BLOGG ---THE FRAGRANT SPIRIT OF SPRINGTIME-- HIDDEN SHY BLOSSOMS

 Last fall when I posted my blogg and was choosing a painting to put with it, I hesitated whether to choose a female nude or a male nude. I chose the male nude as I thought it was less risque`.  My son, on hearing the reason for my choice, made me promise to post a female nude in my next post.  Here she is. 

It is springtime  and I think she perfectly embodies the spirit of spring.  She has the look of  the freshness of springtime, the sensual feeling we love so much in springtime and the promise of the lushness of summer ahead. At least that was what  I attempted to paint  but  she was not easy to paint, because like all spring flowers, she took her time to grow to become who she is causing some coaxing on my part. This blogg, however, is not about my painting but about the spirit of  spring and shy blossoms.

Spring flowers are always shy and hidden in the early spring but still  give us so much joy with their delicate hues and fragrances. We have so much pleasure in discovering them. I love to gently brush their shy petals with my fingertips to release their fragrances and  this spring, because  of the pandemic restrictions, I am  so lucky to have little opportunities to fill up my  days with distractions and instead  have lots of time to go outdoors to do this.

So it is true - there is always a silver lining in misfortunes such as the pandemic we are now experiencing and if we look hard enough this spring where we now have so much free time, we have the great opportunity to search for these  hidden shy blossom  and take time to "smell the flowers"

There are other hidden shy blossoms of a different kind.  Outside on my balcony I can gaze out over my back lane  and into a building belonging to the City Works. It is entirely enclosed with a high fence and locked gate. I can see the building, the fence and a high row of trees. Between the trees and this very functional building is hidden a beautiful huge magnolia tree.  All I can ever see are some  blossoms peeking through the branches. I can never see the whole tree. One spring day several years ago, I found the gate unlocked and open. I sneaked into the back yard and gazed long at this wonderful tree laden with blossoms. It was even sweeter for me as I was trespassing. The forbidden is always sweeter. Every spring I watch as the blossoms I can just glimpse turn from buds to full blown flowers and then drop wilted to the ground.  I feel sad for this hidden shy tree  and it's inability every year to show off it's splendor.

There is another shy tree that is hidden on my daughter's yard. It is a shy camellia tree crowded against  the back of a garage wall and  in the shadow of high pine and cedar trees. To see the tree you have to walk through  these barriers. Each spring when I go to see it, I expect the tree to not bloom and yet every year I am surprised to see this shy hidden tree bloom the most wonderful delicate pink blossom.  I am always amazed at the generosity and resilience of nature that gives us these beauties  in spite of our negligence and indifference  and I respect the humbleness of this beautiful  tree to always bloom in spite of having  no audience to adore it.

My Spring blogg is dedicated to another fragrant spirit.   It is dedicated to the memory of a good friend and great artist who died suddenly a few months before Covid 19 changed our lives. She is missed and it has taken me two years before I could write about this loss.  Irma was a great and fearless artist and a vibrant human being who lived life with enthusiasm. 

She lived life in colours like the flowers she loved in her hidden enclosed magical garden where she loved to paint. When one saw her one saw her in colours ranging  from shy violet, periwinkle and gold marigold through to robust gladioli.  These were her palette for living and also for painting. Her huge vivid paintings told the stories of life using the  great ancient myths for material.  Her last subject she was working on was inspired by the Greek Oracle of Delphi and her greatest wish and plan was to live in Delphi and commune with her muse.  Her plan was to go to there the next year. This did not happen.  Her life was cut short and so too were the paintings of the Oracle of Delphi. Her paintings  too,  like the hidden blossoms, were not shown for view and like the lovely camilia tree are kept shyly hidden. 

Hidden blossoms, shy flowers, unseen paintings by unknown artists are not lost.  They are here to be seen by those who wish to look for them. So dear readers take this precious uncluttered time to look for the hidden and shy beauties that are all around us in abundance.  Have a happy Spring.

BLOGG#2 MITTE AMBOS NUDOS AD IGNOTOS ET VIDEBIS

 

 No-This is not a lecture in Latin.--Heaven forbid. This ,surprise, surprise, is my annual Christmas Blogg dedicated to Good Cheer.

I am reading a book of essays by Francis Bacon just now.  I acquired this hundred year old book on Bacon's essays from my late husband-a bibliophile and occasionally dip into it. The essay I am on is "On Cunning."  It is a three page essay discussing the difference between a wise man and a cunning man and how you can tell the difference.  Bacon says you can tell because most cunning men are very successful in business and most wise men are not. The cunning are better at practical application but only  in their own  alley-or known field.  It was at this point in the essay I came across this Latin quote and promptly looked it up on the internet.   The quote comes from the philosopher Aristippus-a student of Aristotle. The translation I discovered, is-  " but send them both naked to those they know not,and you will see," which roughly means put them both in an unknown situation with unfamiliar persons, observe the outcome, and you will see the cunning men will flounder, the wise prevail. 

This amused me and pleased me-as I usually am not in the "have" category, so  I must be in the "wise" category.  I also thought it might be a good idea to make this essay a required reading for all voters.  A successful person  is  admired and often thought wise and an asset in the political field. But as we look at the mess that often happens in politics we see much floundering and nakedness.  The present  situation in our neighbour to the south is a good example.The out going president, a very good example of a cunning man who floundered badly, was completely hopeless in the unfamiliar crises engendered by covid 19.  There were, no doubt, many misguided voters  drawn to his questionable success and admired his cunning and fraudulent nature. However, when confronted with the unknown-the  covid 19 crises-and I promise this is the only time I mention that word, he was completely inadequate,out of his alley, a floundering fool and very dangerous. In fact he became a vicious animal backed in a corner. Over the past months he  floundered  more and more until in these final days he became totally unclothed- a weak totally naked man-an Ambos Nudos.

 

This blogg is supposed to be about Christmas and is meant to be  optimistic but I was having difficulty with optimism until I read Bacon's essay. I now feel encouraged by the fact that wise men are often not successful financially and since the rise of prices in everything recently, I have felt especially  unsuccessful financially. I felt like Scrooge-reluctant to spend my hard earned money on Christmas shopping and was envisioning a bleak cold Christmas. Then I discovered Aristippus the philosopher and his philosophy.  He not only believes cunning men become nudos under unfamiliar stress,but also believes the good life rests on the the fact that among human values, pleasure is the highest and pain the lowest and should be avoided. Also to avoid paining others. He declared there is no reason to not enjoy material goods but to use good judgement and exercise self control.  His motto is "I possess I am not possessed."  In other words he encourages the seeking of pleasure without letting it overpower us.

When I read this I immediately fell in love with this wise philosopher; changed my negative feelings towards this Christmas, and went out, did a little Christmas shopping and bought a half  bottle of my favourite champagne-Veuve Clicquot . I plan -in spite of everything happening now-to enjoy this  Christmas day with my champagne and a turkey dinner. Even if the worst happens and I have to be alone unable to be with my family and the turkey dinner  has to be ordered  from  "Chef-on- the run." I will enjoy Christmas.  I advise you dear readers to do the same and splurge-in defiance of circumstances- on whatever turns you on to help you enjoy the Christmas spirit. Have fun and enjoy a Merry, merry Christmas.

HAVE A JOYFUL CHRISTMAS 2020!!! EVERYONE

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LAURIE'S BLOGG # 1 AUTUMN AND WINTER HAVE COME AT LAST

 Summer is over at last and it is time for me to come out of it's doldrums and return to my blog.The beauty,the excitement,the joys of summer and also the frustrations of it as we dealt with the problems of covid 19 is over.  It had been a summer of good times and bad times  as we dealt with the difficulties of social distancing in our summer activities but it is over. We are now dealing with the covid fatigue

 

As I look forward to autumn I am excited. Autumn means new beginnings,getting rid of the old and starting the new-new projects, new plans, new ideals, fresh outlooks. Of course it is true the problems of covid still exist though they will be different  and will probably be worse but  as they say-"a change is as good as a rest." These were the thoughts that were going through my mind last Sunday morning as I was walking down the country road near my daughter's home.  It was early in the morning, the air achingly fresh and exhilarating.  The sun shone brilliantly, the wind was brisk, almost stormy as it rushed  through the forest even drowning the sound of traffic on the Pat Bay highway.  It was very very cold, my face tingled, my hands felt frozen and I jammed them into my pockets.  Yes. Autumn has come  but it is late and already tipping into winter.  I loved all the sensations caused by the lively forest that morning as I walked along and felt like dancing with the dancing trees, the swirling leaves flashing gold, the great cedars bending in the wind and even the dust gusting about irratically.  Suddenly a grey squirrel darted in front of me, sprang across the road into the forest and up a tree. It looked so free and lively.  I had a sudden pang of envy. How I wished I was him rushing effortlessly up a tree and be free from the limitations  of my own body. I longed to be him. In this mood I thought nothing would be as wonderful as being able to climb a high tree and fly from branch to branch.  The sudden pang of desire was so strong that  I said to myself "in the next life --I would like be a squirrel".

 

I don't really believe in any life but the present but if it were otherwise ---yes I would like to be a squirrel.  For one thing-squirrels are attractive: that gorgeous tail- that cute picture as he sits on a branch in a perky stance holding a nut between his paws. We are all familiar with that image. I like his diet of nuts and seeds. I could love that. Furthermore I would finally become -after years of failure- a true vegetarian.  Also the squirrel is not hunted and eaten by man-a big plus. Of course he has predators but look at the list-the elegant cougar, the wise owl, the noble eagle--Who could balk at that? Not too shabby to be hunted by these noble predators. Best of all he spends the whole winter in a cozy den surrounded by nuts and seeds-warm and fed.  He or she is very intelligent.  You can see it. But the most important thing is -the squirrel has an important purpose and is useful to the planet.  While he is busy collecting his winter supply of food, he is also busily spreading out nuts and seeds as he hunts for a safe place to hide them  As he is industrially digging holes everywhere around miles of forest to hide his treasures, he is also dropping precious nuts and seeds throughout seeding new forests. What a great thing to do. Yes, I would chose to come back not as the noble eagle or lion but the tiny insignificant squirrel.

Now this leads me to the real purpose of writing this blogg.  Last Sunday my daughter and I watched a new documentary by David Attenborough filmed in 2020 and just put out by Netflix.  David Attenborough ,as we all know, is famous for his visionary documentary films on Nature. He is now ninety three years old and  has spent the last sixty years warning us of climate change and destruction of our planet. This last documentary  he calls his "testimony of life". He is a vital and passionate man in spite of his age and endearingly an optimist.  I have spent the last sixty years of my life panicking  about destruction of our planet but like most people and politicians,have  reacted as an ostrich.  It is too scary a subject. I do try feeble gestures;never use saran wrap; never put my produce in plastic bags etc. But I know this is all not enough. and have felt more  and more panicky with the years.  For the first time since watching this amazing film I feel hope.  One of the things I like about David Attenborough is I know he is an optimist-and so am I. He feels that nature has the ability still to restore it's balance. I too have always felt that nature is stronger than humans who in their arrogance think they can destroy the planet. The planet and nature will survive. What will be destroyed is our version of the planet: Humankind and  civilization will be destroyed if we don't change-yes- but not the planet.  It will survive. He did say the destruction of our planet  is almost irreversible but there are three very basic actions by humans that may halt this. He uses the nuclear disaster of Chernobyl and the amazing recovery of it's habitat in the past forty years to point this out. Chernobyl was totally contaminated by the explosion and the city was evacuated. In the film it was moving  to see the recovery of nature in that  abandoned destroyed city. The whole large area was occupied by healthy forests and the wildlife. He talked about three changes  needed to make to reverse the damage-they are: cleaning up the ocean, eliminating poverty to lower birth rate, and increasing areas of  wilderness by reducing the use of domestic animals.  In other words -become vegetarian. Can this work?  Maybe not. but it is better to instill hope than inertia or frozen fear.

I think this film should be seen by everyone possible. There is much we can still do and we can still hope.  Have a happy autumn 2020.

 

 

       

   

 

 

 

VIEW FROM MY BALCONY DURING COVID19

My balcony faces west allowing me to look at  the back of the Royal Jubilee Hospital, three parking lots-two belonging to the hospital-one for the cars of the staff,one for supply trucks and another parking  lot of the medical building next door. My balcony also faces a small private Elementary school,it's parking lot,two dead end streets on either side of a big playground, a waterworks building belonging to the city, a helipad for the hospital helicopter and a big empty field. I also look out on a back alley. This is the view I see every morning when I get up and go out to greet the world with my first cup of coffee.

When the lock down started two months ago, there was suddenly absolute silence from my balcony. For hours I sat there listening  to the silence.   All day long  there was this silence -silence in the streets, silence on the sidewalks, silence in the playground and silence in the school. Even the helicopters and ambulances were silent. \The only vehicles I saw belonged to the staff of the hospital and the supply lot. Sometimes it felt eerie,sometimes peaceful, but always beautiful in it's quiet. If I woke before seven a.m. I could see the frontliners with their backpacks coming for their twelve hour shifts. At noon I watched taxis and  delivery vans delivering lunches donated by a grateful public.  It felt as if the world had stopped, and I was alone.

This abandoned feeling lasted for several days.Then one day  I saw a small family coming through the playground.  Two small children and a father all on bicycles came down the dead end street. They came through the playground, through the school area, down the other dead end  road and into the empty parking lot. The children circled around with enthusiasm while the father watched. I could see the joy and amazement in their eyes at this unusual freedom. Next I saw two young women sunbathing on the grass. As the days progressed more people came.  I started to recognize the different sets of children and watchful parents. I was amused by the antics of older children doing "Wheelies" in forbidden areas and the increasing  confidence of the toddlers as they cycled round and round  the empty roads.
One morning the next week I noticed several cars parked in the school parking lot and several people with large garbage bags entering the school. From that point on the cars were parked there every day and teachers were busy with home schooling.  One glorious day a week later I noticed several children running through the classroom. These were the children allowed back for special reasons. It was exciting and I know now how the people felt when the Pied Piper was forced to bring back the children in that sad fairy tale.


Eventually I too went out walking through the playground and field. The first day I did this I noticed four basket ball players throwing baskets while observing social distancing and I thought it looked odd. I questioned the oddness and realized it was odd because these were fathers and adult sons playing together. I had not seen this in the playground before. Usually the players were young adults. I could now see the effects of  Covid 19 and the lock down were slowly changing our behaviors. Here were Fathers spending hours playing with their tiny children, Fathers and mothers enjoying games with their adult sons and daughters. Suddenly because of Covid 19 there was time for family interaction. The rat race was temporarily stopped.
the sky was clear, the birds were taking over the sound waves, the ducks were taking over the empty roads and playground and people had time for their families.

 As I watched these developments,I wondered  what would be the outcome of all this. Would there be warmer family connections? Would our lifestyle change into something more organic and this would be the new normal? Or would we revert? Would Toddlers, used to freedom of the road want to  to cycle down the center of the road  when this is all over? Would parents and adult children continue to play together or be distant again?  Would the rush be on again? There were many questions.

One early morning last week as I entered the field, two brothers on bicycles entered the other end. The eldest was about eight and the young one about four. The bigger boy rushed down the field but the younger one started to cry and turn back so the older one went back to urge him on but still the younger brother shook his head and continued crying. At this point I realized I was the problem. The boys had obviously been taught social distancing, the little boy not knowing what six meters were, was frightened  and I was the threat. I shouted "don't worry, I am going back home" and did so. A few seconds later the little boy relieved whizzed past me with a big smile on his face. But I was saddened. What a lot of problems the little ones needed to process and understand with this crises and how will this affect them.
Early yesterday morning as I was out for my daily walk  I watched a young father showing his young son-a toddler-how to play "hopscotch.
The little boy imitating him perfectly hopped vigorously ,though inaccurately, through the hopscotch course-it was amusing and endearing watching this lanky young father and his chubby little son stamping and hopping in that old classic girly game.
One night last week in the evening during the warm spell, I was on my balcony again and watched a family picnic in the playground. They had spread out a blanket sitting around baskets of food and laughing. It was so grand to see that.
Today is Mother's Day and I can see much more activity from my balcony as the rules loosen and people and all mothers celebrate in a way they never have before. Most of us are still alone with Netflix-happy to be  alive and healthy.
Every night before I go to bed I greet the night and marvel at the clear sky and  brighter stars  and thank  them for giving us another night of shinning splendor in this strange time .

BLOGG # - EASTER MORNING

For the past few days I have been trying to write about a magical moment that happened recently to my daughter and I, but the words wouldn't come-they were sluggish ,dogged and heavy so I gave up. The truth is I haven't written a blogg for months.Perhaps I have become too rusty or perhaps my blogging days are over.
Somehow I have been lacking in enthusiasm,missing the light  spirit or "geffi" -a Greek word that explains it better.
However ,early this Easter morning I went out for a walk-I was alone , the sun shone,the leaves rustled gently in the breeze and I could almost hear the Easter Bunny stealing through the grasses. Everything felt fresh and new and I rejoiced  When I came home the words flowed.

Four days ago, my daughter came to rescue me from a doorkey disaster which she quickly solved.  She also topped up my groceries with a precious gluten free bread and the ultimate Canadian essential T.P.s! We then decided to go for a walk in the park near my apartment building.
The park is a mundane playground and  football field and is skirted by the lovely Bowker Creek. A foot path follows the creek.  We walked this path using the  "social distancing guide lines." This meant walking in line six feet apart and this also meant,  instead of talking, we were looking and that also meant we were "seeing." which was an advantage.  We looked and saw brilliant yellow buttercup-like flowers cascading down the creek bank to the water and masses of white chamomile blossoms scattered gaily throughout the abandoned playground.  Next we entered a  huge empty field with a foot path running through the length of it. The entire field was carpeted in the white chamomile interspersed with jewel like wild flowers.
 It was as if we were looking at a medieval tapestry. The air was brilliant, clear and magical. The sky glowed blue,  the trees shimmered green and palest yellow and the ground glowed in brilliant white ,gold and pink.  I could easily imagine gracious ladies and gallant knights covertly flirting in  this environment. Well- that is a bit over the top perhaps but not too far.- We decided to slow down and  look closer at the delicate minute flora.  The colours ranged jewel-like from delicate blush pink to pale mauve and gradually to vivid purple; the  blue flowers ranged from the palest hue to robust thrusting cobalt and throughout all these were the sparkling gay buttercups. We were alone, there was complete silence.  I said to my daughter- "it is as though we are walking through an alpine meadow or maybe in the meadow on Mt. Hymattos near our home in Greece as we used to do in spring so many years ago."  At this point a light breeze sprang up, lifting my hair and stirring the leaves on the distant trees to shimmering  gold and I felt the magic.  I have walked this field countless times but never have I felt this magic-it is an ordinary field often soggy. I have never seen such vivid colours in nature here, have rarely seen such a clear blue sky and I never imagine medieval ladies and gallant knights here either.
We finally ,after a long walk, decided to walk back to my apartment through the back lanes. The back lanes of Victoria are precious.  A reminder of long ago carefree times. We enjoyed  looking at the back lane gardens  and marveled at the imaginative landscaping of Victorians.
The next day I walked the same walk. It was not the same. The medieval tapestry was gone, the trees were not shimmering, there were less wild flowers and lots of dandelions. the sky was not so brilliant. On the grass instead of gallant ladies and knights there were two young women in brief  clothing using "social distancing" doing "jumping Jacks."  I was disappointed-there was no magic after all.
 Nonetheless I got over it when I realized that that first magical impact I had experienced the day before was due to the fact that the atmosphere must be clearer because human beings are finally staying home instead of rushing around in their cars,airplanes and buses and my eyes had been in shock-it wasn't magic after all--or was it?

So now after finishing my talk about my magical experience during this trying time, I wish you all a happy and safe Easter celebration.

IT IS CHRISTMAS_THEY ARE HERE AT LAST

She is usually blond,though occasionally brunette and more recently- in this new era of tolerance-of mixed race. She is attractive but not sexy, modest, intelligent,sensitive and overbrimingly kind.
She dresses well  but is not glaringly fashionable. Above all she has a beautiful smile and sparkling white teeth. Sometimes she is royal but usually she is an ordinary young woman in an ordinary occupation.
He, on the other hand, is usually royal, dashingly handsome,desired by all ambitious women, has great potential,but is usually modest in manner. He dresses in traditional clothes,looks wonderful in a tuxedo and even better in casual attire, especially when wearing blue jeans which emphasize his long limbs. He is ,of course, tall. His teeth are also perfect and white- A true prince in shiny armor.

The location is traditional-sometimes in a city-New York comes to mind-sometimes in a quaint village or rural countryside but always in America. The Royal prince or princess is always situated  in central Europe. The kingdom is small,quaint and has a name that is difficult to pronounce.
The general features to be expected are ; Santa Claus; sleigh rides with big horses; lots of snow, bells, pianos for Christmas caroling  and orphans to sing the carols. Christmas trees and Christmas carols are de rigor.  There is always a predictable romance- with invariably a brisk and flirty snow ball fight between the two protagonists.
What am I talking about?  The yearly Christmas stories of course! These are featured on T.V. at this time.  From mid November until Christmas Eve-those wonderful fantasies are churned out to get us into the Christmas spirit of giving and receiving.
 I could ,like most people,deny watching Christmas movies  but I confess I enjoy them. It is only mid December and already my  over indulgence in Christmas schmaltz can be seen. I have a perpetual smirky smile on my face and a blurry glaze to my eyes from drinking  in all this beautiful red and green sparkling bedazzlement.  My body and especially my lower back is stiff from sitting for long hours in the recliner while watching T.V. Christmas movies  and I have started to gain weight due to inactivity.  I have even missed most of my exercise classes.
Do I feel guilty? Not at all-not until I have reached a surfeit of  these  Christmas movies because I know that by December 24th it all abruptly stops and there won't be any more snow, bells, carols, princes and princesses and pretty young women,handsome men with white teeth or Christmas ornaments and sentiment and schmaltz again until November 2020.
Am I alone in this? I don't think so otherwise these movies would not be made. They are necessary  nostalgically to satisfy our need to return to our childhood-to return to the excitement of unrealistic expectations; the snow falling dreamily in the landscape; the  Christmas colours of red and green ;the the baked goods;  the sparkling decorations the carols -so politically incorrect at this time; the wrapped presents and of course the magic of romance, especially of princesses and princes, are  essential to us in our present time of rational practicality and sanity. All this is part of the package of Christmas -that wonderful holiday that brightens the darkest bleakest part of the year for us.
 So I indulge in this romantic insanity and revel in it.
Too soon Christmas will be over, we will again feel flat because none of our expectations for Christmas were really met and we get set to face the harsh life of reality in 2020.  There will be vast opportunity to think rationally after Christmas so take my advice, forget good taste,high quality intellectual stimulation,and correctness and get your required "fix" of Christmas B movies.
Have a  Happy Holiday.

HAPPINESS WHEN ON A JOURNEY

Happiness when on a journey depends on taking the right books to read. I have just  returned back with my family from a trip to Greece to see my  son who is living there and the journey was a success.We traveled there via Dublin which is the shortest air flight to Greece from Vancouver.  The first thing I do when purchasing my ticket is to plan my reading material which is essential for my peace of mind on a trip .On our flight to Dublin, Ireland, I read the September Vogue magazine. As all fashionistas know, the September Vogue is a huge tome of fantasy,outrageous fashion and unadulterated consumerism. As I had not flown in a long while, was nervous and not a confident airline passenger, being a white knuckled flyer, this was the only reading material I could concentrate on.  This material lasted me for the whole eight hour flight and I was content.

Once settled in Dublin I switched to a favourite of mine -a second hand yellowing penguin detective story by Nicholas Freeling I have owned for years.  This features the eccentric  Dutch detective  Van Der Val. His stories are rich delightful, funny and dark. He is married to a French bourgeois woman  who amuses me with her caustic sense of humour. She is a delightful woman who is also a good cook.  This story revolves around corruption in Northern Holland and Germany.  It has a European flavour with wonderful descriptions of the depressing northern cold countryside,wonderful descriptions of great and unusually named Dutch and German dishes,wonderful meals with wonderful bottles of wine, exciting and interesting conversation. This novel was just right for me to get into the mood for European culture and helped me to embrace it's accelerating environment.

I brought another book  for the next lap of the  journey to Greece. 'My Brilliant Friend' is a current best seller by the brilliant Italian author, Elena Ferrante. This book was set in Naples, Italy, during the deprived era of the immediate post war years 1950 and 1960.  The book revolves around two little girls growing up in one of the poorer areas of  Naples  It is a rich and intense novel and I recommend it wholeheartedly -but it was not for Greece.
It had seemed perfect for Greece because it also is in crises and poverty. However when we finally  reached our final destination,Naphpactos, a provincial town in rural Greece, I found it did not suit and laid it aside. It had too much of an Italian flavour.

. Naphpactos is a port rich in history with a walled castle surrounded by wild mountains teeming -in my imagination- with  unbelievable magical mythical creatures. My mood in this exciting atmosphere demanded a good read and I was bookless. We were visiting my son and his family who live there and he asked me if I needed reading material,checked in his storage place  and handed me a novel -redolent with a musty smell -"The Dark Labyrinth" by Lawrence Durrell an English author who had lived in Greece years ago. I accepted eagerly even though I had read it years ago. It was perfect.
The theme of the book was a fantasy,dark, very Greek,very mythical,very satisfying as only Lawrence could write. I settled myself on the balcony surrounded by Mediterranean flowers, Mediterranean sunshine, Mediterranean blue sea, Mediterranean light, musical Greek voices and raucous traffic noises and immersed myself in a modern mythical tale. It was about tourists who agree to tour a newly discovered ancient site situated in a remote cave in the mountains of Crete. The cave, a labyrinth, was famous-as all the locals knew-because it harbours a monster. The typical prosaic tourists innocently embark on this dark journey. This is a glorious spin on ordinary people in extraordinary happenings with all vast Greek layers ranging from sparkling light to deepest dark. I hugged this book and journeyed with Lawrence through this  great Greek experience during the whole three weeks I was in Greece and it was satisfying.
For the trip home,my grandson who was traveling with us gave me "The grapes of Wrath" by John Steinbeck. The book had not satisfied him in Greece. However it was perfect for the trip home for me.  It reminded me that I was moving back again towards the troubled times I had left behind  in North America-both the United States and Canada.
John Steinbeck is a glorious writer -with beautiful prose-echoing the fine prose of my favourite author -Jane Austin. He wrote finely crafted sentences with great sensitivity even though the subject was painful. I was very impressed and wondered why I had never read this monumental work before.His vivid reporting of the treatment of the  displaced migrants moving to California during the dust bowl era of the thirties reminded me of the status today of the displaced  refugees all over the world. and I found myself saying "We haven't come a very long way after all, baby."

I thought hard about this on the long flight home and about the ability  we humans have to make the same mistakes over and over.
I arrived home just in time and in a fervent mood to practice my right to vote.
 As you can see,dear readers,it is essential to select the right book as also the right clothes-another topic-for each country you go to.

BLOGG # THE WALL - OR -THE LOST CROCUS

It is the end of the first month of 2019; it is the heart of deepest winter,we are all prepared for the challenge of surviving it and yet we are nonplussed by the temperature of January -not knowing what to wear-discarding our heavy outerwear. It appears that spring has arrived early in Victoria.  Instead of snow, rain, or sleet we are experiencing  warm weather and hot sun. We are not the only ones confused-so is nature and the early spring flowers are raising their heads to the hot sun.
This means -for me- time to scout my favourite sites for  the early  snowdrops and crocuses.

As you may remember , my favourite site had been the rambling wall by the kindergarten adjacent to the local church. This wall had been destroyed and the kindergarten torn down for development. Last year my spring blogg was about the survival of the crocus in-spite of all the upheaval. In fact they had multiplied and I marveled at the endurance of nature as the crocuses  pushed their way around  the heavy construction site.

I haven't visited this site for the past year as I found it too distressing to watch this massive destruction of a lovely place, but last week I decided to walk down the lane and check it out. The homely little lane had been covered in brick layout beautifully designed, very tasteful and spotlessly clean. There was no way a random weed would dare present itself- anyway there wasn't a crack allowed  to mar this perfect surface.
I walked down this pristine lane and unto the street and was faced with  three new big ultra modern homes with "for sale" signs.  The homes were perfect examples of modern architecture with perfect handkerchief sized gardens, a minuscule lawn and each with two miniature trees in pots with perfectly trimmed round  foliage. The small area that was not covered in perfect  tarmac was covered in ground coverage that had waxlike leaves and subfusc colouring.  Nothing could have been chosen that was more artificial than that ground covering and nature definitely did not create either the trees or the turf-like grass. There was no room for a crocus anywhere.
As I looked at this new development I found myself asking three questions.
These houses were on a quiet street close to shopping areas, schools and parks. The whole development area was huge and could have been perfect to build low cost housing units for low income families. It is well known there is a lack of low cost housing in Victoria.
The next question is why did the church not take this opportunity to use this excess property to  help the impoverished? Or did they use the famous biblical quote " the poor are always with us" as excuse? Or did the lure of expensive real estate cloud their judgement?  Or another question-there are more than three questions after all- are churches still exempt from property taxes?
The next question was-What happened to the kindergarten and where are the children?  At this point I heard childish laughter and saw the wall.  Peeking through the a gap in the wall I saw several children playing in a small sandpit, several on a small swing and several playing on the ground -there was no grass.  The playground was narrow with the garage of one house serving as  a protective wall and the church wall as the other-a rather forbidding place. There was a fine plaque on the wall stating this tiny piece of land was dedicated to the children by the company building this development.
My last burning question was-:where are the crocuses?  there were none.

WHAT HAPPENNED WHILE RIDING THE BUS ON NEW YEAR EVE 2018

The day before New Year Eve I decided to celebrate by going to the cinema to see "Mary Poppins Returns"  I had promised myself this treat and I always honour my promises -especially the 'treat ones". I decided to go by bus rather than by car to avoid holiday traffic which is quite challenging  as the bus takes almost an hour to get there. However, the bus is heated, Victoria is a beautiful city, it was festive and so were most of the passengers. I got a great seat near the front so I could watch everything and everyone and  settled down comfortably to enjoy it all.

One of the first passengers to get on were a couple-they were young -perhaps in their twenties. They were unremarkable, neither beautiful nor unattractive, neither fashionably dressed nor shabby-an ordinary couple. They did not sit down but instead stood hanging unto the pole near the driver and in perfect view for me to watch. At first I watched idly as I did others but suddenly my attention sharpened.   She was dressed in the usual uniform of a young women ; black tights, flat shoes, no socks , a loose casual black jacket. Her hair was in the current top knot with a few strands escaping. Her features were regular and pleasant, rather plain and she wore little make-up and she was obviously on her way home after a busy day carrying a grocery bag for dinner.
The young man was also in the uniform of the current young man;very understated, wearing a close fitting jacket and jeans. He was slight in build with a narrow bearded face.  He was not handsome but  as he leaned casually against the window you could see he had a nice trim body- In short they were two ordinary nice  young people.

Why am I describing these very ordinary people so completely? Why was I even focusing on this very ordinary couple? I asked myself this too- then I started to recognize why.  This couple was actually extraordinary. They were communicating -I could see that. They were not flirting,they were not on cellphones but they were smiling and also  conversing. They were not shutting out everything around them, self involved, but were conversing . And it occurred to me one rarely sees this- people conversing and being absorbed in each other and still aware of their surroundings and I could see they were obviously in love. I will try to describe why. She-much shorter - would be looking up at him and saying something. He would be looking down at her, his eyes following her mouth as she talked, smiling slightly, nodding. Then he would  reply still smiling as she looked up watching his eyes and closely following his words, then they would be silent a few minutes; he would readjust his grip on the pole she would look out the window for a few minutes then  they  would continue talking - either one or the other saying one thing and the other listening with a slight smile nodding in agreement and  pleasure, very attentive,sometimes serious but not tense. It was a pleasure to watch them.
 They did not act like lovers but I knew they were just by noticing how they leaned into each other and  were really seeing each other with caressing eyes as they talked.  It was a loving dialogue between two people.
While I watched I imagined what they were talking about.  Was she describing something that happened at work?  Were they discussing some issues of a good friend who was in difficulty? Maybe how their plans for decorating the kitchen was working out? On the whole the conversations were gentle so it wouldn't be about decorating as they were always in nodding  agreement. No, not decorating. I decided they were discussing some mutual friends and what they were going to buy for their dinner.
 So why was I so interested in this couple? Was it so unusual to see two people having extended conversations ? Yes it is. I often watch couples interacting-on buses, in coffee shops- Quite often there is silence  boredom and even hostility but no obvious understanding. Quite often one person is monopolizing the conversation -I am guilty of that myself but rarely is there loving conversation or even flirting.  I do not include the current popular public interacting method -the cell phone of course as means of communicating.

I watched this couple somewhat idly for the next half hour as they gently and confidently interacted and realized  I was lucky.  What a nice New Year gift! -to witness and celebrate the gift of understanding loving communication on New Year Eve= If we have to make a resolution let's take this loving ordinary couple as an example and resolve to practice loving understanding communication in 2019.   Lord knows we need that!
The couple left the bus after another half hour cheerfully thanking the bus driver and walked down the street to their destination not knowing that in their quiet way they had moved another human being to resolve to do better in the new year and of course more importantly, helped me celebrate because I got off the bus half hour later with a happy light  heart.  Happy New Year !

  it is. I often watch couples interacting. Quite often there is only silence-which is fine or not or  there is  non-understanding of sorts and sometimes hostility. Usually one person is monopolizing the conversation-i have been guilty of that myself..  

BLOGG # TWO DAYS IN NOVEMBER

November is the darkest month of the year and it has been made darker for me because my cataract surgery was scheduled the end of this month and it was getting difficult to see. Because of this  I felt unsure of driving and decided to spend this month with my family in the country.  My blogg is about two  days I experienced this November.

   November 15   The Cathedral
 Today is a cold drizzling November day. Everything has  such a sullen feel to it even the brightest electric lights inside the house cannot dispel it and my melancholy increased as the day progressed. Eventually in desperation I put on my rain jacket and went outside.  It is always less depressing out in the open air even though cold and wet, especially at four o'clock in the afternoon, the lowest gloomiest part of the day.
I decided against my usual walk down the country road and chose to walk up the path  through the old abandoned orchard hoping to overcome the weight of this depressing November afternoon. Unfortunately the gloom did not lighten so I decided to wander into the forest grove at the end of the property.
  The terrain of the little forest was uneven with toadstools springing up at random and slippery moss treacherously covering fallen branches and the burrows of small creatures living there. This made it very difficult for me to walk. My eyesight was challenged by the cataracts and I did not have a cane, even so, I wanted to continue and walked deeper into the darkening forest. The silence was overwhelming, I felt uneasy, unsure of my footing, unsure of my eyesight and felt alone in this eerie silence.  I also feared the possibility of falling in this isolated place and became even more aware of the deep loneliness.

Suddenly I heard a bird chirp  and  looked up through the deepening dusk to try and see it. To my amazement what I saw was the roof of a cathedral with high columns closing in a perfect arch. I was of course standing in the center of a circle of very tall firs with their  the tips leaning into each other, remarkably resembling  the dome of a cathedral.  I was awed and felt reverence and wonder growing inside me as I stood there among these sacred trees. They reached to the heavens for all the world like a Gothic medieval cathedral such as the ones I loved to look at in my youth in Europe.

  In this bemused state I looked for the stained glass windows in the gaps between branches and saw an imaginary glimpse of muted reverent  beauty there.  Then all at once the wind started up stirring the branches and the phantom stained glass windows disappeared. The rain started to fall harder , the wind increased and moving menacing shadows appeared as the huge branches slowly moved back and forth in the rain distorting the figures in the stained glass windows. Suddenly the magic disappeared along with my overly active imagination.  Eerie reality set in. My uneasiness returned and I headed out of the forest as quickly as I could, glad to be back in the real dreary world again. 
 
 November 30th- Winter light
Today I  was examined by my eye doctor one week after my cataract surgery and was given the green light to all activities. I decided on my usual four pm walk in the forest. It was sunny and had that cold smell of winter. I walked briskly, joyfully and freely until I reached the top of a hill where I paused to look at my favourite view, the cold wind caressing my cheeks.  The sun was a perfect winter gold, the sky was a typically clear winter pale blue, there were a few scattered clouds, the mountains were a deep shade of indigo and the ocean was a sheet of pale blue grey crystal. The whole world was the  crisp clear crystal that I had almost forgotten.


 As I looked this view faded  to early dusk and I vividly remembered a scene from my childhood. As a brisk wind brushed my cheeks with a tingle, I was suddenly  transported back to the farm just after coming home from school at four o'clock, the Alberta wind on my cheeks, bursting with joy and well being. As I watched the sun fade over the ocean as I did  over the prairies,as a child, watching the soft brilliant light before it fades to a moody blue, the palest blue  turned to a golden pale glow, the Payne's grey of the looming clouds and mountains turned deep indigo and the shimmering sheet of ocean turned white.   I saw again the  ocean- like  prairie fields of my childhood home -the true Prairie ocean -covered in white snow, just  like the Pacific ocean I was looking at now and saw the cold clear Alberta winter sky again and I was glad.

 What a gift! To be transported for an instant to childhood and look with the fresh eyesight of a child again at this glorious world we live in. How clear and and crisp everything looked.  How humbly I thanked my skilled surgeon. How humbly I thanked the epoch I am living in which allows me to have the eyesight of a child again. 
There is nothing more precious than to feel the joy and wonder a child feels and I was lucky enough to do so today. So dear readers, remember to go back to the sensations of childhood whenever you can, they are a gift. And never give up the joyful child in you. And in closing remember your inner child and see the new " Mary Poppins Returns" this Christmas season--I am.

BLOGG # THE FELLED GIANTS

It is autumn again  and time for my Autumn blog.
Autumn is always a time for reflection: time to ponder on the passing of seasons, the quick passing of summer and the time for death and  renewal.  This is the time I decide on new adventures for the coming year.This usually means taking interesting courses. However this is not the subject I have chosen to talk about.  Today I will talk of something else. All this  summer I have been musing on the life cycle of the lowly sunflower and wish to share these thoughts with you.
My daughter planted several sunflowers seeds in spring and I have been watching their amazing growth. The sunflower's purpose in life is to reach up to the sky and turn it's face to the sun to enable the seeds to grow and mature so they can fall to the ground and replenish the earth with more sunflowers-really the purpose of all living creatures including us. This they did admirably and because it was a hot long summer they grew and stretched and tilted their faces to the sun until they were ten feet tall giants with huge heads at least a foot across. As the summer lengthened the sunflower heads turned away from the sun, slowly drooped and faced the earth. In my ignorance I thought their thick stems were too weak to hold them up and suggested propping with sticks, but my daughter said no--they did this purposely to prevent the birds eating the seeds  and to facilitate the dropping of the seeds to the ground.

Two weeks ago, after the rains came, I drove out to visit and saw to my horror three giant decapitated sunflower heads plopped haphazardly in a wagon looking very sad indeed. The rains had overwhelmed them-they could no longer ripen in the sun. The heavy  rain had dragged the heads into the muddy ground so they were cut off. I found this shocking- three great giants cut down in the prime of life before finishing their task.
Why did these giants fail?  Why were they felled? They failed of course because they had been planted in the rain forest-that is why.  They should have been planted in southern France where a Van Gogh could paint them in all their glory and where they could complete their task. I mourned their passing and their loss of purpose but my daughter pointed out that many of the seeds were still capable of ripening when the heads are put into the sun again-so not all is lost.
I took heart and remembered we humans sometimes too are felled or fall or falter before completing what we set out to do.  We also have a choice and can change and adapt when life becomes  difficult as these giants did and can still have a purposeful life for we too are the giants of our very own world.
So  take heart dear readers -remember you are the giant of your own world no matter what comes this season and take charge.
.

Blogg # THE LOWLY CALIFORNIA POPPY

 As a little child I spent every Sunday morning, wearing my Sunday best, going to Sunday school for lessons. My favourite one was from St. Mathew's - "Consider the lilies of the field how they

grow:they toil not neither do they spin. Yet I say unto you,that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one"
This lesson appealed to me because of my inclination to idleness-my favourite pastime was hiding on top of a haystack counting clouds and of course it also appealed to me because of my passion for fashion-I designed and made gowns for my paper dolls-Lucille Ball and Loretta Young. However I did not really like lilies. They seemed aloof,cold, smug and they smelled too sweet.They were also waxy to touch-children are sensitive to such things. I did not consider them Solomon's rival.
This past weekend I fled from Victoria to my daughter in the countryside to escape and recuperate from my whirlwind social life in inner Victoria and trendy Oak Bay Village-Ha! -note massive irony-and there  I at last saw Solomon's rival.
My daughter had  solved ground coverage not by putting in  green lawn but  by scattering packets of wild flower seeds. The pleasing result is waving tall grasses that the cat can stalk through hunting critters; masses of tiny timid flowers of all colours and of course the lowly California poppy.
I spent the weekend reclining on a chaise lounge reading detective novels and contemplating nature. Hours were spent gazing at the ocean; admiring Mt. Baker; watching vultures and eagles circling the vast blue sky; listening to the rustle of leaves ;the sighing of wind through the pines and fir and of course listening to the song of birds and the  call of our local raven. But most of all I gazed at the lowly poppies which dominated the whole area in all their glory.
As I sipped  my first  cup of morning coffee I watched  these amazing flowers slowly open their petals to the sun and as the morning progressed watched as they voluptuously widened, embracing the sun- their vibrant colours challenging it's blaze.  I too embraced the sun and marveled at the intense gold of this generous humble flower. Truly Solomon never had such a golden garment -nor for that neither did the Queen of Sheba-my other favourite biblical character. Even the Emperor of China whose yellow robes  -that  intense yellow symbolizing absolute  power- did not match the vibrancy of this lowly flower.
Hours spent idling can expand to eternity if you are smart enough to let it -and I am.  The  minutes became hours and hours felt like days-and indeed that was how my day went while watching this amazing flower. As the day progressed and the sun moved through it's path, the poppy moved with it-turning it's face with worship to the sun.  As the wind rose in the afternoon,  the poppy shimmered in golden  ecstasy-as though touched by king Midas.
When finally the sun started to sink in the horizon, the poppy also started to change. Slowly it's petals curled inwards, fluting tightly until she became virginally closed, holding her beauty in secret. The day was over and the night was needed to replenish her strength for tomorrow when again she would generously give up her beauty to the sun and of course to us.
I too prepared for sleep and contemplated the lessons of the day. Yes -I had learned much from the lowly California poppy.  Its true- one does not need to spend lots of money to have a beautiful flower.  I spent seven dollars on a rose plant and she is lovely but I could have spent only pennies on a poppy seed to have a riot of golden colour.  Also one  does not have to spend thousands of dollars on clothes to be beautiful-one needs only to let one's own inner beauty shine through-it costs nothing-here my faith in myself stumbled a bit-but never mind -if the poppy can do it so can I. The other lesson of course-my favourite is -stop toiling and spinning ! -it is not necessary to do that for the beauty to shine through [fingers crossed]. However the best lesson is- there is always tomorrow. Then I  can practice the lessons learned from the California poppy.
 So dear readers -stop toiling and spinning,become idle and let your beauty shine through and remember there is always another day tomorrow. Have a wonderful summer.

BLOGG #--THE LURE OF AN OLD ABANDONED ORCHARD

For the past few years I have been watching  the crumbling and dying of an old orchard. The fruit trees-apple and  plum -are wizened, twisted and bent almost double and covered in lichen and moss. Each time I visit them more deterioration has occurred. The process is gentle but steady and fascinating.  I notice that every time I enter the sensations I feel are different.-sometimes sadness as I see these old weakened trees bending  over and  struggling to stay upright. I imagine them young - firm, vibrant and upright in their youth-virile and proudly bearing their fruit. At this time as I walk around I feel sorrow for their lost youth. It also, naturally, gives me the opportunity to examine mine. The melancholy that rises at this time is like a miasma covering the whole dying orchard -especially if it is raining -we all are bent over and seem to bond together in this sorrow. Trees have always been the kings of influence in creating atmosphere and we humans feel it.
Fortunately these are not the only sensations I feel.  Other times I enter and feel their strength as they battle with their illnesses- for they are ill. Then I feel their pride in their strength and their refusal to give up in spite of overwhelming age. I love that and I too am proud of my strength. For these trees are still productive. Every spring a few blossoms appear and in the height of summer,bravely,small overly- sweet plums and hard little deformed apples appear. We pick some and make apple pie or plum upside down cake or cobbler. Also the deer eat them- for the fruit is easy to reach [they are not as careful as we are but rather wasteful as they bite into each fruit once and discard it leaving a trail of spoil ed fruit. But what a joy for these old sick wizened trees. To be useful still.  I, of course, bond with them again and am proud that I still am useful and proud to be alive.
The best time is when I take my sketch book and try to put them on paper.  This is slow work as they are so contorted. It is difficult to get their essence. During this very quiet time as I struggle, there is real communication. We talk about our long lives. We talk about how we have changed. We talk about what we have learned about life what we have seen and what lessons we have painfully  learned.

Walking through an abandoned orchard is very different and can be very exciting. I remember an abandoned apple orchard on a Gulf Island. I came upon it suddenly- a lush group of trees bearing apples. What questions stimulated my overactive mind as I imagined it's history. It was romantic to walk through the silent trees and picturing it,


Another abandoned orchard I want to talk about was one my girlfriend and I stumbled on when we were young in  the Okanagan valley near Kelowna where I grew up. It was a hot lazy Sunday afternoon -believe me, there is nothing lazier than a hot Kelowna Sunday afternoon- We decided to explore the mountain at the back of their orchard. We rambled up and over until we reached the Okanagan lake. There in the shimmering light was an abandoned peach orchard.  There were no buildings, no roads, just mountain and lake. The orchard was on the top of a high cliff. The trees were laden with overripe golden and red fruit. Of course we feasted until gorged, Then we put as many as we could carry folded in our full skirts-yes in those days girls wore skirts on Sundays-and walked home, On the way we did meet a rattler but fortunately not a grizzly bear. This is one of my favourite  memories.


My favourite book as a child was "The Secret Garden" a book about an English girl born in India who was forced to move to her uncle's castle in Yorkshire England  after her parents died in India of cholera. The story revolves around her attempt to find and then restore an abandoned hidden walled garden, The idea of a hidden secret garden was magical to me-a little girl growing up in Alberta where there were no secrets, everything was out in the open in the vast prairies. I passed  many magical hours in this forbidden hidden walled garden. Everyone should have a hidden secret garden. Of course that is not possible except in our imagination. There we too can spend many happy hours nurturing and bringing to life our own abandoned hidden garden. Aren't we lucky.

BLOGG # - 2018--THE YEAR OF COMPLICITY

A few days ago,while I was having coffee with a friend, she told me  that "Complicit" is the official
word for 2018. I said I was not aware this term existed. She said it did and this year this particular word was chosen because of a question a reporter asked the wife of the current President of the United States. She was asked if she was complicit with the ideas and decisions of the president- her husband. She replied that she was complicit with the good ones but not complicit with the bad ones.
A  red light went on in my head. Can one be "complicit" with something "good?" I thought "complicit" had a negative feeling. I was right.  I looked it up on Google and sure enough the definition in both the Webster and Oxford dictionaries state that to be complicit with something does  usually mean it is  illegal or at least shady.
I decided to check with the internet to see if "complicit" really is the official word of 2018. It is. It did not tell me why we need an official "word for the year".

I also looked up to see if there was an  official word for the year 2017. Yes there was. The word for 2017 was"Youthquake"
I understood that of course. If I am clear on one thing it is the impact of the youth on Culture today.
I admire their awareness and cool assessment of the world they live in. I also saw how the youth of  America woke up last year to the fact that Democracy in the U.S. is not the perfect democracy they were taught to believe and I like their reaction to this. It is even better this year as they bravely hold the Adult world accountable for the gun laws and protest the blatant  murdering of themselves  in the schools and on the streets. So yes, last year was their wakening to their flawed world in 2017 and the impact was great. The word Youthquake was appropriate.  On a less serious subject-their impact on the world of fashion is huge. The major designers go out on the streets to see what the youth is wearing then go into their Ateliers, copy their ideas and the "Fashionable" at great expense walk around trying to look like them.

The word for 2018 on the other hand is disconcerting to say the least. Is it appropriate?  Does it mean we will all be involved in complicity this year? I fear we may well be. It will be very difficult to untangle ourselves from the webs our present leaders are weaving. We will be involved whether we want to or not. Being complicit in shadiness, illegality and dishonesty seem to be the key words this year. That is why it was chosen I guess.
I also found out you can participate in the choosing of the "word of  the year." You can send in your choice and the most frequently chosen word will be chosen.  You can be part of it all. I decided not to do this as I can never fill out a form on line without making a mistake.

 However I know I do not want to waste this year on such a negative word and I do not want to be involved in complicity-good or bad so I have decided to choose my own word for 2018. The word I have chosen is  "Bliss!"
I am delighted with this word and immediately decided to celebrate it by blissfully painting a sketch of a bouquet of tulips I bought to cheer me up. The tulips,blissfully, were a rhapsody of riotous orange, red, yellow and mauve Easter colours- You can see the result above.
So my advice to you -again- is choose your own 2018 Word Of The Year-choose carefully and beautifully and then choose to live it abundantly all year.  Definitely forget the official word "Complicit."
Happy Easter from your blissfully happy Blogger.


 

BLOGG # BEDS OF CROCUSES

Last year at this time I wrote about the time when I was walking my favourite walk to find spring flowers especially the crocuses on the mossy bank by the kindergarten adjacent to St.Mary's church. To my horror the school was gone, the mossy bank was gone and in it's place were huge construction machines taking massive bites out of the yard. The crocuses where gone except for one lone one. I mourned the loss of this lovely bed of crocuses.  A year has passed.  Yesterday I did the same walk. To my surprise I saw a mass of crocuses spreading over the construction site. They were scattered from the crumbled mossy wall to the new houses springing up.

  I had to paint them-these shimmering blossoms shivering in the cold wind- bravely defiantly spreading themselves over the whole area. What moxy!  Previously they just were confined to the mossy bank but not any more. Now they are luxuriantly stretching their wings-or rather roots covering the lot.
What a lesson for me I thought as I sketched. What a confirmation of positive survival in the face of catastrophe! What resilience and adaptability to an adverse action. These little insignificant blooms can be our teacher. They did not throw up their heels and die as expected. No- they survived and multiplied. What a smack in our eye.
Then I thought about myself in this past year. It too was difficult and changes were necessary and I sometimes felt despair. Also others I know felt the same in their individual lives but more importantly in the affairs of the troubled world also. This had been a difficult year.
We all feel despair at the upheaval of the planet. The uprooting of peoples from their homes and now homeless. The thoughtlessness of ongoing chaos. Will it ever stop- will we survive as good human beings?  Everyone everywhere has these thoughts now and it is easy to lose hope but I decided to take the crocus as example. I  have a  choice after all and instead of despairing I will look to the lowly crocus which always gave me joy especially in the drab spring of the prairies when I was a little girl and thought that spring would never come.
I decided I would use these crocuses which all my life have been the harbingers of joy and light to remind me that life is a privilege not just a right and I must not despair but like them fight to survive and grow in spite of misfortunes happening around us and be harbingers of light and joy too.
Yes this is a tall order but necessary if we want to survive as a species. Remember despair is an assault on the human spirit. Do not give it power.

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.