Natasha Regehr

Tag: inspirational (Page 3 of 4)

Seconds

This has been a trying week of red tape, traffic jams, dripping fridges, and medical angst.  But a few weeks ago I actually had a successful day on the town.  Let’s focus on that.

There is something to be said for going to the same place twice. And I am going to say it now.

Today I had an appointment in the city, after which I set off in search of waterproof shoes. I simply must have dry feet this winter, and the rest of the Moroccan populace has transitioned instantly from flip flops to Uggs. Everything is binary here, it seems. Morocco is not about in-betweens.

The lovely lady at the reception desk kindly directed me to a nearby shoe store, which did not have waterproof shoes. But while I was there, I remembered that I had forgotten to pick up my receipt, and so I trotted smartly back to the office I had just left. This was my first second visit of the day.

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Sound-Off!

A sonic environment can be a powerful thing. It can take you places, or leave you places; its presences and absences can be more telling than the most articulate guide.

Notable absences from the sonic environment I have enjoyed without interruption for the past three days: the impoverished bleating of sheep and goats; the mournful mooing of cows; the soulful, yet soulless call to prayer; the sprightly chattering of hundreds of little mischief-makers; the vigilant ringing of schoolbells, cell phones and alarm clocks; the guttural exoticism of the Arabic tongue; the overly-welcoming harassment of preying street vendors and slick Don Juans; in short, the persistently present reminders that this Moroccan mayhem is my life.

And in their place? Zamfir interpretations of Celine Dion hits piped through the poolside surround sound system in the morning, and perky American party playlists in the afternoon; the perpetual, muted gurgling of the heated pool’s water filtration system, and the satisfied splashes of swimmers who are neither hot nor cold; canned ocean waves lapping through the massage room speakers, and real ocean waves wooing one beachward; the dignified German, English and French conversations of fat, white Europeans in speedos and bikinis, or their skinny white counterparts, also in speedos and bikinis (I, incidentally, fall squarely in between the two); the distant clattering of silverware being moved from one place to another by hands that exist to satisfy one’s every gastronomical whim; in short, all that is most certainly not Moroccan.

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2015 Gratitude List

My dear Canadian friends have had to wait a full six weeks longer than usual to read my annual Gratitude List.  Sorry, guys.  I was in the desert while you were being thankful, so I’ve jumped on the American bandwagon and given thanks today instead.

For those of you who are new to this quirky tradition of mine, here’s the scoop: Every night before I go to sleep, I write down a few causes for gratitude.  I try not to repeat myself (keeps the thankfulness muscles limber!) but I’m certain you’ll notice an emerging theme or two.  Each Thanksgiving, I post the list for the world to ponder and puzzle over.  For me, it’s a grounding practice of putting days and years in perspective.  For you, it’s either funny, or inspiring, or TMI.  Whatever.  It’s not about you.

I suspect that no one but my mom actually reads the list from start to finish, but should you wish to try, godspeed!

Beginning in October, 2014, here is my year, chronicled in thanks!

A hearth, a family, a sharing of lives

A new form of freedom

Eschatological laughter

Acceptance and openness

What I have is enough

Decisions made = settledness. There is security in having chosen.

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Going Solo: I Can Do This

It happened this weekend that my desire to attend an out-of-town event exceeded my fear of going alone.  Here’s the story of my first solo excursion outside Casablanca to attend the Visa for Music showcase in Rabat.

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Going Solo: Part 1

It is 1:25 pm (or 13:25, as they say around here), and I am triumphant. I have skillfully and cheerfully accomplished the first of the many daunting feats before me today: I have boarded a train. Continue reading

Chins up!

Things for which to be thankful, upon schmucking your chin with great force upon your classroom floor:

  • Just yesterday you dispatched a child to the office for some boxes of tissue: essential in staunching the blood as you dispatched yourself to the nurse’s office…
  • …which is conveniently located just one floor up from your music room…
  • …which no longer looks like a crime scene, because someone came and mopped up all the little pools and trails of blood.

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Exultant!

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

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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Morocco Me: Surf’s Up!

I am beginning to think that everyone in this world has an analogue somewhere on another continent. And that a great many of them live in Morocco.

I’m sure you know what I mean: that niggling feeling that someone reminds you of (or perhaps is) someone else. In fact, one of the very first people who greeted me in Casablanca has a vocal cadence much like one of my synchronized swimming buddies in Canada. So, in my head, I call her “Morocco Sharon.” In the confines of this small campus, I have also met Morocco Dave, Morocco Catharine, Morocco Sarah; Morocco Tania, Stephanie, Krystal, Vera, Crystal, Paul, and Darlene; and, most curiously, Morocco Snow White and Morocco Barbie.

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Ready or Not…

IMG_3185What a whirlwind. How else can I describe the flurry of these last few days? I’ve been spinning in circles from one house to the next, one car to the next, and one suitcase to the next. And now I’m here, sitting at Gate B25, waiting for my boarding call.

Many of you have been kindly emailing, phoning, texting, and dropping by, and the questions are always the same: “Are you excited? Are you nervous? Are you ready?” Continue reading

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