BOGG # FINDING YOUR PASSION

Christmas is coming up again and this month means Christmas movies. All month long especially on Netflix, Christmas movies are being streamed. These are not first rate movies-more like "B" or maybe "C" movies. The plots are simple,unvaried and always feature snow, Christmas lights, Christmas music, angels,a jolly Santa and an obliging elf.  Of course huge department stores, decorations and toys are there to remind us what Christmas is all about.
The most important of all though is the theme which is romance and passion.  In every movie there is a pretty  heroine-usually blond, and a handsome clean cut hero with dazzling white teeth.  Sometimes the girl is an ambitious boss and the man is a lowly clerk. Sometimes the man is rich and the girl is a single mom struggling to survive. The best movies have royals. Either there is a prince from Duldavia who falls in love with a common girl from Idaho, or there is a princess from Andovia who falls in love with the local handyman. The movies always have happy endings with romance and passion and we are happy because this is what we all want.
There are other kinds of passion of course besides romantic love and parenthood is one of them. This passion is intense and time consuming. The first ten years of my life as a mother was like this,but when the children reached young adulthood it was time for me to step back and find something else to be passionate about.  I remember thinking of picking up bird watching, butterfly collecting or stamp collecting. None of these "grabbed" me.
At this point I discovered Art. Art is a hard master and can even kill you but it is a passion that can be sustained for years.  My home is filled with the results of this passion.
 Another passion is reading which has been my passion for years.  I was considered a bookworm by my long suffering Mom. She believed books were fantasy- lies and of course, being mom she was right for my favourite reading materials were romance and adventure novels. I loved  Jane Austin, all the Bronte novels, all adventures written for boys and girl and science fiction.

However lately -probably because I am sated with Netflix and Romantic movies, I seem to have lost my passion. I read, listlessly, several books at a time without finishing any of them-including the one from my book club. My paint brushes have been soaking for days, the paints drying and the canvases dulling. Worst of all when I turn on the television I find myself doing what men do-flicking from station to station and rejecting most of the movies on Netflex. I had become listless and and without passion. But no more!

Last week, we were Christmas shopping in the Bolen Book store when my daughter  mentioned  she had been in the Science Fiction section and was tempted to buy a Ursala Quinn novel one of my favourite science fiction authors."O yes!" do!" I said." OH! also what about Anne McCaffrey! remember Dragon flight?" and suddenly desire overwhelmed me. The dragon series by Anne McCaffery were a favourite and I had to have one right now.  I rushed to buy one.

Passion was back . O the delight of not being able to wait til one gets home to open the desired book.
What fun to delve deeply into high adventure again instead of crawling painfully through the serious modern books dealing with momentous issues and thoughtful analysis or the painfully tragic novels that I had recently been reading. Here I was as I had been years ago as a young woman when I last read her series, flying through the sky perched on the golden dragon queen, soaring up into the distant stratosphere and plunging recklessly down to earth on the lovely planet of Pern trying to save it from disaster.  I was not alone I was with all the other handsome male riders on their bronze, brown, green and blue dragons throwing flames at the enemy.  I gobbled the book up in a few hours and found myself driving to the shop to buy the next one. I am in luck.  She has written at least twenty in the Pern series. This will carry me through the trying festive season. Passion in my life has been restored.
 Take my advice dear readers and search for your passion -don't let the mundane and serious take over your life. Look for your passion where-ever it resides even if it is in a rather fantasy place like mine perched on a dragon fighting enemies. It does not matter the form it takes. Just find it and wallow in it and enjoy Christmas.

BLOGG # "SLEEPLESS IN VICTORIA"

Several years ago I wrote a blogg that dealt with the subject of our parents being right after all and how, with hard earned experience and chastened by failures we finally bow down to their wisdom. By parents of course I mean anyone in authority and this includes the medical profession.

In that last blogg I talked about caving in to the fact that porridge is good for you. I spent some time trying  to like it and had it every morning for several months. I finally gave up trying  and now eat my favourite breakfast instead -fried tomato slice  and cheese on gluten free bread.  I decided that pleasure in life is worth more than high fiber. I am now content-though not necessarily regular.

This  blogg ,thank goodness, isn't about porridge. It is about  not sleeping.
 For the past few years I have  been struggling with the lack of sleep and trying to cope with three to four hours sleep.
 Every night I approached my bed with dread in my heart anticipating the nightly battle.  My first reaction on entering the bedroom at bedtime was always "Oh no- it is that time already"-it seems that I just left it". The bed became my enemy.  It's ability to tie itself into uncomfortable knots with blankets, pillows and sheets seemed purposely designed to frustrate me.  In the following long hours I battled with these -throwing pillows and  blankets about and eventually tossing them on the floor. Sheets were like reptiles wrapping around me until I was unable to move. I eventually solved the sheet problem by investing in sleeping bags. This did not help much but at least I could move. Move I did, tossing from side to side, continually checking the clock as it slowly crawled around to morning. Waiting and watching for a pot to boil is nothing compared to watching a clock inching snail like to dawn-blessed dawn. But that too has mixed blessings because then one knows the day will drag just as slowly with foggy brain, tired muscles and joints exhausted because of lack of  sleep.

I tried various recommendations. There was meditation-not helpful in my case. Then there was relaxation- one relaxes muscles starting from toes and working upwards. Very ineffective.  Relaxing baths are recommended. Dark curtains, peaceful surroundings, no distractions and  soft music were also suggested. None of these worked.  The use of computers, television and  other technical devises near bedtime is  apparently a  no-no which was emphatically endorsed by the medical community. If you really needed an activity that requires plugging an electric appliance into a socket- ironing is recommended, preferably men's dress shirts. That may tire you sufficiently for sleep but otherwise nothing exciting and pleasurable before entering the sleep chamber. There is one activity that is recommended. I will not go into it. We all know that one.
 I did argue passionately with my doctor  to give me sleeping pills-you know-the little blue half pill we all love-virtuously pleading that I do not have an addictive personality .  My charming handsome doctor was surprisingly adamant in his refusal.

The most consistent recommendation though by all those in  authority,especially by physicians  is to abstain from alcohol in the evening. For a long time I ignored this advice until due to illness it was necessary to forgo my favourite evening glasses of red.  O K-It worked.  I admit it. There were nights when I clocked in nine to ten hours sleep.  It is true. One feels better after a long healing sleep and I enjoyed the feeling of wellness.

The need to abstain from alcohol has lifted for me now and the question-the very big question is-do I decide that the feeling of wellness is more important than the pleasure of enjoying my glass of red? Or will that feeling of wellness due to eight hour sleep go the way of regularity from eating  high fiber porridge?  Will I choose bright bag less eyes, a happy disposition, long hours of healing sleep by abstaining from my glass of red  along with healthy regularity by eating the hated porridge or will I like so many of my fellow human beings make wrong minded choices - in my case- sleeplessness and irregularity??  Whatever I decide to do, I must not -and note this carefully my readers-ask those in authority to help me make the decision. I will make it all by myself. This is a free country, we are adults with free will and the right to choose-badly or not. The choice is ours-rather mine now -and no,I will not tell you my decision/

BLOGG # 110 ON MAKING QUICK ASSUMPTIONS

Three weeks ago as I was sipping wine with my new traveling companions in a bar on the Transcontinental train from Vancouver to Toronto one of them said :"The one thing I discovered about myself on this trip is that I make quick assumptions when I first  meet people and they are usually based on trivial things such as appearances and I am invariably wrong. They are always much nicer when I get to know them and not at all like I thought at first-so much for my assumptions." Yes- as you see I had finally realized my dream and was on my way from Vancouver to Toronto on the Transcontinental Train and was enjoying an after dinner glass of red wine in the train bar with my new friend. As she said this I paused and thought about myself and my own assumptions -was I usually wrong too?  I decided to study my assumptions as they came up.

My berth was located  in car  231 at the very end and  thankfully close to the toilet and shower. Four people shared this berth. I was in a lower one, a young woman was in the upper and across the aisle was an older American couple from Georgia. He was very tall, overweight and wore shorts, white knee socks, huge runners and a baseball cap. He had a loud voice with a drawl. I labelled him " right wing sheriff from Texas." His wife was diminutive,exquisitely dressed and spoke in a soft southern accent. I named her " delicate Southern Belle who sips mint juleps." The young woman was from San Diego California. She had just chucked her job, stored everything and was traveling via train from Vancouver  to Toronto, to Montreal and New York, then flying to Dubrovnik to sail the Adriatic coast for a week. She had no further future plans after that.  She was quiet voiced, athletic, wore understated sports clothes and carried a serious backpack. I dubbed her " The quiet American -clean living, friend of the outdoors and a vegetarian."  The next berth had a Canadian couple from Saskatoon. He was a retired train worker who spoke incessantly and she was his long suffering wife. We all called him  "Trainman".

My first breakfast I shared with two older women who looked like sisters.  They both said good morning ,ordered their cornflakes then bowed their heads to give thanks. I thought "Aha !sisters from Abbotsford on their way to a religious conference- this may be hard going. I was wrong-they were not sisters but old friends with interesting stories of their terrifying experience as teenage refugees in Poland during the 2nd world war and they eventually landed up growing up in Saskatchewan-We all had enthusiastic things to say about our love of that province.In Fact anytime I saw them during the next few days we always had fun times together-they were in their quiet ways always involved in the social events giggling and talking and they were the first ones to turn up for the wine tasting.
My "Quiet clean living American" morphed into a constant attendant in the Bar drinking beer and proved to be an expert on wine -she was not vegetarian and was popular with the men.

My two new wine drinking women friends were Torontonians, vibrant and talented-one was an artist and decorator, the other was an aspiring photographer. We were all on adventures and  together with the quiet American spent happy times in the observation car in the evenings drinking wine. An English business man from Saritoga Florida often joined us calling us the four musketeers and flirting with us all.  We did not trust him a bit. That assumption was correct.

On the third day, Trainman and his disgruntled wife  got off in Saskatoon and I joined my comrades in our berth  just in time to hear this discussion. "Did you hear him?" said the American man "Can you believe it ? He is a supporter of Trump! How can anyone do that? He thinks what Saskatoon needs is someone like him! And what about that argument you had with him not believing  about climate change being a problem?" He turned to Ms Quiet American who shrugged and said that argument was pointless with someone like that and she should have not gotten involved.  The American wife drawled softly "I thought his wife was going to kill him." She smiled mischievously -her favourite reading material was real crime fiction novels. She loved describing  the more gruesome details to our horrified ears- especially her soft hearted husband's.  So as you see almost all of my assumptions eventually had to be thrown out of the window of the moving train. Chastised I realized I too was in the habit of making false assumptions  based on prejudices. As I embarked from the train in Toronto a thought struck me-"I wonder what the other passenger's assumptions about me were?"-a sobering thought.

BLOGG # INNER RESOURCES

 I was talking to my friend the other day about my  decision to live quietly for a time  and with tongue in cheek quoted my favourite author Jane Austin, describing  my ability to cope with solitude without difficulty because I appear to have many "inner resources. " As soon as I said this I got an "inner jolt" in my solar plexus. This quote is from one of my favourite least admired characters from "Emma"-in my estimate Jane's best novel. The character, Mrs. Elton, is  the vulgar ambitious social climber and new wife of John Elton the local young vicar.  She very arrogantly and at great length, talks to long suffering Emma about not fearing retirement now that she was married and living "village life." "Blessed with so many resources within myself, the world was not necessary to me." she states.  I loved the passage where she describes Mr. Elton's  proposal. She insists of  Mr.''E" er "Caro sposo" that there must be music available in their future life for her happiness-one of her "inner resources"
I felt great chagrin as I thought of Mrs. E's and my own inner resources and decided to see if mine measured up.
Well of course there is Music, there are also Books, Culture and Art to begin with and I decided to examine how I spent my day doing all this. First of all music-I have been trying to perfect Beethoven's "Fur Elise" on my piano for the past six years. I decided to read the 'Russians' again and took out Dostoevsky's " The Brothers Karamazov' from the library and planned a program of sketching and painting the summer flowers on my balcony-one painting per day.
My "Fur Elise" is still not perfect -I always get stuck on the same spot.  My "Brother Karamazov" was due in one month-it became overdue and I was still on page 18. I have done exactly five paintings in the past month and the flowers are now past bloom.
It is obviously time to see what happened to my "Inner resources" and what I do with my time so I re-examined my day. It looked like this: I spent fifteen minutes on the piano, I spent half an hour in the morning and exactly five minutes at bedtime before nodding off while reading my book. My Art did not fare better - I could only tolerate thirty minutes or so in the hot sun -also my ability to deeply concentrate- as is required to paint well -lasted about ten minutes. So what did I do the rest of my day? 
I spent quite a long time flipping through the latest fashions in Vogue; lingered over coffee in my local coffee shop; talked on the phone; re-organized my wardrobe and tried on new outfits and watched Netflix on my T.V.  When I totted up the time spent the list looked like this: fifteen minutes piano,thirty two minutes reading,thirty minutes on the balcony-fifteen minutes sketching, one hour at coffee shop, one hour trying on my clothes, one hour on phone and the rest of the time watching Netflix!! You do the math I am too ashamed.
Obviously dear Jane Austin, who is now celebrating her two hundredth year anniversary of her birth with many accolades throughout the world, would not be impressed with my "Inner Resources."

BLOGG # AGING BEAUTIES

I have been struggling with my  blogg in  June  for some time. The theme I was working with was "Aging Beauties"-a subject inspired by a visit my daughter and I did to a well known communal rhododendron garden in Victoria that was started in the early fifties. The rhododendrons were at least sixty years old  and were very mature. My idea of a typical rhododendron plant  was a vision of overblown  lush blossoms on big plump bushes. What I did not expect was the beauty of these mature tall rhododendron trees growing in this enchanted forest-for forest it was. There were tall gnarled trunks with exaggerated branches twisting in strange shapes-a magical forest perfect for a child to run through. I was transported to my childhood and the forest of poplar trees where I used to play -swinging on the low sturdy branches and hiding in the hollows. The real magic here though were the blossoms. These were not overblown and lush. They were delicate with lovely hues and with a perfect display of stamen and petals- very precise and beautifully defined-a lesson in the perfection of nature and it's purpose. I found it interesting that these mature blossoms, in comparison to their younger sisters, depicted more clearly the sensuality and purpose of  blossoms. They were surprisingly beautiful and they were sexy! Of course bees were very present. I left that enchanted garden thinking of the beauty of age and maturity -a foreign thought in this youth-worship era.

Twice a week I go to my exercise class. It is a class designed for Seniors. If you are ninety or over the class is free and we do have members of that age. The class is inspirational. We are all at different levels of physical stamina and cognitivity but this does not stop any of us. Some of us always sit on chairs, some of us sit on the chairs when tired and sometimes we use them for support. What we do not do is shirk from doing the exercises. We come with walkers ,canes and attendants. Our exercise clothes range from cool to outfits from before the time of spandex. What comes through consistently though is the beauty of the members as they adapt their bodies to do their bidding in confidence and knowledge of what the precious body will do. And yes-we are all in our own way beautiful-like the lovely mature rhododendron trees.

The other day a friend wrote commenting on the inability to keep up with the walking group,the acceptance of aging and the awareness of it. I wrote I sympathized with the "aging" awareness-"You find it discouraging that you can't keep up-I am realizing that the possibility of physical pleasures are probably remote for me -though I have noticed an increase of sensual enjoyment visually-this early morning on the balcony I watched the moon wane with delight and watched the flights of birds around my balcony and listened to their  lovely sounds with more intense pleasure than I have ever experienced before-a sort of heightened awareness."  Perhaps that will be the answer for me and for all of us  who are getting older-like the beautiful aging rhododendron trees in the enchanted garden too.

BLOGG# PIVOTAL MOMENTS

In every one's life there comes a moment that is pivotal. This is not a big momentous moment such as one's first kiss for example, but a moment when one recognizes something desired has happened -usually a previously unrecognized one, or a goal or destination reached.  It is at this moment we say delightedly "At last I have arrived !" It is an "aha" moment immediately recognized.
 At this point it is important to pause and take note of  the incident because it could easily because of its insignificance be forgotten. And I advise you dear reader to always do that.

I will now tell you of my first "Aha" moment which happened when I was a young woman in my twenties on a foggy evening in London England. I had just come back to England after an exciting six month's tour in Europe with a friend and had come back alone to find work as I was broke. I was walking down  Devonshire High street on my way to my flat after a long day's work in a local dress shop, carrying a bag with a green pepper a tomato and onion bought from a French speaking street vendor and was looking forward to my first evening meal alone when this thought struck me-

"No one knows I am here here in London. There is no chance that I can bump into anyone  I know. I am a complete stranger alone in this huge city." I felt a big thrill running down my spine and recognized something I didn't know I desired - to be alone in a foreign city with no possibility of bumping into someone I knew. I stopped and said to myself "Laurie this is something you have always wanted ! Never forget this wonderful moment." And I have never forgotten that moment

The next pivotal moment happened when I was a mature woman.I was embarking on a new adventure as an artist in the art world. To accommodate this adventure and to support it I worked night duty as a nurse to free the hours in daytime. Every morning at seven thirty on my way home to sleep I stopped at a local  cafe for breakfast. This cafe was a typical restaurant for working people- unpretentious with vinyl booths and a long counter with high stools-a decor that hadn't changed since the nineteen twenties. The cafe called "Mars cafe" had a reputation with the trendier population who on the weekends  would sometimes make a point of breakfasting there- the food was basic and good -and brag about slumming it. The regular clients though were  mostly labourers  on their way to work or single men who lived in local rooming houses. You could see they were regulars as they never had to give their orders. Obviously the waitresses  who looked very experienced, tough and had an air of no nonsense about them knew them well and just brought them their food as soon as they arrived.  It was a nostalgic example of cafes of the twenties-not gentrified and  it suited me. Every morning I ordered the same  breakfast; two eggs over easy, two rashers of bacon,toast and coffee. One morning  I came as usual in my uniform,tired as usual, sat down wearily in my usual booth and prepared to order. The waitress, a mature woman with dyed blond hair, took her pencil from behind her ear nodded at me and  said "two eggs over easy, two rashers of bacon, toast and coffee and swayed back to the counter with my order. I smiled to myself and said "Baby you have arrived" I was a regular too.

'Lately I have taken up an interest in the local jazz scene and have spent several evenings in a lounge that features jazz on specific nights.  I usually go with a friend and through him have been introduced to one of the singers and her accompanist on the guitar. I like their music very much and have seen them several times. Last week I knew they were performing again and went alone. It takes -for me-some nerve to go into a bar alone.  This evening I was late, the entertainment had already started and I had to brave the jazz enthusiasts as I walked by them all to an empty seat. I ordered a drink as unobtrusively as I could and sank back in my chair hoping to be unnoticed. At this moment the singer who was sitting on a high stool performing  turned towards me and  smiled and waved. I waved back trying to look casual but deep inside of  me was the AHA moment saying jubilantly  "Baby You have arrived."

BLOGG#128 THE EASTER BUNNY

It is now a week past Easter and we are all in the process of getting rid of extra poundage due to indulging in Easter chocolate goodies and above all the Easter chocolate bunny.
This past week I have been contemplating the Easter Bunny phenomena and our relationship to rabbits in general especially bunnies. This started because a week ago today I was in the local grocery store and -as usual -walked by the Bakery department. I don't buy I just look. This time I noticed a white mound on the shelf and when I looked closer discovered it was a white Easter bunny as a cake covered in coconut icing. It was disconcerting to see. I pictured all these eager little ones Easter morning watching their mummies carefully cutting up the cake-first through the nose, then through the eyes and so on until the whole cake was eaten up. It sounds macabre to say the least. Especially with our present day attitude to the sweet bunny and especially the way we humanize them-think Peter Rabbit in his little blue coat raiding the cabbage patch. I suppose we could blame Beatrix Potter for that. The next thing we saw in a mall on Saturday before Easter was a person dressed in a big white bunny suit seated on a chair surrounded with Easter goodies and a line up of kiddies and sure enough there was a little one sitting on his lap having his picture taken. Now not only do kiddies have to deal with sitting on the lap of a big old man in a red suit and long beard but also deal with sitting on an oversize rabbit that talks. What damage are we inflicting on them now? Poor frightened children.
 My puzzlement with our relationship with bunnies continues. Why the Easter Bunny anyway? what does he symbolize? and as my smart grandson pointed out-"what's with the eggs and the rabbit laying them?  How weird is that"??
This has kept me preoccupied all week . The paradox of our attitude to rabbits. We cheerfully eat the Easter chocolate rabbit -starting with the ears and working down to his feet-with no thought of it's cuteness. But in real life we raise a  hue  and cry over the threat of authorities culling them due to over breeding even though it means we may squish them as we negotiate the paths of Victoria General hospital or the University.
The rabbit breeds profusely and wise Mother Nature has designed this to help with the balance in nature giving the predators a chance of survival. The cute bunny  or rabbit on the other hand if it survives,is not forgotten by her either as she gives it great survival resources. They are swift, have acute hearing and eyesight and are very clever. Remember Aesop's fable of Brer Rabbit outfoxing Mr. Fox by begging him not to be thrown into the Briar patch.
We could learn from this and instead of talking about culling , we could use this abundance. However , though we merrily eat the chocolate rabbit , most of us balk at eating the cute real rabbit.Too cruel. Yet this could be a cheap source of  organic meat supply. It is used in other countries. The French have wonderful rabbit dishes and the Greeks make a mean rabbit stew with onions. I am afraid though, our conflicting relationships with the rabbit will not allow this. It all gives me much food for thought --hmmmmm??

BLOGG# MY BACK YARD IN SPRING

Years-eons ago actually in high school- I was forced to write a descriptive essay about  a favourite landscape. I chose to write an ironic description of our backyard describing the picturesque snow coverings on our garbage pails and chicken coop. I got an A. Today I will write about my spring backyard. My backyard fronts a back lane. Yes, Victoria has back lanes and is famous for them and I am lucky to have one. Beyond this lane I can see a parking lot; the busy Royal Jubilee Hospital; a private Elementary School with it's playground;a holding construction for the sanitation Board and a park with a creek running through-the famous Bowker Creek. From my balcony which faces west I can view all this and spend many happy times doing so.
                                            
Although this doesn't sound a very pretty view- it is-  because backing our own parking area  before the lane is a line of trees and bushes. I can boast a wild old  cherry tree, an apple ,two plum trees a tulip tree, several looming deciduous trees and a clutch of bushes winding around the creek. At this moment they are all in various stages of bloom and bursting leaf openings. This entertaining show starts in very early spring and lasts until early summer. It starts with the cherry tree which is now finished, goes on to the plums which are now in full bloom and then to the apple which is shyly showing a few buds. The tulip tree is shamelessly bursting in deep pink as she hides behind a big pine.
 This morning ,as I usually do, I pulled open the drapes of  my bedroom window which looks out on the  back yard and was greeted with all this glory. I was also greeted with the sight of a helicopter  belonging to the hospital rising slowly from it's pad after delivering an emergency victim and I realized how lucky I am to have this exciting busy urban  and at the same time rural view for my own entertainment.
I start my morning greeting my backyard listening to the chirping of  birds. My day progresses to sitting out on the balcony as the day warms-or not- looking at the beautiful blossoms and enjoying the bustle of the city and end the day watching the city quieting and listening to the same birds settling for the night and of course watching the sunset-which last night was a deep blushing pink. One of my favourite pastimes is watching clouds as they scuttle across the sky-a constant changing scene . so this is the  description of my backyard now--I wonder if Miss Gale would give me an A??
  

BLOGG# SPRING 2017

#1  THERE WERE NO CROCUSES THERE--It is finally spring.I think I can almost feel it in the air. Last week it was warm enough and I decided to go out for the first time this year for a "spring walk." This in Victoria means searching out your favourite hidden haunts to view snowdrops and crocuses. I walked my usual paths looking for snowdrops - and yes -I found a few.I also noted a few buds on a Camellia tree but nothing else. It was a disappointing walk. The hardest part was searching for my favourite patch of crocuses by St Mary's Church. Two years ago I had written a blogg about it. The crocuses were hidden in a high mossy bank next to the church kindergarten and they always bloomed there by the crumbling stone bank. This time however I could not find them. I walked right into a construction site.Gone was the old unpainted kindergarten school. Gone was the neglected homey garden full of swings and children's toys. Instead there was a huge digger making holes and piles of  lumbar and debris scattered about.Worst of all the mossy bank and crumbling stone wall was gone. I did finally find two tiny fragile ones trembling in the cold unwelcome rubble. I mourned their fate and touched the petals of the most fragile one -they felt like gossamer butterfly wings.these will be their last bloom. I walked home depressed.
#2 SPRING AT LAST-Two days ago on my way  to my exercise class, I drove down Granite street and saw to my extreme pleasure the hesitant openings of the tree blossoms along the street. My heart leaped. At last the back of ole Mr. Winter was broken! His hold on us was broken!.True -he could challenge us with surprises but the evidence of the blooming trees is too powerful. There is no turning back Ms Spring -she is too powerful. He can do no lasting harm.
#3 The ULTIMATE EVIDENCE THAT SPRING IS HERE.Yesterday while walking down Oak Bay to do my shopping I saw the ultimate proof. Ahead of me a young vibrant young woman was walking happily in the smallest short shorts I have yet seen -and then I saw another girl further along wearing similar ones. Proof at last!! and what a joy to see ! and what enjoyment for all the staid men loitering along the street on their way to Starbucks for their daily morning coffee. For me there was a rush of memory of  when I was a young woman and the lovely sensation of the feeling of spring  air caressing my limbs in short shorts after a long drab winter. What fun Spring is.
#4 The final PROOF- When I came home I saw that my brave daffodils were fluttering in the spring wind and my apple tree was starting to bud.  I went straight  out and bought some periwinkles and planted them. So my dear readers-break out the bubbly and toast the delayed and welcome spring! and count our blessings that Nature in spite of our many  shortcomings and bad treatment of her  has not forgotten us after all.

BLOGG # 125- BELATED VALENTINE BLOGG

Ever year I have written a blogg devoted to that heart tugging event named after ST. Valentine. Sometimes the blogg is sentimental and warm .Sometimes it is cynical and sometimes it is filled with wisdom from your wise blogger!
This year for many reasons Valentine's day passed me by-nary a Valentine card or chocolate or offering of a devoted heart that promised to love me forever. Quite frankly I didn't even notice the lack of devoted love. Why was that? I think it was because I was too involved in living my busy life. However yesterday was "Opera at the Met" and I was plunged into passion of the heart in a big way which put me into a"Valentine's Day mood and inspired me to finally write my 2017 Valentine blogg.
The opera which was wonderful, was Rusalka-a romantic fairy tale composed by Dvorak. The story is familiar and has been repeated in many versions. The best known is "The Little Mermaid." In this version the little mermaid falls in love with a prince and to become human she has to exchange her lovely tail for legs.The payment for this transformation was to suffer pain in her feet especially when she danced with her handsome prince. Always there is a price to pay.
Rusalka fared worse.  Rusalka,a water sprite who took the form of a wave, fell in love with a prince who frequently  bathed in her lake.She negotiated with a witch to change her into a human being so she could be with her beloved prince. Her price was to lose the ability to speak- a true metaphor of neurotic love.
Of course the marriage was doomed to fail. To take away the right to speak one's own thoughts is the worst thing to happen to a happy union and it is amazing how often this does happen. One of the temptations when in love is to keep one's own real thoughts to oneself and try to say things that will please the loved one-A sure road to disaster-  The other thing is that to block a woman's ability to express herself is a recipe for explosion. And so it was! It is ironic that in both myths the females are willing to give up so much;their home, their talents, their best features -tails and tongues and immortality for love-a tale of caution for all women. This is a dark fairy tale. They both die tragically to the delight of the witch who was a real number.
Always there is a moral-worse luck-to a fairy tale. The moral here was that true love cannot happen unless one is true to oneself and Rusalka really betrayed herself. She did not protect her own self, she was willing to compromise herself and her lover just to experience his embraces.
The Shakespeare saying "to thy own self be true it follows as night the day  you can be false to no man" or something like that was the loud message here.
This is not my last word on love or Valentines. Unfortunately I am just starting -there is more to say.

BLOGG # 124 NOSTALGIC FROSTINGS

The past few weeks have been a very stimulating and challenging time for Victoria's mild weather accustomed residents. A shocking blow for survival has hit us as we battled wind snow, freezing cold,slippery ice and frost.
Though housebound most of the time I loved it all-the lashing stinging whips of wind and snow across my vibrantly  reddened cheeks; the painfully cold fingertips inside my gloves; the moist air trapped in my swaddling wool scarf around my mouth and nose all reminded me of my childhood in the  winters of middle Alberta. I spent a fair amount of time looking out of my balcony window watching the struggling pedestrians crossing the car park and noticing their makeshift winter apparel. These are not savvy Albertans with their parkas and snow boots nor are they suave Montrealers with their fur hats and sophisticated fur trimmed coats- think Pierre T.  No, these marine climate creatures are wearing light, skin tight parkas in vibrant colours and  sophisticated black leggings or jeans. One imaginative man even wore leggings and shorts. Scarves were wound round and round necks and all wore impractical boots or colourful  running shoes.
This of course took me back in time to when I was a young child. I remembered my beloved head covering -called a parka-it was brown with a small red trim and a tiny embroidered  flower . It tied firmly under the chin and peaked into a pompom. It was incredibly cozy. My shoe coverings were  in felt up to almost the knees with clip closures. Mittens were hand made by my grandmother and were connected with string down the sleeves and the scarf also hand knit was long and usually wet. Of course we all wore long underwear and ribbed stockings. I don't know how we managed to dress and get to school on time. When we finally got to school our poor teacher spent the first hour unraveling us all-the encrusted scarves ,the wet overshoes and soaking outer trousers. My school was in the country and most of the children walked several miles to school and were frozen solid by the time they got there.
There is no doubt that in a deep freeze there is time for reflection nostalgia and musings [unless we are shoveling snow}and of course creativity. Perhaps this is why so much good music comes from northern climates. The long winters stimulates melancholic reflections. I have just listened to a wonderful piano piece by the Norwegian composer Grieg in which he expresses deep grief for his dead parents. This piece could only have been composed in the deep depth of winter.
I too painted a dark piece-that could only be painted in forced solitude in winter. But now we are back to a milder climate with clouds and rain and it is time to put away scarves and mittens and pull out the trustworthy rain proof, our galoshes and umbrella. Also it is time to become more lighthearted and to socialize again. Time to call your friend for a coffee and a gossip. The time for in depth reflections in dark cold evenings is over. The time for dark creativity is over too . It is also time to lightheartedly  blogg. So my dear bloggers. congratulate yourselves for surviving the challenges of  winter and gird yourself for spring peaking around the corner. My local supermarket is already shamelessly displaying chocolate Valentine boxes.


  In closing,a prairie friend of mine wrote to me during this freezing spell reminiscing about his childhood in Saskatchewan when he spent hours standing at the window watching the blizzards through frost encrusted windows and feeling so cozy in the warmth of the kitchen. I too used to stand for hours in the dining living room area -tracing with my fingers the leaf like designs of the frost coating the windows-I can still feel the texture and coldness as I traced them and I probably felt cozy too but don't recall that so much. But I do remember the quiet and the meditative quality while tracing the frosts. This remembering  was enough to inspire me to finally write a blogg.
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