Tag: walking

  • In Conversation with Nicola Carter

    If I ever write a novel, my heroine would look and speak and live a life a lot like Nicola Carter. Think Gwyneth Paltrow in Wes Anderson’s The Royal Tannenbaums, some undisclosed number of years later. Closing in on 70, Nicola remains an uncommon beauty, with a brilliant mind, and an elegance or manner that sets her apart from her peers. She has an air of mystery…she intrigues me.  It’s not that she doesn’t dive in to the deep end and discuss deeply meaningful, life altering experiences, it’s simply that you are left with the impression that she holds something in reserve, like a secret locked away, encrypted in her backstory. I must confess to a LOLIW girl crush.

    During our interview Nicola serves me a cup of hibiscus tea, her current favourite, and a plate of halva, a dense, sweet middle eastern treat, both firsts for me.  A tea ball in the character of a mouse, hangs precariously from the side of my hand painted cup.  I am enchanted. In the home she shares with her husband, Jeff, the walls have been hollowed out to hold and frame hundreds of books, the remaining wall space is covered in an interesting, esoteric art collection gathered on her travels or inherited from ancestral homes. One small impressionist landscape in bright yellow draws my eye, a shock of sunshine from the back deck spills into the living room, and transfers my attention to a well-appointed outdoor space that transports you to a private, wooded, Narnia-like oasis, all within the city limits. Every part of her home has been utilized with intelligent design.  I feel at home immediately, welcomed by the princely Leo, a well-trained and well-loved retriever, easily the greatest treasure in Nicola’s collection.

    Born in Saint John, Nicola spent her early childhood in Fairvale (Rothesay).  Her mother was a concert pianist and her father a well-known corporate lawyer, described as “The Giant Slayer” after fighting and winning a case in the Supreme Court against a prominent NB family empire. Her father passed away when Nicola was just 15 and her family moved from Toronto to New York where she and her brother were both accepted into the prestigious Dalton School, where many prominent and powerful U.S. leaders are educated.

    While English Literature was her first love, Nicola completed an honours degree in Computer Science receiving the program medal, graduating at the top of her class in a male dominated field of study.  She started a family around the same time she started her IT career with the Newfoundland Telephone Company, later working for McGill University where she was involved in building the internet in the mid 1980s, when only research institutes and the military had access to the platform. She was instrumental in building the Quebec network (RISQ). and later ran the province’s operations network for them.  She describes the experience as “good fun…we we’re inventing things.”  She eventually returned to New Brunswick, where she soon began work at UNB, tasked with building the internet in NB. “NBTel very quickly saw a way that they could monetize it, by installing modem banks…where people would buy email addresses and then NBTel would manage it.  At this point the network was still dial up and they put me in operations where people were hands on with the Internet and where they needed the most support and experience.”

    “In time I made a lateral move into engineering where I was tasked with maintaining the infrastructure and eventually moved into management.  Every new technology came with problems and I enjoyed being part of the teams that solved those problems.  Engineering was also where I met my husband, Jeff.”  The information highway was a brave new world and Nicola was well placed with the credentials and the knowledge to take on the challenge of an exponentially accelerating and expanding field. “When it took off it took off,” she remembers.

    Today, retired for more than ten years, Nicola maintains an active lifestyle, as an avid outdoorswoman, a passionate chef, a cryptic crossword aficionado, an art lover, a grandmother and more recently a great grandmother. She is well travelled and well-read and enjoys what I would describe as an aristocratic lifestyle. Her days are her own, she maps her own course, and although she has known great loss in her life , she found her way out of the dark, a herculean task, her intellectual curiosity intact, and her joy of learning enhanced and thriving.

    Tell me your life story in seven sentences or less?

    I was born in Saint John, and went to school in N.B., Toronto and New York, always a bookish introvert with a passion for reading, animals, music and asking questions…annoying questions.

    After graduating, I had some false starts, bailing from a pre-med program at Western, bussing tables in Vancouver, driving across the U.S. in winter in a $200 ‘62 Ford Fairlane, later landing in Newfoundland with a revised study plan at Memorial: a degree in English Literature, then a sharp turn to an Honours degree in Computer Science, acquired to gain immediate employment (I was pregnant with my first child at that point).

    Over 37 years, I enjoyed a varied, challenging career in technology-based roles, beginning at Newfoundland Telephone, then McGill (early heady days of building the Internet), UNB (more technology builds as the Internet evolved including some teaching consulting and development in other areas such as multi-media), and finally at NBTel in Engineering and Operations technical and management roles until retirement in 2015.  My favourite roles? Solving complex technical problems.

    Since 1979, I have enjoyed parenting my sons Ben and David, born in Newfoundland, and since 1994, step-parenting Jennifer and Jessica, daughters of my husband, Jeff.  The challenges were many, and the rewards, great.

    What is the best thing about getting older?

    Self-knowledge of my physical and mental strengths and weaknesses. This helps me better understand what I need to do to thrive in my body and my mind.  I confess to not always acting on this knowledge but it keeps me from trying unnecessarily hard.  I can generally relax and accept more than I used to.

    What is the worst thing about getting older?

    Loosing people I love.

    What would you title this chapter of your life?

    I have a different one every day but I’ve settled on “Riding the Waves: Aging Gracefully and Gratefully”

    Describe Your Perfect Day

    A day which starts as a blank slate with no appointments holds the promise of a perfect day.

    The day would flow with a balance of exercise, reading, music, time with a friend, learning something new (probably from CBC, overnight radio, or a podcast), a long dog walk and, if it’s not winter, kayaking, swimming, dock-sitting, and ending with a really good meal.

    If you could retain or retrieve one quality from your youth, what would it be?

    I don’t think I have lost many qualities of my youth, except perhaps overwhelming anxiety which I’m glad to have tossed, mostly.  I am glad to have retained an abiding sense of wonder, hope, and optimism, a walking “Maggie Muggins” inside. I retain my childhood thirst for knowledge and ceaseless curiosity.  Lucky me.

    What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned so far?

    Hmmm…I have really experienced and learned a lot.  The most important lesson I have learned is that control is an illusion. I humbly accept how little control we mortals have over much on our lives. This is profoundly freeing.  The seeds of this knowledge were planted early, with the unexpected suicide of my father when I was 15. Untimely deaths have been a recurring tragedy in my life.  In 1994, my youngest brother, Erskine, succumbed to a long-term illness, aged 24.  In 2023, my oldest son, Ben, died unexpectedly in Egypt, where he had lived and taught for 10 years.  That same year, my dear younger brother/best friend, Cyrus, died, aged 65 in Istanbul, where he made his home as a teacher for over 30 years. I am still reeling from these last two losses but will say that the profound knowledge that I can control so little, and that I should not try, brings me some peace. Maybe we can only really start letting go when things have gone.

    The lesson is not all bound to negative outcomes. I have had some surprising experiences which have happened around me, circumstances not in my control, that have reinforced the lesson in a positive way. Back in 1984, my partner and our two sons were in Montreal during the Labour Day Central station bomb blast.  We were actually at the station when the bomb erupted with noise and smoke and screams.  It’s a crazy story …we made our way out of the carnage and by some strange circumstance ended up chatting with a man who reassured us that the bomb had not been on my brother’s departing train.  That evening the man’s photo appeared on the TV.  He was the perpetrator.  We then became involved in the subsequent inquest and trial. 

    Another time I was able to rescue two little boys from drowning at a local lake, just by sheer luck…I spotted something.  I was just in the right place at the right time.

    Finally, and perhaps most extraordinarily, I brought Jeff (husband) back from near death…also by sheer luck, when I found him unresponsive and not breathing in time to bring him back to life. How fortunate I was in time.

    In short, I placidly accept my relative insignificance, and do what I can do to deal with situations…good, bad, or frightening, and accept the surprise of unexpected adventures.

    Do you have a favourite quote?

    A quote that frequently comes to mind is “Would it help?” This came from the film, A Bridge of Spies, when a spy is about to be sent to his probable death in East Berlin.  His captor notes that he seem svery calm and asks if he is afraid, to which he responds, “Would it help?” I think of these words when faced with situations which could drive anxiety, or fear or anger. It gives me space to temper my reaction.

    Can I have another? In a recent interview, Bob Rae mentioned that he read aloud Shakespeare Sonnet # 25 as he migrated from one political role to another. The quote contrasts temporary “proud titles” with the enduring joy found in true love I think that sentiment brings a valuable humbling perspective to some of the trappings we might boast That resonates with me.

    The two quotes Rae highlighted from the Sonnet were:

    “The painful warrior famoused for fight, / After a thousand victories once foiled, is from the book of honour razed quite, / And all the rest forget for which he toiled;”

    “Then happy I, that love and am beloved, / Where I may not remove nor be removed.”

    Do you have a favourite word?

    My favourite word is an acronym, F.A.E. (fundamental attribution error) I use the word often at home as I did at work, to remind myself and others that we should not ascribe someone’s behavior to our ill- formed impression of their character, when the bad behavior could result instead from circumstances of which we are not aware. We should not immediately presume to know what’s going on in another’s head.  We should take a breath and seek to understand.  FAE has a been a good tool in de-escalating conflict.  I can cry out, ‘Hey, FAE!’ at home and we all pause to reset.

    If you could have tea with anyone, real or fictional, dead or alive, who would ir be and what would you talk about?

    My brother, Cyrus, whom I would call my longest, precious friend.  We never judged each other, shared so many interests, were both avid readers, and curious learners. I want to pick up where we left off in 2023, when he was still well, share some tears and many hearty laughs.  Sublime and the ridiculous.  My internal conversations with him still go on.

    Tell me three things that bring you joy.

    Witnessing the next generation evolving.  I have loved watching my sons and step-daughters making their way.  Now I enjoy seeing my grandchildren, who are all different and special in their own ways, growing.  Grandparenting is such a rich role.  A great grandchild was born into our clan last year. Another person to witness in their evolution.

    Walking in nature or just walking – especially with my dog.

    In summer sitting on the verandah at the camp looking out at the lake and listening, and often reading. Doing nothing is not really doing nothing.

    Name a guilty pleasure.

    So many pleasures and so little guilt.  Is that wrong? I assume that guilt might arise if one felt judged for these pursuits.  I happily admit to seeking solace in true crime podcasts, and doing word puzzles pretty much every day.

    Do you believe in life after death?

    If there were life after death, I don’t believe it involves a corporeal existence nor anything we currently understand.  Perhaps we live on in the memories kept by friends and family and our energy is drawn back into the universe.

    What would you like you r eulogy to say?

    I’ll come to this answer indirectly. At my son’s celebration of life ceremony, five of us spoke: myself, Ben’s father, Arthur; Ben’s brother, David; Ben’s lifelong friend, Matt; and Ben’s close friend in Cairo, Jim. We did not discuss in advance what we planned to say.  What emerged organically was a remarkable and moving tribute, with little overlap between the 5 speeches, each one recalling different aspects of Ben.  It was clear that we all had different relationships with Ben, largely dependent upon our roles.  In total, we together painted the complete picture of Ben and learned how he had touched each one of us.

    I would like to be remembered similarly, in eulogy or privately, by those I have loved or touched, for what we have shared and what they have valued about our relationship.  Actually, I’d like to know these things before I die.

  • Solvitur Ambulando…It Is Solved by Walking

    “Walking, I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.” – Linda Hogan (Native American writer )

    “‘But it isn’t easy ‘ said Pooh. ‘Poetry and hums arent things which you get, they’re things that get you. And all you can do is go where they can find you.’”- A.A. Milne

    If I’ve ever invited you on a walk then there is a fair chance you’re someone I love very much…family, and a handful of friends I keep close, like “a cloak, to mind (my) life.”(O’Donahue) I don’t walk, as our ancestors once did, to arrive at a particular destination, nor can I honestly say that I walk to safeguard my health, although, as a nurse, I know it to be powerful medicine, and an essential practice in the Little old lady in waiting’s handbook on how best to live a long and healthy life.  For me, walking is a sacred sojourn, like writing in a journal, or sitting down for a cup of tea on a busy day to savour a last bit of cake; it is a solitary ritual, a reflective exercise, a rich, sensual, fortifying experience, that grounds me in the present moment, and reveals a deeper way of looking, illuminating a world just beyond what our sedentary eyes can capture. Walking is a portal to the natural world where time may stand still, where we may even disappear for a while, as our unconscious unfurls, and insights and creative leaps lay waiting on well-trod paths like so many flowers to be gathered, an endless bouquet of ideas and dreams waiting to be revealed and rehomed.

    I have always believed a regular walking regime to be a salve for most of life’s ailments.  All those feel-good neurotransmitters dormant and eager for activation. I won’t bore you with the overly marketed health benefits…well, maybe just a quick review. Just as the doctors have always preached, walking, even a little, can significantly increase your lifespan, and reduce your biological age (marginally more appealing to the chronologically disadvantaged).  Walking also lowers your risk of cardiovascular disease, diabetes, and depression.  If that’s not enough to persuade you, there is also statistically significant evidence that walking lowers your stress level and reduces rumination and negative thinking.  Wait… I mean I’m down with the stress management, but I’m kind of trauma bonded with the rumination and negative thinking, that’s half my material.  Whatever…you get the idea…the health zealots are spot on, walking is good for you, body, and mind…but when has that ever been sufficient incentive to lace up, or drop the fork, if you see what I mean…again with the negative thinking and rumination. Let’s try again. Little old lady in waiting to little old lady in waiting, post-menopausal women who walk 4 hours a week have a 41% lower risk of hip fracture.  I like that. That’s positive…right?  I’m not sure where they get these exact numbers but I found it on my socials so it must be true. 

    Health considerations aside, here is what I know about walking from my own clinical trials, population of one.  No matter the setting for my walk: be it the sleepy, maturely tree’d, largely childless suburb that I call home, or any of the woodland parks scattered liberally in our beautiful picture province, or possibly the sea paths that wind along the miles of coastland in our stunning port city, nestled on the Bay of Fundy, or even a streetscape in the heritage block of Canada’s oldest incorporated city; a walk out of doors is a way through the wardrobe to a bountiful sensual world, where a steady stream of eye candy and auditory enchantments remind us to embrace the wild animal within, an invitation to howl for all the little old ladies in waiting, sat at home disguised  in grandma’s clothes, both figuratively, and literally some days.  We are meant to move our bodies, we our built to explore on foot, our ancestors walking ten times the distances we typically cover today. 

    Outside, in the natural world I am routinely transported by the startling beauty of the Disneyesque birds that sing in choirs on my quiet street, their sweet sad tunes in perfect pitch; or the spiral dance of autumnal leaves twirling upward as though commanded by the invisible hand of some ancient sorceress, reciting a spell to safeguard the woodland wildlife from winter on its way.  I hope she remembers to include me and mine in her magic. The animals nearby have a narrative all their own as they go about their daily errands and I nod to them when we meet: the black-sheep squirrel who lives in the tree at the front of my house, alone and happy to be so, or the family of deer who eat from my neighbours unpicked apple tree, heavy with fruit. I met, by chance, a beautiful fox not long ago, but neither of us had time to stop.

    Near the sea, I always envision I am walking with my dead relatives and even imagine I can hear their whispers in the wind and on the waves.  Walking in the woods, the air is perfumed with spruce and pine and something more elusive that smells like childhood and brings me back to a more innocent age, when the scariest monster I could imagine lived under my bed, not some beast who throws Gatsby themed balls, an evil, self-proclaimed king whose every soundbite is some variation of “let them eat cake.”  In the woods, while I’m walking at least, the king is dead…long live all the wild beings who walk this beautiful planet in peace.

    Saunter, stroll, scuttle, scale or stride,  I walk faithfully, alone, into the halcyon summer breeze of fresh cut grass and full strength sunny days, or the warm spring rain that bursts gardens into bloom, or my favourite, the crisp autumnal harvest days scented with chimney smoke and alight with golden interior tapestries of life, the window frames of  our neighbours homes in the gloaming, or out into the first snowfall of winter, a crampon crawl up and down frozen streets,  footfalls in virgin snow where I spy the tracks of smaller species, freshly awoken from a winter’s sleep.  Garlanded in cap and scarf, mittened, earmuffed, and balaclava’d, I’m adrift, a snowman flying through the air…la la la la la laaaaa.

    Outside, enveloped by ancient all-knowing trees, or surrounded by heritage architecture older than three little old ladies in waiting counted together, or stood at the thin space adjacent to the sea, there is a clarity of mind to be discovered that cannot be found in a book, or sat safely by the fireside, nor even under the tutelage of a wise seer.  There is a reverie known to the solitary walker (Rousseau), an enlightenment, an illumination, a flow of insights around every corner we turn. One foot in front of the other, there is space to think and puzzle and solve all the vexations visited upon us. Walking costs us nothing but time, no special gear required, only the capacity to listen to the resounding truth of our own intuition, a voice inside that speaks louder in silence, in the quiet found out of doors.

    A walkers’ trail is alive with imagery that invokes tangential lines of poetry and philosophical enquiry.  There is a hum when we walk…a higher frequency, a quiver of ideas and creative sparks. “What will you do with your one wild and precious life?” (Oliver) “I have measured out my life in coffee spoons.” (Elliot) And if while walking we by chance fall awake for a moment, to know this life is only a dream, how do we stay awake long enough to remember we are dreaming? (Wittgenstein). Walking is a whirlwind dance of ideas, a flow, an unconscious current in a deep primordial sea. And the story we rehearse inside ourselves, making up the parts we can’t quite recall, is a conversation I am happy to host most every day.

    I like to walk at a slower pace now, not quite the crawl my geriatric dog prefers, stopping to sniff every few feet, but I’m more interested in exercise for my mind and the quieting or distilling of my thoughts, than I am in exercising my body or protecting my cardiovascular health or even promoting longevity…still, perhaps aging backwards is something to aspire to.

    For me walking is a meditation, “with every step, I arrive.” (Thich Nhat Hahn) I practice slowing down, I come awake and allow time to stretch out before me, like clotheslines where birds gossip with their friends and freshly laundered linens flap their wings.  I see winter bared branches with captured notes and receipts, escaped from recycled bins, adrift in the wind like so many clues. I listen to the sound of my own footsteps and then deeper still to my breath, and my own heartbeat, and the hum that hangs over everything, the sound of the universe, I suspect, like an hourglass set close to a microphone recording the ever-escaping sands of time.

    I have found many treasures on my walks: old coins and worry stones, sea glass and driftwood art, lost letters and grocery lists, emblems of lives lived next to our own, and reminders that we are, none of us, alone.   I have heard the voices of lost loved ones and remembered the thoughts and images of versions of myself long since lost with them.  Walking I have found the answers to problems, big and small, I’ve found perspective, and gratitude, an abiding peace, and a strong feeling of connection with something greater than myself, something capable of conjuring the unspeakable beauty that is all around us, best viewed by foot, moving at your own pace, walking alone, in the natural world.