Natasha Regehr

Category: Inspirational (Page 1 of 3)

2024 Gratitude List

This is the tenth Gratitude List that you’ll find on Cosmic Prose, signalling ten years of daily journaling, in which I choose a few bright moments from each day to crystalize in print. Somehow I never run out of entries, and somehow each year’s list has its own special flavour.

This has been an epic year of social and professional blossoming, punctuated by meaningful moments both at home and abroad. Here’s to happiness!

  • A job that makes my days feel good
  • My car is home!
  • 5/5 days
  • When Thursday is a second Wednesday
  • The breast clinic is looking after me
  • The circus is getting a new ringleader
  • At least the underground parking lot is always there for me
  • A full day
  • Not doing schoolwork on weekends
  • Double naps
  • Getting the chores done
  • Soon I will be writing again
  • Chauffeurs
  • Competent supply teachers
  • When I think I’m in tune
  • Good health
  • A writing group
  • A third friend
  • Finishing assessments
  • Improvements
  • Less pain today
  • Finishing progress reports
  • Kale and bacon pizza
  • One day without fruits or vegetables is not a big deal
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When in Rome…

My first impressions of Rome were not so favourable.  It seemed to be a city made of garbage and graffiti.  I saw it on the bus from the airport to the train station, and then again on the walk from the train station to the apartment.  Garbage and graffiti everywhere.

“You’re going to love Europe,” I told my niece.  “Everything here is so pretty.  The ornate buildings.  The immaculate gardens.  The cobblestone streets.  Everything.

No, not everything.  Definitely not the trajectory from the Termini train station to our humble abode.  Rome, I thought, is a dirty, unpalatable city.  I’m not so sure I like it here.

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Lest We Forget: Pass it On

I did not wear a poppy last year on Remembrance Day.  It wasn’t a statement: I simply forgot.

But as I learned today on the shores of Dieppe, forgetting is a statement.

Yesterday I visited the famed Flanders Fields of John McCrae’s poem.  Rows of crosses, row on row.  Thousands and thousands of them.  Each representing a boy-child, son, husband, father, lost on the Ypres Salient in World War I, gaining a mere eight kilometres for the Allies through the many months of brutal attacks.  Stones marked “A soldier of the Great War, known unto God” because their bodies could not be identified in the carnage.  Men lost to the first crippling gas attacks, in the days before gas masks.  Men whose body parts could not be sorted from the others and reassembled for a proper burial.  Men who died, and died, and died again, not knowing the outcome of the war that was supposed to end all wars.

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2023 Gratitude List

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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Seasoned Greetings: The Power of One

“Happy New Year.”

We say it every year, to pretty much everyone we see, because that’s the thing to say in January.  Do we mean it?

Well, of course, to some extent.  Who doesn’t have a generic sense of goodwill towards the world at large after several weeks of holiday indulgences? Who doesn’t support the idea of a year of happiness to replace the year of whatever-it-was that just concluded?

But really, much like with “How are you?” and other empty social conventions, we aren’t particularly interested in the type of year most people have just had, nor in the particularities of the year ahead of them.  We just want a seasonal alternative to “Hi!”

We may gaze fondly at our dearly beloveds at 11:59 on December 31 and offer them our affectionate good wishes.  We may encourage those closest to us to pursue their dreams with optimism.  But in general, we settle for a blanket “Happy New Year,” spread with equal (dis)interest over great populations of distant acquaintances, and consider our festive duty done.

In my family, this annual dissimulation of goodwill has traditionally taken the form of a “Family Letter” reminding others of our largely unchanging existence; and being a literary type, I am often the one tasked with trying to make our lives sound interesting.  My earnest attempts at creativity have included detailed profiles of each family member, illustrated by elaborate collages and laced with carefully-crafted witticisms.  The resulting epistle was typically sent to Everybody, with instructions to pass it on to Everybody Else.  It was posted on social media, and maybe on my blog.  Just to make sure that Every Possible Person had access to my self-absorbed ramblings. 

But this year I did something different.

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Places

I love the idea of Places.

There are just so very many of them.  Inner Places, outer Places, upper Places, lower Places.  Even those of us who collect Places can never hope to find them all.

You think you know a Place, until you see it from the sky.  And then you think you know the sky, until you’re falling through it.  How the sky feels in an airplane, in a free-fall, in the cushion of a parachute; how the river feels beneath a bridge, beneath a raft, above your head; how a mountain feels, within, without, above, below; there are oh so many Places.  Did you know that every Place has a verticality?

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Bake a Cake

The most delightful thing just happened.

I was late for lunch, because it’s the week before concert week, and I’ve been making up the classes that I missed last week when I was sick.  Like, really sick.  Vomiting sick.  The only kind of sick that would keep a music teacher from her students two weeks before the first big concert of the year.  So I forfeited the dearest part of my day (lunch, of course) to rehearse with the students who missed their classes while I was busy vomiting.  

Therefore, when I finally had a few minutes to breathe, the cafeteria was closed.  I was devastated.  Yes, I had vaguely suspected such an atrocity might occur, but it was a chance I had been willing to take.  I knew I had to risk missing those tantalizing beef kabobs for the sake of the concert cause.  And the children, of course.  The children.

So there I was at the cafeteria counter, gushing with gratitude when the kitchen staff agreed to prepare a plate for me (bless them bless them bless them), and I saw a whole pile of kids sitting around the picnic tables outside, with nary a teacher in sight.

“This is perfect!” I thought.  “I have someone to sit with while I eat my lunch!”  And so I did.

I sat down, right in the middle of all the little ducklings.  They were stunned, but pleased.  I heard some of the children calling out each other’s names in a rhythmic sort of way, and I mused out loud, “Hmm! Sounds like someone wants to bake a cake!” And I started to sing.

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Rendez-vous: The Day I Met my Prince

A year and a half ago, with my sights set on Morocco, I trotted to the Peterborough Public Library and went berserk. First, I gave away about fifteen boxes of books, and then, I set about replacing them.

I signed out an armload of language and travel resources, fiction, and DVDs about North Africa, and devoured them all, in between spastic packing fits. But my most precious acquisition was a tiny, one-dollar purchase from the library basement: a slim, winsome copy of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s Le Petit Princeen français, of course, because I fancied the idea of becoming fluent in French during my two years abroad.

img_9764Ha! Well, I exported myself from one continent to the other, and soon discovered that “learning French” is a bigger endeavour than I had expected – and that Le Petit Prince is not so little after all. Continue reading

2016 Gratitude List

I am thankful for the big things: the people who make my world beautiful every day, both here in Morocco and in my other happy home in Canada; for the many places in between that I’ve been able to visit this year (twelve airports, if I’ve counted correctly!); for the rich cultures and histories that intersect my days; for meaningful work; and for the provisions that allow me to keep on living this colourful, promising life.

But every Thanksgiving, I take a few hours to collect all the smaller thanksgivings I’ve recorded throughout the year as well – those things that, at the end of each day, remind me that there is always, always a little goodness to be found, or to create, with a small turn of the mind.

Here, then, is my 2016 Gratitude List, beginning with last year’s Thanksgiving trip to an all-inclusive resort in Southern Morocco, and ending with yesterday’s roast chicken at home. I invite you to walk through my year of thankfulness with me: Continue reading

Find Your Blick: An Alpine Adventure

When your travel buddy deserts you in the middle of a mountain, you have a choice to make: do you follow her to the local spa to be coddled for the rest of the day, or do you carry on without her?

I chose to carry on.

Poor Jennifer. She didn’t really desert me. She just wasn’t feeling well. We had taken the cable car to the top of Mount Jenner, and halfway down again, hoping to do the last 8.5 km on foot. In her bodily distress, she opted to ride all the way down, but I refused: “No way, not me. I did not come to the Bavarian Alps to do a wussy cable-car descent. I came to hike, and hike I will!”

IMG_8801She waved a cheery good-bye and floated away in her glass carriage, and I confess, I gulped a little. Me – find my way across the mountain and down to Lake Königssee, then catch the boat to Kessel, the bus to Berchtesgaden, and the train to Bad Reichenhall – without my GPS? Or Google maps? Without even my phone to look after me if I get lost? No cell service, no wi-fi, no homing pigeons… just me, a pamphlet, and a series of destinations? Me – the wanderer who can barely get from home to work and back again without an unintentional detour? Without a functioning phone? Not even one?

Yes, me. I can do this. I’m an Adventurous Adult. Continue reading

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