flaky schmaltz that so many community choirs seem to thrive on. I made that immediately and unapologetically clear.

“Well, we’re singing Bach’s St. Matthew Passion in our next concert. You should join us!”

Wait. A. Minute. Are you telling me that a place exists in Peterborough where I can go and sing exclusively Bach for two hours a week, every single week, until May? Pinch me hard; I must be dreaming.

“Start by coming to our concert this weekend. If you like it, we can set up an audition.”

I went. The moment the choir started singing, Continue reading

Hello, Good-bye: A Tribute to Lady Diana

March 2, 2015 / / 5 Comments

Diana_Birrell-150x150“How old are you?!” asked Diana Birrell incredulously, as we sat together on the upper level of a British double decker, touring the streets of York. I was in a “new” country, feeling bewildered, and worrying that my mom would be worrying about me. “What’s the equivalent of 911 in England?” I wanted to know. “Where do I lock up my passport, what do I do if I get lost, and is there really blood in this pudding?” I felt these were perfectly valid concerns for a timid traveller, but not Diana had no such qualms. A wee trip to England was just a tiny slice of her very adventurous life.

Diana, you see, had moved thirteen times by the time she was nineteen years old. Her British parents had hauled her around the globe as they moved from one engineering project to the next, punctuated by visits to Lebanon, the Mediterranean, England, India, Nepal, and Bangladesh. “They took us to see some pretty stupendous places,” she recalls. I suppose that for someone who experienced Mount Everest by horseback at 4:00 a.m. as a child, a little bus ride in a quaint British town is hardly a major life event. . .

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Norm from Cheers
Hey, Norm!

Cheers!

September 4, 2014 / / 0 Comments

I had a Cheers moment last night. It was fantastic. I walked into a bar, and heard a joyful chorus of, “Hey, Norm!”

Well, to be precise, the exclamation sounded more like, “Hi Natasha!” and the bar was Syd Birrell’s back porch. But the sentiment was the same. Quiet little Natasha, who never speaks unless she must, still managed to find herself a roomful of friends.

Everyone was happy to see me. Everyone conversed with me. Everyone asked me questions, and was interested in my answers. I could barely sit down, I was so busy being everyone’s friend. Indeed, I was one of the last to leave. Me. Staying longer than necessary at a social event. Imagine!

What unprecedented alignment of stars and planets could make such a thing happen? What mysterious forces intervened to thrust me so effortlessly into everyone else’s collective orbit? Was it my birthday? My convocation? My wedding? My retirement?

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