Cosmic Prose

Natasha Regehr

Tag: reflections (Page 4 of 4)

Morocco Me: Surf’s Up!

August 13, 2015 / / 0 Comments

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…

July 31, 2015 / / 2 Comments

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

Canada Day in Cowansville

July 4, 2015 / / 3 Comments

This is what my life looks like right now:

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I am surrounded by people I just met, and I feel completely at ease.

Live sitar and guitar music permeate the ornate living space. My red wine matches the oriental carpet and beaded doorways. There are instruments everywhere. And a very tactile cat.

Adults are cooking. Young people are chatting quietly. A couple boys are giggling at the mishaps of various comical pets on a muted flat-screen TV. A big French guy is barbecuing. “Medium rare,” I say. He calls me “darling.” I guess he just calls people that.

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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

Morocco, Part 2: Home Appeal

April 8, 2015 / / 2 Comments

Who would have thought that moving to Morocco would arouse a sort of grief?

But it has – a strong and foolish grief that has me paralyzed with inactivity. I call it house grief. And I don’t mean that I’m feeling inconvenienced or annoyed (as in, “This broken zipper is causing me grief”); no, I’m embarrassed to say I am grieving over a carefully constructed pile of bricks.

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Two Questions

August 22, 2014 / / 0 Comments

I asked my dad two questions today, as I stood beside his grave.

I, who walk upon this earth that covers him, have before me an uncertain future (as do we all). I have decisions to make that will steer me upon this earth in any number of unspecified directions, in circles or meandering lines, with a maddeningly undetermined end point.

“What would you say, Dad, if you were still alive? What should I do? How should I choose? What would matter to you?”

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