BLOGG # 106 THE BATH

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

BLOGG # 105 FELLED BY A COMPOST PAIL

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

BLOGG #102-THE FINAL PARIS VIGNETTES

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

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

BLOGG #102--

BLOGG #101 SHOPPING IN PARIS

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

BLOGG # 100--PARIS VIGNETTES --THE METRO

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

BLOGG #99 PARIS VIGNETTES

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