BLOGG #107 WILL THERE BE A ROMANCE ON THE L.A.P. ABERDEEN ?

When I was a young woman, my friend and I sailed to Europe on an ocean liner.. We sailed out of Montreal down the mighty St Lawrence  at the first spring ice break-up-in April. It was an exciting and hearty and embracing trip.
it took  a week and we certainly enjoyed ourselves toughing it out on the stormy spring sea. As you know-those of you who have been on a ship- the ship resembles a micro cosmos.This fact automatically makes behaviors follow a certain pattern. One has to be reasonably friendly and reasonably polite and there is no doubt that shipboard behavior follows these rules if you want a good trip. The first meal is the crucial meal and the table you are assigned to and table mates with you will reflect the success of your  life on board. Very quickly everyone takes on a persona. There is a lot of speculation, and overt observation of  behaviors and attire. Friendships are cemented, cliques developed  and couples watched for budding romances.As friendships and romances deepen, promises are made to always keep in touch and addresses exchanged which are rarely kept. .Where am I going with this? Frankly I am not sure except that I increasingly am beginning to feel a vivid Deja vieu, a feeling I am on an ocean liner again. The similarities are there. We are confined in a specific space-limited by our challenged mobility -so no escape. We all start on this journey  with an accident, and our destination is all the same-" going home reasonably independent." We are dependent on the Captain of this ship who is the surgeon and the physio-first mate - who have the power to give us "bathroom privileges and other basic needs and the key to freedom-a "pass" outside and eventually  going home. We are assigned to a table-wined  [well not really wined] and dined and all our needs met by a cheerful dedicated staff who are ,poor things , on the same voyage-really very much like stewards on an ocean liner. Great efforts are made to be polite and accommodating under a rather difficult situation. Meal times in particular are trying and a sense of humour essential as our peculiarities are exposed-some of us talk too much-sometimes me-some of us are in ill humour and cross-sometimes me and sometimes some of us try to be the life of the table-also sometimes me-and of course sometimes some of us are seductive with the male staff-never me but definitley"J "who flirts outrageously with the cute male nurses in their shorts and nice long legs..What is the matter with me and everyone else is what I ask myself, exhausted at the end of each meal! Friendships are made and always speculations of an "Aberdinian" romance. A bit of a stretch of the imagination of course as this is the "senior section" and we also all are maimed in one way or another- but romance is romance.A few evenings ago at dusk  while the big storm was raging outside, I wheeled myself  hard up against the window and for a long time watched the lucky pedestrians struggling against the wind and rain.Another inmate in a wheelchair did the same and we both looked and wished to be out there. Then he spoke and talked about his youth when the Aberdeen did not exist and this was "his back yard"-his house was on the ridge opposite and we reminisced as people our age do.Finally we stopped and just looked with longing at the freedom of the pedestrians, wishing for those days when we walked with freedom -a long  mutual communicative moment - a typical "Aberdinian"  spark of what-romance?? well- at least a mutual bond of wistfulness. Sorry-this is the best I can think up about romance on the HMS Aberdeen-and it is more than enough.

Blogg # 107 MY CHRISTMAS GIFT TO YOU

It is the 25th of November, one month before Christmas and here is my Christmas gift.:  "Dreams do really come true" and I have proof of it in my own recent experience. My last blogg "The Bath" was all about my experience with having a bath in Rehab where I am residing at this time. I have had several comments about it , the best from a "wise cracking "reader who said it was good but I should be less literal and make the "Bathlady into something more exciting -maybe a Eunuch'. "Right "I said "in my dreams." this Monday-bath day-I was on the bed with my Star war Boot off doing my ankle exercises when I happened to glance up and saw this handsome young man in surgical greens looking at me with an expectant look on his face. "Yes?" I inquired thinking doctor ,nurse, physio or expert Starwar boot technician. "I am here to give you your bath" he said. Flustered I said I was sorry I forgot it was bathMonday-and asked for a nurse to put on my boot. He calmly said not to worry we had lots of time and wheeled me to the Bath. As he was wrapping my leg with the boot in a plastic bag,I asked him if he was part of the "Bathteam" 'Oh no" he replied." Amy the official bathlady is off  ill. I was called in to take her place.  I am temporary and this is my first day here." I was shocked "You mean this is your first day on the job and they threw you into the Bath room? How many baths do you have to do?" He said there were six but the first two refused . One woman said he was young enough to be his son.-Note: no one on this floor is young enough to have a son-grandson more likely -typical-we will lie about our age.After my boot was wrapped, I was transferred to the high thrown-like commode chair in my nuddies again-sucking in my abdominal muscles as I was wheeled into the shower-we will be vain even under the most ludicrous situations. Once there , I could hear the poor man fumbling through the galoshes, mumbling these are all ladies boots ! Finally galoshed , he entered the shower and hesitated. I took charge. "We start at the top, you shampoo my hair then you hand me the soap and cloth and you are in charge of the shower. This worked fine and I was soon clean and cocooned in a warm flannel sheet. Dry, warm and dressed-I dress quickly can "clock in" in a minute and a half easily- I thanked him and he prettily thanked me and said he was glad I was his first. With a straight face I smiled and with much sangfroid and some relief we wheeled back to my room. In bed I again contemplated on my many and varied experiences and then smiled to myself "What do you know, dreams do come true-no need for fantasy and not a eunuch in site!" 

BLOGG # 106 THE BATH

"The Bath "is one of the favourite themes of artists-both male and female-though admittedly with different aesthetics-the female artists concentrating on mother -child themes -the male artists not so much.. The two main artists that come to mind are of course Degas with his  female bathers voluptiously rendered in glowing pastels contemplatingly washing  in a shallow pan of water an inch deep, or Bonnard's compulsive jewel like paintings of his wife in her bathtub. This is not what this blogg is about.
Two days after my arrival at LAP  rehab center where I am now due to a broken ankle, I was approached by a caregiver in galoshes who said "Hi -I am your bathlady"and looking down at her clipboard said "yes, Monday -Monday at 3pm I will give you your bath"I nodded and said thank you wonderingly .How does one have a bath wearing a bandage three times my entire leg? however I was learning to not question and have faith. Actually with this very capable bathlady one just would not question anything. The next Monday at precisely 3pm , the galosh lady arrived and briskly whisked me to the "Bath Room" . This was a big warm room ,windowless and painted a glowing warm yellow to make it appear warm-it isn't-.In the middle of the room was the bathtub. It was huge impressive and I must say voluptuous.It was gleaming white enamel,tilted up like a boat  and not unlike a 1950's white cadilac convertible.. It had bristling things hanging about it -obviously gadgets to help physically challenged bathers-like me. "O my god " I gasped."Am I going in that?" Of course I wasn't. I was going to be showered in a big corner alcove. First I was stripped , my huge bandaged leg bundled in a plastic bag, then I was firmly and I mean firmly seated on a commode type chair in my nuddies ,told not to move a muscle and wheeled into this alcove where gowned , galoshed and gloved , the bathlady promptly washed me from the tip of my head to my toes. All this time she talked about her hitchhiking  tour in Europe during the seventies ,occasionally interspersed with brisk instructions to lift an arm  etc. I then was moved back into the chilly room and  wrapped in four or five warm towels. Heaven! Then dried, buffed and polished and in clean clothes I was whisked back into my room. This then has been one of the more interesting experiences of my life and so bemused ,I snuggled down in my bed and thought to myself "there are more things in life to experience than can be imagined -Vast is the life we live"

BLOGG # 105 FELLED BY A COMPOST PAIL

If you are living in Victoria or really anywhere in Canada you probably are familiar with the little plastic recycling pail with the biodegradable bag in which you place your compost. The trouble with this new addition is that it doesn't really fit in one's kitchen. It is always in the way and sometimes in sheer frustration one puts it on the floor which is what I did--and that is why I tripped over it and fell.We all are are aware we live with a thin thread connecting us to life and that it can snap off in an instant.Poets constantly remind us of that fact. However the snapping of this fine thread  we presume is usually caused by something dramatic-Terrorist bombing;caught in crossfire bullets etc-certainly I did. What I did not expect was the mundane method I chose. Somehow falling over a bucket lacked elan..  "how pathetic " my nurse said "Change the story, say you fell over a male stripper."  But the truth is all I did was kick the compost bucket and fell- fell like a bowling pin, bouncing and ricocheting around my tiny hallway  until twisting painfully I landed on the floor with a bad broken ankle. The amazing thing is not only did I "kick the bucket" literally but nearly kicked it metaphorically as was explained to me by my  exhausted anaesthetist and my handsome surgeon who said he aged ten years during my surgery.  The problem ,a, rare one, was because of my larynx clamping. My survival I owed to the skill of the anaesthetist. It is disconcerting to hear this explained to me the day after surgery as I felt hale and hearty and somehow it didn't feel real. However what did feel real was a little voice inside me that whispered :A reprieve Laurie -a second chance.  I am now in a rehab .center called LAP . I have yet to find out what that means. The best explanation is from our comedic male nurse who said it meant Los Angeles Police Force-well why not --My life in the past three weeks have been a roller coaster ride so Los Angeles police force sounds just fine.How do I feel about this? I don't know and am too busy recuperating  to care.I share my room with three other mates all in different stages of recovery. I am next to a wonderful huge window overlooking a garden. A delicate tree with lace like branches sparsely covered with autumn leaves ranging from gold to bronze flutter in the breezes. I have been gifted another autumn-my favourite season. Yesterday while I was watching the clouds scudding by a rainbow appeared . It arched across the the entire sky and filled my window, brilliantly lit with all the rainbow colours and I could swear I could see the "pot of gold" at the end of the rainbow. So how do I feel? Grateful.

BLOGG #102-THE FINAL PARIS VIGNETTES

This is a summing up of our adventures in Paris: -housekeeping-The apartment we rented did not have a dish washer and I offered to wash dishes as my contribution..The first evening I washed the few wine glasses and dishes with the dish soap I found under the sink.  I woke up next morning to hear the family laughing and commenting on my domestic skills.
Evidently the plastic liquid container I had used was not dish soap but plant food! There were many amusing comments on washing dishes and the many uses of plant food. You would think this episode would have had a shelf life of one day but no! Through the entire trip I had to endure their heavy humour on this subject. After all, I don't know what the fuss was about. Plant food is not poisonous and I always rinse well.
Side walk cafes-We learned very quickly if we wanted to have our evening meal at a sidewalk cafe, we had to be there before seven pm. People pour out of their houses  at this time and spend the next two hours at least sitting cheek by jowl in tiny chairs at minute tables gossiping,talking on cell phones, people watching or just sitting looking Parisian. My task was to claim a table and chairs before the hordes.Consequently by seven ,armed with a book and sketch pad, I was settled happily with a glass of wine watching people go by.  What more could I want in Paris !
My favourite waiter-Generally with the glass of wine a few nuts were placed on the table. One evening I wistfully asked if I could order Fois Gras as I hadn't yet seen it on a menu. The waiter gruffly said "non no fois gras. I felt embarrassed-had I committed a faux pas?? Two minutes later the waiter arrived with a saucer of thinly sliced sausage. He placed it in front of me,covered the plate with both hands ,looked severely at my companions and said "only for you madam." From then on  I always had a plate of sausages when he was working.
On tipping--One of our constant conversations was about when to tip. According to the internet,it is not necessary to tip in France. According to my guide book there is no need to tip--unless one wants to,-none of this helped so one night we asked our favorite waiter."Ahhh " he said "I am asked this often by foreigners.It is a difficult question. It is not necessary to tip in France, it is included in the price." Then he added "only if you want to"-and shrugged "It is very complicate"
On speaking French-- On the last day my grandson who is the expert in French descended from the mezzanine where he had set up his computers,joined us in the dining area where we were  playing our favourite card game "Cheat" and said "I have an announcement to make. Five years of concentrated French lessons in a Canadian high school does not enable one to communicate in French in Paris. I have not understood one word nor have I uttered one  complete sentence. I have decided to improve my French and have downloaded a French novel. I have read one page and had to look up words in the dictionary twenty times."  the novel?  Harry Potter.  my question-will he finish it before we fly home?.

 The last supper-Our meal the last night was a great success. I had white fish carpaggio-a beautiful plate-the fish was arranged like petals and the carpaggio was bright green thinly sliced cucumber -it  was ambrosial. my neighbour ,a friendly French man almost sitting on top of me,was pleased with my comments and reaching over told me this was his favourite restaurant and the best in Paris. The inevitable question was asked -where we came from."Ahh Canada I would love to live in Canada' When I asked did he not love living in Paris  he said yes of course but it was difficult then he shrugged-"It is complicat
A sober departure--Our driver picked us up at 8am to go to the airport and we had a typically hair raising exciting ride through the busy morning traffic. until we reached a poor district. The driver slowed down and pointed to the sidewalks. These were covered with refugees just waking up, assembling their make shift bedding and bags,looking lost. There were streets and streets of these people. Evidently all facilities were full. This was a quick  jolt for us from our dream vacation into the world of reality which we had erased from our minds. We were back in the world again and on our way to troubled Greece.

BLOGG #102--

BLOGG #101 SHOPPING IN PARIS

As every woman knows, there is only one dream place to shop-Paris. Here is where our dreams of fashion come true. Here is where we can,just by shopping in Parisian stores, by osmosis manage to acquire that elusive and elegant French look. The places to shop are of course the Haute Couture designers such as Balenciaga,Dior and Chanel near the Champs-Elysees but realistically,for most of us these are areas to just window shop. The best places are department stores-The Bon Marche and for sensual experience the Galeries Lafayette.This huge and famous store which features a stained glass dome caps the world's largest perfumery.The shops which are arranged in open galleries looking very much like opera house balconies for giants feature everything from top designers to Gap and even features affordable sales.It also features perfumes of course. My daughter and I finally on the last day in Paris insisted on devoting it to shopping at this unique store. On entering this fabulous place I heard announcements over the intercom which sounded very much like Chinese but decided I was mistaken. I was not. We were on the women's fashion level and were surrounded by shoes-"Jimmy Choos,Balanciaga and Dior.We were also surrounded by Asian shoppers all trying on these shoes at five hundred Euros a pop. The sales clerks many of them Asian looked elegant in severe black with maroon sashes. We drifted through aisles of exclusive merchandise marveling at the opulence.I especially was pleased to find my favourite designer-Isabel Marant.I saw a lovely fur shrugg of hers I coveted and stroked the sleeve-it was sensually soft and luxurious.I happened to see the price tag-32,000Euros-??? I hastily dropped the sleeve. I was so out of my element though one can dream-me in fur? Never!. My daughter kept drifting to the perfume dept. a very elegant section with very elegant sales persons.She particularly liked the Guerlain section-wonderful scents in huge flagons.Eventually I became overwelmed by all this decadence and longed for coffee. According to my guidebook one needs to reserve at the restaurant. Nonetheless I approached it hopefully and asked the elegant maitre de if we could just have coffee. He was very charming and seated us in a quiet spot. We had coffee served in a gold rimmed coffee pot.It was delicious and we lingered over it for an hour- the best fifteen Euros I spent in Paris. After this it was near closing time but my daughter again found herself at the Guerlain counter so I encouraged her to buy some perfume. She said no, she could not justify spending so much money. I argued that we were in Paris-one buys perfume in Paris. she herself said perfume bought in Paris is different than the same brand exported and this was the last day for her.She said no again. Then I had a bright idea."How much money did your husband spend on his fishing gear "gismo" the day before we left for Paris? "Two hundred and fifty dollars" she said and I smiled. "Right!" she said and wheeled around and bought her perfume. The sales lady was gracious and helpful,pointing out the most important accesssoire is a woman's parfum. The perfume selected was wrapped tenderly and put in a box and then in a charming Lafeyette bag. She then opened a drawer and gave us a few handfuls of samples including the famous Shalimar and a heavenly face cream sample that I used through the entire trip. In triumph we exited, my daughter happily carrying her purchase. As we came to the main entrance there was a phalanx of salespersons in their smart uniforms standing in a semi circle. "How charming" I said " they are saying goodbye to us"My practical daughter said "hardly likely. They are probably checking to see if anyone is walking out with stolen Jimmy choos.

BLOGG # 100--PARIS VIGNETTES --THE METRO

On our third day in Paris we planned to do the highlight of the trip -which is to visit the Eiffel tower. I have been to Paris several times and have never felt the need to see this weird folly of an erection but was willing to give it a try.Certainly the family was eager to go and the eldest knowledgeable grandson and expert in French,metro systems and map deciphering, had mapped out our trip on the metro. The Paris Metro is complex,many layered constructed over many years and ranging from old lurching trains to fast bullet-like ones-but the one thing they all have in common is that they are not "physical challenged person -with cane -friendly." One had to walk endless corridors ,up and down endless steps,there were few working escalators and only two elevators in the system. The first one we entered in our district of Marais was old ,very crowded and it lurched. As soon as I entered blunderingly, a handsome elegant black and serious Parisian in a beautifully tailored grey suit-Armani?? offered me his seat-a precarious pop up stool on which I perched hanging on to the pole for dear life. My family stood packed sardine -like with the other commuters. As we reached our stop, My tall skinny sixteen year old bent backwards over the crowd and snaked his hand quietly through the crowd towards me. I grasped it gratefully and with relief. As he pulled me up I happened to glance up and meet this elegant man's eye. He nodded his head once approvingly and gave me the tiniest smile and I smiled back-I, proud of my thoughtful grandson,he, acknowledging my pride and appreciative of this charming act. Am I over-imaginative? I don't think so. All I know is that I left that crowded train with an uplifted heart and a warm feeling because of this spontaneous communication with a stranger. The next train was a bullet-I sort of shot into it. It was full of course and a very elegant Parisian woman immediately got up, I stumbled and she and a frail man holding a big parcel caught me. I sat down covering my face in confusion hardly able to thank them-How I hate being dependent. My family stood clustered in the entrance. At one point someone got up and offered my daughter a seat but she refused and indicated to the woman who gave me hers to take it. She also refused and indicated to my daughter to take it so she reluctantly did. I watched my daughter as she sat there chatting with her husband -she was glowing and why not? Here she was at last with her family in Paris on the metro going to the Eiffel tower. She looked beautiful and very appropriate in her black and white striped simple frock and with her abundant hair pulled back in a loose French braid-very French I thought. As the elegant woman got off at her stop she bent over my daughter and wished her and her family a wonderful Paris holiday. My daughter beamed her thanks and I thought "How often does an elegant busy Parisieane stoop to wish a tourist a good holiday?" And I left that train with a warm feeling too. The Eiffel tower was astoundingly impressive and surprisingly beautiful. I promptly secured a seat on a bench and set out to observe the crowd. Every member of this world was represented, there was a celebratory gaiety obviously caused by this towering edifice which more than justified the expense of building it-the world needs this. Everyone was busy photographing each other or "selfing" themselves with the tower in the background. None of our party left terra firma to climb due to the snake like lines.I enjoyed reading the notices-"BEWARE OF PICKPOCKETS" IGNORE STREET HAWKERS" they were all over the place amusing us. We decided to go back home another route through the adjoining park. We landed in a very exclusive residential district with shady trees-it was very hot-It was all lovely but our knowledgeable guide got us hopelessly lost.His smart phone was useless. I was asked to produce my map-I told them tartly I had left it behind as I couldn't stand their jeering every time I took it out.So we wondered aimlessly around very much like Moses and his tribes in the desert getting occasional glimpses of the tower through the trees.At last the scene changed and some aspects of commerce appeared and a sidewalk cafe like an oasis appeared in the shimmering horizon.It was very hot. We collapsed gratefully into comfortable chairs. It was a touristy cafe-the first one we encountered.The menu amused me. It featured hot dogs hamburgers,club sandwich and boeuf bourguignon. I had that and red wine, the others had hamburgers -no one dared order a hot dog-and my son-in-law had a beer named 1664- Hmmm.Our friendly waiter gave us directions to the nearest Metro which we were grateful for. We were now seasoned Metro commuters and our trip home was uneventful.

BLOGG #99 PARIS VIGNETTES

My family consisting of my daughter, my son-in law and two teenage grandsons finally managed a longed for trip to Paris and ,of course, I have collected some vignettes of our experience to share on my blogg. This is about our experiences with French food on our first day. We arrived at the airport on July 13 at 8am and were driven into Paris via limousine to the apartment we had rented. As soon as we dumped our luggage we went out to experience French food. As it was Bastille day the streets were empty and most shops and cafes were closed. Obviously the Parisians do not celebrate this important event with fireworks and noisy demonstrations-they all seem to go out of town for the weekend. We did finally find a Tabac with sidewalk table and chairs. It featured a big sign selling Amstel beer. My son in law's eyes lit up for this is his favourite European beer-He greeted the waiter with enthusiasm "Bon-jor" he said " an Amstel beera please" The cheerful waiter produced one in seconds then busied himself seating us at the tiny tables and waited for our orders. My daughter and grandsons ordered Espresso but not I. For my first experience I wanted wine-white wine-it was very hot out. "Mom you can't have wine " said my cautious daughter "it is only 9.30 in the morning!" "Of course she can" said our friendly waiter and turning to me he said "Madam you can order anything you want -you can drink wine any hour of the day here." So I ordered my cold delicious glass of white wine and discovered to my chagrin I could not pronounce "vien" correctly even with instructions from my oldest grandson -our expert in French. With the assistance of this remarkable waiter we plowed through the french menu. This was all followed with amusement by the only other occupants-the local early morning coffee regulars -four exuberant women of a certain age with brightly dyed hair who shouted helpful suggestions.The most excitable one waved her arms and laughed and shouted she was sorry not to be able to help us as she only spoke French and Yiddish. We were in a area long inhabited by the Jewish population. My daughter smiled and said she was sorry too but could only speak English and Grec. The atmosphere was quite celebratory and friendly and noisy. Our orders came finally and we discovered we all had managed in our ignorance to order the same thing- bagettes with ham and cheese but we agreed they were the best bagettes, ham and cheese we had ever eaten. As we left the Tabac the friendly women shouted their goodbys and announced they thought we were very cute. At least that is what we thought they said. French people are so friendly. That same evening we decided to have a really good French meal and set out to find it.We walked a great distance in one direction until we bumped into a small squadron of police with protective gear and promptly reversed our direction. Eventually we found the perfect restaurant with the help of a very friendly gay couple-we are in a well known gay community -hence the abundance of lively good cafes. Unfortunately the sidewalk tables were full of the returning French post Bastille day so we went inside where there was one other family-a young couple, a new baby and a proud grandma. Again we received an extensive menu in French. Our French expert pulled out his smart phone to access a French dictionary and we spent a long time arguing and choosing. The waitress.after tactfully leaving us alone, finally came by and asked if we were ready. My youngest grandson said confidently "Oui" and rattled out his order in French. There was a stunned and impressive silence from the rest of us and then the waitress spoiled it all by saying "Pardon??" "Oh well" he said pointing to the menu "I chose this item as I thought I could pronounce it"! Ha! We gave our orders and waited in anticipation. It reminded me of Christmas when you don't know what you are getting. The orders came-We found we had ordered a wonderful vegetable tart-oven baked eggplant and peppers in a thin crust-a shredded raw salad with medallions of sesame chicken on top.and a succulent pork chop with juilienne veggies which we shared asking for small plates. My grandson's unpronounceable order was duck baked with figs-a very sophisticated dish which he wouldn't share. When we got up to leave I smiled at the proud Papa and family next to us, commented on the beautiful baby and asked how old it was -in very bad English French. He thanked me in perfect English and proudly said the baby was ten days old and this was his first excursion in this world. We all nodded and smiled at each other understandingly at the importance of this event and said goodnight.The French are so friendly -to say nothing of their tolerance of the hashing of their beautiful language. This was the best meal we had the entire trip. The last comment is that our favourite time was breakfast when it was the duty of the earliest riser to go to the Boulanger across the street and select our breakfast baked goods -incredible croissants etc and of course baggettes.

BLOGG # 97-- HOT LAZY SUMMER AFTERNOONS AND BIRDS OF PREY

As all Victorians know,and indeed all Canadians jealously know,we are having the most incredible spring and summer ever.Personally,I have been in a state of enchantment for the past three months. As I go about my daily chores I am astounded. Never have I seen flowers blooming so shamelessly brilliantly,never have I seen the new and brightest green leaves dance with such joy and never have I seen the Victorian sky so blue.It has been a veritable moveable feast of delights and I have taken every opportunity to enjoy it. Last weekend was particularly wonderful and is what I want to write about. I spent the night at my daughter's place which has a wonderful view of Mt Baker and overlooking the sound .I woke up at 2am and spent some time watching the moon and it's reflection on the water. It was three quarters full and a deep golden orange and so lovely I thought I had been transported during my sleep to a Greek island and wistfully looked for the lights of the chre chre- the chain of little fishing boats that fish all night. I felt enchanted and nostalgic. This enchantment lasted throughout the day which I spent reading on the terrace and looking at the view. Mt Baker was so vivid that day-the sea so blue. Sometimes I read and sometimes I contemplated the view and marveled at the wonders of being alive. The cat, Jimmy, black as night was my companion. He had just survived death in a ferocious night battle a few days ago-costing the family 500.00 in cash to the vet and he had lots of contemplating to do on the wonders of living too thinking about survival in the jungle of life- and speaking of life and survival, I also spent a fair amount of time watching a hawk circulating the cliff and sweeping close by me. I could almost feel the wind from his wings as he skimmed the earth, brushing the grass with his wings as he swooped towards me-hunting of course the baby quail that hide in the bushes before the steep cliff near the terrace. There is something so moving about being allowed to be a close up observer of a predator in his maneuvers as he scans the earth-a privilege to watch these noble birds and their clear intentions and focus. Predators and birds of prey have a bad rap of course in our quest for a world with no violence {except our own] but the truth is we need these wonderful creatures to maintain the balance of nature and nature in her wisdom has made these creatures always beautiful, graceful and mysterious. Certainly Jimmy the cat in spite of missing a hip and one pupil still manages to look more graceful than any ballet dancer as he stalks the unfortunate baby rabbit-I know ,I know, disgraceful isn't it- but Jimmy is a predator pure and simple and does not care about our romantic notions of nature. I am in conflict of course -I feel for the bunny but can't help admiring the stalker. I also have the same conflict when watching nature shows on African predators. But the fascination persists. And now I can really go out on a limb and confess I also admire the two legged predators on Kitsilano beach in Vancouver on a hot summer day and even better, on an Italian beach. So I have to sum up this blogg with the confession I am completely in thrall of a seductive hot sunny summer afternoon and equally of a smooth graceful predator. As you can see I really enjoy the dangers of a seductive life and appreciate it in all it's aspects and advise you to do the same.

BLOGG #93 TODAY I BOUGHT A RING!

I do not wear rings -I don't even like them and haven't worn one since I lost my wedding ring in 1975, but today I bought one. I was coming home on the ferry from Vancouver after attending an art show and was ,as always, in my favourite place- the Gift Shop- buying yet another fashion magazine and saw next to the cashier a display of bright rather gaudy rings with lovely plastic stones looking all the world like Bulgari rings as worn by Kate Moss in advertisements. They were designed by a local artist, were $29.95 each, and were adjustable.I felt a bolt of desire going through me and knew I had to buy one. The decision to choose the right one was very intense and I enlisted the cashier to help me which she did enthusiastically. I chose a muted blush stone with black markings the cashier adjusted it to my finger size and I was pleased. As I sat on a stool by the window looking out at the lovely scenery of Active Pass going by, I pondered on why this impulsive purchase was so necessary and why the desire was so strong. I remembered my beloved niece telling me a short time ago that she loved fine jewellery especially diamonds and finally realized she would have to wait forever to get one from someone else so decided the one to buy her diamonds was herself and she did look lovely with her delicate pendant and earrings. Perhaps this was my motivation and this was a symbolic act which I need to fathom. For the past few months I have been meditating on the passage of time and it's importance in my life right now, for I am a few months away from the most pivotal, pinnacled birthday of my life-the great 80th! There are several pivotal ones;the 16th -"never been kissed" -the dreaded 30th-on the eve of which we turn into a dull rigid adult and leave youth forever- the 40th- a wonderful one where "life is just beginning" and very true for me and the mind jolting 50th when one realizes we have been on this planet half a century and it is "down hill" from now on. The 60's and 70's of course prove this all wrong and we just live happily if we are lucky, but the 80th is the big one. Here we know that we have reached the end of the feeling that life stretches on forever and we can count the possible years left to us. Anything after 80 is a gift. Mind you, from the day we were born each day was a gift but we never realize it. Now we have to and I have been very aware of the brief remainder of my life and have been pondering how I was going to choose to live these precious gift days. I have been slowly coming to the decision that I must live every moment now just doing what pleases me most-daring thought- and above all be true to myself [actually this should be ingrained in us at birth] and that I must be always committed to myself to do just that if at all possible. Ahhhh! The big C !! Of course that is what this ring is all about! It is my engagement ring. I have never had one. When I was young I was too independent and enlightened and did not want to be part of that "enslaving diamond engagement ring" custom. Also I was never asked - that is another point. However this time I am engaged to me and I take this engagement seriously.The time allotted to me after 8o will be mine to be used very mindfully by me. And I ask you dear readers to run out and get a ring to commit to yourselves too-It is the most meaningful relationship commitment of your life.

BLOGG # 93 JAZZ AND A LONELY HEART or- LAURIE GETS HER GROOVE BACK!

I am ,as my readers know, one of the new breed of emancipated single women who are living a very meaningful and fulfilled life-ha! It is true that my life is leagues away from my compatriot of the nineteenth century, for after all, my life in many ways resembles the life of a single male of my age.- weellll --much better actually- when I honestly compare it. After all here I am going to the theater and Cinema and Opera on my own and feeling very comfortable about it. Don't I with panache enter alone into my favourite trendy oyster bar and enjoy a dozen or so with a glass of chilled white wine? Yes indeed my life is full and yet there is one area of it that is not fulfilled. What is unfulfilled is the Nightlife which is reserved only for single men and "coupledom"- my word for a life ruled by couples. I have not been into a bar featuring jazz in years because I have not felt emancipated enough to do so on my own. I know, I know, cowardly of me dear readers and sorry to disillusion you on that point of weakness on my part but I could not summon up the courage to do so --yet. Last Friday evening however I went, as I usually do on Friday evenings, to my local community center to exercise in the pool. Now this community center boasts, of all things, a sports bar complete with liquor license and I have always promised myself to stop after swimming and enjoy a meal and a glass of wine. This Friday the Bar featured a jazz combo and I decided to go. I did not go home and put on glad rags. No! I went with my casual sporty outfit, paid my entrance fee and ordered a curry dinner and a half litre of Shiraz- I was hungry and thirsty- then I sat back to enjoy myself for the next three hours. So there I was sitting at a table by myself, thank goodness ,with my half litre of red and as I lounged back in my chair at the table surrounded by three empty chairs, enjoying the buzz of wine and jazz and aloneness -no personalities to deal with-no conversations to listen to- I found myself again. "This is Laurie" I said "Me -alone with half litre of wine and jazz -this is who I am! At last I have my groove back!" Why have I denied myself this experience? I have wanted for years to listen to jazz in a jazz club and I suppose I was waiting for someone to accompany me. No more - I am planning to branch out to experience more of jazz and life and I advise you to do the same,for as we all know, life is short and it is our duty to make it as broad as we can.

BLOGG # 92 FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN !

As my many readers know who have read the bloggs I wrote while I was in Spain, I am a woman with an inconstant heart-falling in love over and over again with, for example, the cities of Barcelona, Bilboa and of course Madrid.Really, I spent the whole time in Spain "in love" Now I am in that state again and the object of my affections is Reginald. Let me tell you about it.For some time now I have been looking with great concern at my inability to keep up with my ADL- the professional term for "activities of daily living" which, when translated, means the inability to cope with domesticity and I was seriously thinking of hiring a cleaning woman. I am a realist and know this will eventually come about but not just yet. My finances aren't brilliant and I still feel the need to have such things as my red wine , the occasional oyster and the indulgence of buying a lovely scarf. Really a cleaning woman was not an option. So I spent my days sitting in my recliner contemplating this new problem of mine while watching the dust balls accumulate under my feet.However, even I have -though minimal-cleanliness standards, and finally got out the vacuum cleaner and started it up. It immediately regurgitated it's contents on my carpet. I did the only thing one can do in such a situation and went to bed and pulled the covers over my head. When I woke up I had this wonderful idea. I will buy a vacuum robot known as a ruomba and that is just what I did. I immediately called my grandson to help me set it up. Now I will give out some of my accumulated knowledge of life. Men love vacuum cleaners and also cleaning surfaces so if you are concerned with your significant others' low spirits give him either a vacuum cleaner to tinker with or a cloth and a flat surface to wipe- believe me this is good advice. My grandson was delighted and came over and happily programmed the robot and yes, we named him Reginald-Reggy for short. Every day from Monday thru Friday at twelve noon he would clean for one hour. We gave him the weekend off. Together we watched this amazing machine -a true Trojan warrior -as it worked it's way around the apartment going it's way over and under furniture sucking up everything in it's way.Nothing stopped it though occasionally it got stuck and had to be rescued.It just never gave up until it got around all obstacles in order to clean and I was pleased. I too had worked my way around obstacles- the obstacles of domesticity. I sat in my recliner drinking a glass of red and watched my carpet being cleaned and was content. My advice to you dear readers is to do the same-never let the obstacles of life get you down but take Reginald as an example and work your way around them and NEVER GIVE UP.

BLOGG # 91 "ARE YOU A UNICORN?"

Yesterday evening I went to my local swimming pool between 6pm and 7pm for my routine exercises followed by a sauna. I love going on Sunday evenings as the pool is always empty. After a nice swim I walked into the sauna and right into a discussion and heard "I have a five O'clock shadow and need to shave every five hours or so." There were groans and nods around the room. I saw there were five men in the sauna and all involved in this lively discussion -I was the only female and as is the usual habit when in such circumstances,I kept a low profile in a corner. The man who made the comment continued saying it was a bother of course but it was the only thing she asked him to do and she was worth it. All the other men agreed "Women are always worth it". The lively discussion continued but I didn't follow as I was too intent on my own thoughts until I heard the word "Unicorn". I was amused and showed it. The man sitting next to me asked if I minded this frank discussion and I assured him I did not but was fascinated as I thought only women had these discussions about the opposite sex. I was assured otherwise and was included in the discussion and was asked for an occasional opinion. They were talking about this graph they had read about which measured female desirability. The graph measurements dealt with the level of "Craziness and hotness of the female sex. The most exciting woman, they agreed , was crazy- crazy and hot- hot and was at the top of the scale -but,unfortunately, these women were difficult though exciting.The talk continued to "Less Crazy and hot" etc and downward -I turned off at this point until I heard the word "Unicorn" again. "What" said a man not in the know "is a Unicorn?" Another man said "They don't exist" But the man who was explaining it all said "The Unicorn is a woman who rates zero on the Crazy" scale and ten on the "Hot Hot" scale [only men could devise this] but they don't exist of course except that he had found one!" he was obviously in love]-"and she was a keeper." I did have to laugh at this point.The discussion then turned to the main differences between men and women-really a lecture for my benefit [they kept asking me if I agreed-of course I said yes -one hates to hurt their feelings] Most of them had obviously read "Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus" and agreed these books should be compulsive reading for young males. The basics ,said one man earnestly to me, are that men need to be needed. "Ahh"I said,"That is why my friend traveled so far to fix my plumbing?" "Of course" they all said in unison. Women on the other hand need to be "validated" and they were very firm about that-I agreed. Next they discussed the need of men to go into "the Cave" when perturbed and the need of women to go deep into "their well." It was very important that women did not accompany men into the cave and very vital to not pull the women out of their well until they reached up their arms to be pulled out .Well, dear readers,never have I been so entertained in a sauna or learned so much! I left early , thanked them, and said I had to go home and recuperate with a glass of my favourite red. But the question remained. Was I a Unicorn? and my dear female readers -Are you?

BLOGG #90 WHAT I DID ON VALENTINE'S DAY

Today is Valentine Day and as we all know, the ritual for celebrating this day is specific. It has to be romantic . The time honoured way is to have it spent by receiving either a heart shaped box of icky chocolates from your current beau or a dozen red roses at a hundred dollars a dozen which last exactly one day before they droop thereby lasting usually exactly the time a love lasts- a warning metaphor for us all who believe in everlasting love. The other most common celebration is a romantic meal in an expensive restaurant followed by a romantic night in a revealing scratchy skimpy and ridiculouneglegie which makes most women look ridiculous -a gift from our romantic beaus. These are all wonderful and I hope you have all participated in at least one of the above but not me. I went to the opera. The metropolitan Opera of New York presented two romantic operas specifically for Valentine's Day and I enjoyed them immensely The operas are both fairy talesthe first one was Iolanta by Tchaikovski and the second was Bluebeard's Castle by Bartok.-They were both chosen to emphasize the broad spectrum of romantic love. The first-Iolanta is a story about a blind princess imprisoned in the deep forest-of course it has to be a deep forest. Fairy tales would not have been written if there hadn't been any deep forests. I have never heard of a princess hidden in a desert-have you? The theme of this first tale is about darkness turning to light-The blind princess is doomed to darkness and is imprisoned by her father for a ridiculous reason as always, until a prince-what else-stumbles on her forest prison, falls in love with her and cures her blindness. Now here's a twist. We have always known "love is blind" how often have you said "What does she see in him or viseversa.She-he- must be blind". but not in this case. Love cures blindness. Mind you, Tchaikovski was skating on pretty thin ice. The whole romance could have gone awry.Once the princess could see, she might have found her beloved prince a froggy looking prince but thank goodness love prevails and once she sees his face she loves him even more. Iolanta is a Russian opera so it has a Russian feel and sound with beautiful music and wonderful voices.The Russian language is beautiful when sung and this opera lived up to that. It ended with a lovely fullbodied chorus singing reverent praises to God thanking him for beautiful light -the greatest gift of all. Bluebeard's Castle is another kettle of fish.This is a dark story set in Hungary.The theme is opposite to Iolanta's. Here we start in Darkness and it gets worse. There are only two people in this opera-the tall brooding Bluebeard, a handsome bearded impeccably dressed bass singer chain smoking and exuding menacing sexynes-a woman's longing nightmare and Judith a silly young blonde mezzosoprano in a clinging gown who is rushing to her doom all the while begging this monster to let her in his castle and give her the keys to the hidden seven rooms. Her stance is that she loves him and thinks if he gives her the keys and she opens the locked rooms to let her love in,the darkness will dispel. Will we women ever learn? The upshot is she opens the rooms lets in the light and is appalled at the horrors in them-blood, gore and rivers of tears to say nothing of all the instruments of murder and torture. Does this stop her? Not at all! she begs for the rest of the keys singing of her love and asking that time old question women like to ask-"Do you love me best of all your wives?"- all the five dead ones mind you- The last key opens to the garden where she stumbles on her open grave and sees her own dead body -a horrible Valentine's day ending. There was mind you some lightness at least for the males in the audience. Judith did bathe revealingly naked in bluebeard's bathtub [he did not kill here there] Believe me, Marilyn Monroe in her bathtub scene in "The Seven Year's Itch wasn't sexier ! The music was dark, hauntingly beautiful in a typical Hungarian minimal scale-no high notes here and I loved it.This is not, of course, a love story but is really a fairy tale with a lesson. It is about a journey we all-male or female -take in our life when we feel deep disillusion,turn our backs on our life-Judith abandons her family and fiance-and search in dark hidden places for illumination-unlocking doors as we go. This is a very brave act and I retract my statement.Judith was not silly but brave.She risked her life "wanting to know." We all do this sometime in our own lives. So my readers-this was the Met's Valentines gift to me and I pass it on to you and remember -Watch out for that little naked fat boy with bow and arrow-He is one of the profoundest Life's teachers.

BLOGG # 89 A warmhearted Story For Frigid January

Well, dear readers a lot has passed by since I last wrote a blog: thanksgiving, Hanukkah, the twelve days of Christmas ,New Years Eve, and Epiphany. In spite of all these happenings I have not felt inspired to write a blogg. My life in the past two months revolved around health issues. My body and I have been in conflict as to who is Boss on this sojourn on Earth and the body was slowly winning, having decided to have an arthritic flare up. I spent a lot of time and money on chiropractors, acupuncturists, doctors and medication. I did manage to make a quick trip East in early December to visit my trendy friends in Toronto and to snowy Montreal for the Art Biannelli. I enjoyed all my trips and of course paid for it over the holidays with pain. However I did have a good Christmas and even-yikes- a good New Year's Eve! At the beginning of this year I decided to include a visit to my therapist for an emotional tune-up along with all the other physical therapies to improve my general well being. As usual she was very good and I felt a great release of tension. This is not what the blogg is about. The more important and rather embarrassing happening was that I had mistakenly parked my car blocking two driveways. She lives in a quiet typically overgrown Victorian neighbourhood so the driveways were not easy to see. The policeperson, a woman, who was called tried to find me searching the nearby park hoping she wouldn't have to tow my car away. When I finally came out of my session an hour later, I heard some one shouting my name "Laurie" loudly. It was this lovely policeperson and she said "where were you? I have been looking for you as I didn't want to have you towed" I blurted out that I was at my therapist. She reached over to my windowsill,gave me her card she had just placed there and said "well hurry up, here is your daughter's cellphone number,call her right away as she is coming to move your car. I said "O god not from work she is going to kill me" and this remarkable policeperson said"No she's not.She has taken the day off and is coming from home and was very nice about it so get moving!" In the meantime, the nice woman who had called the police-it was her driveway-came out with a plate of homemade fudge candy and offered the policeperson one and then me. I said I couldn't possibly take one as I was too embarrassed. The policeperson- I should say Constable-turned to me and said "O For goodness sake take one and get a move on. I have wasted enough time." So I did. The candy was delicious, my daughter didn't kill me and I sent a lovely thank you card to this remarkable policeperson. So take my advice dear readers and next time you hear comments of POLICE BRUTALITY remember to warm the cockles of your heart with this story of an act of kindness from the police.