#1 THERE WERE NO CROCUSES THERE--It is finally spring.I think I can almost feel it in the air. Last week it was warm enough and I decided to go out for the first time this year for a "spring walk." This in Victoria means searching out your favourite hidden haunts to view snowdrops and crocuses. I walked my usual paths looking for snowdrops - and yes -I found a few.I also noted a few buds on a Camellia tree but nothing else. It was a disappointing walk. The hardest part was searching for my favourite patch of crocuses by St Mary's Church. Two years ago I had written a blogg about it. The crocuses were hidden in a high mossy bank next to the church kindergarten and they always bloomed there by the crumbling stone bank. This time however I could not find them. I walked right into a construction site.Gone was the old unpainted kindergarten school. Gone was the neglected homey garden full of swings and children's toys. Instead there was a huge digger making holes and piles of lumbar and debris scattered about.Worst of all the mossy bank and crumbling stone wall was gone. I did finally find two tiny fragile ones trembling in the cold unwelcome rubble. I mourned their fate and touched the petals of the most fragile one -they felt like gossamer butterfly wings.these will be their last bloom. I walked home depressed.
#2 SPRING AT LAST-Two days ago on my way to my exercise class, I drove down Granite street and saw to my extreme pleasure the hesitant openings of the tree blossoms along the street. My heart leaped. At last the back of ole Mr. Winter was broken! His hold on us was broken!.True -he could challenge us with surprises but the evidence of the blooming trees is too powerful. There is no turning back Ms Spring -she is too powerful. He can do no lasting harm.
#3 The ULTIMATE EVIDENCE THAT SPRING IS HERE.Yesterday while walking down Oak Bay to do my shopping I saw the ultimate proof. Ahead of me a young vibrant young woman was walking happily in the smallest short shorts I have yet seen -and then I saw another girl further along wearing similar ones. Proof at last!! and what a joy to see ! and what enjoyment for all the staid men loitering along the street on their way to Starbucks for their daily morning coffee. For me there was a rush of memory of when I was a young woman and the lovely sensation of the feeling of spring air caressing my limbs in short shorts after a long drab winter. What fun Spring is.
#4 The final PROOF- When I came home I saw that my brave daffodils were fluttering in the spring wind and my apple tree was starting to bud. I went straight out and bought some periwinkles and planted them. So my dear readers-break out the bubbly and toast the delayed and welcome spring! and count our blessings that Nature in spite of our many shortcomings and bad treatment of her has not forgotten us after all.
Thursday, March 16, 2017
Sunday, February 26, 2017
BLOGG # 125- BELATED VALENTINE BLOGG
Ever year I have written a blogg devoted to that heart tugging event named after ST. Valentine. Sometimes the blogg is sentimental and warm .Sometimes it is cynical and sometimes it is filled with wisdom from your wise blogger!
This year for many reasons Valentine's day passed me by-nary a Valentine card or chocolate or offering of a devoted heart that promised to love me forever. Quite frankly I didn't even notice the lack of devoted love. Why was that? I think it was because I was too involved in living my busy life. However yesterday was "Opera at the Met" and I was plunged into passion of the heart in a big way which put me into a"Valentine's Day mood and inspired me to finally write my 2017 Valentine blogg.
The opera which was wonderful, was Rusalka-a romantic fairy tale composed by Dvorak. The story is familiar and has been repeated in many versions. The best known is "The Little Mermaid." In this version the little mermaid falls in love with a prince and to become human she has to exchange her lovely tail for legs.The payment for this transformation was to suffer pain in her feet especially when she danced with her handsome prince. Always there is a price to pay.
Rusalka fared worse. Rusalka,a water sprite who took the form of a wave, fell in love with a prince who frequently bathed in her lake.She negotiated with a witch to change her into a human being so she could be with her beloved prince. Her price was to lose the ability to speak- a true metaphor of neurotic love.
Of course the marriage was doomed to fail. To take away the right to speak one's own thoughts is the worst thing to happen to a happy union and it is amazing how often this does happen. One of the temptations when in love is to keep one's own real thoughts to oneself and try to say things that will please the loved one-A sure road to disaster- The other thing is that to block a woman's ability to express herself is a recipe for explosion. And so it was! It is ironic that in both myths the females are willing to give up so much;their home, their talents, their best features -tails and tongues and immortality for love-a tale of caution for all women. This is a dark fairy tale. They both die tragically to the delight of the witch who was a real number.
Always there is a moral-worse luck-to a fairy tale. The moral here was that true love cannot happen unless one is true to oneself and Rusalka really betrayed herself. She did not protect her own self, she was willing to compromise herself and her lover just to experience his embraces.
The Shakespeare saying "to thy own self be true it follows as night the day you can be false to no man" or something like that was the loud message here.
This is not my last word on love or Valentines. Unfortunately I am just starting -there is more to say.
This year for many reasons Valentine's day passed me by-nary a Valentine card or chocolate or offering of a devoted heart that promised to love me forever. Quite frankly I didn't even notice the lack of devoted love. Why was that? I think it was because I was too involved in living my busy life. However yesterday was "Opera at the Met" and I was plunged into passion of the heart in a big way which put me into a"Valentine's Day mood and inspired me to finally write my 2017 Valentine blogg.
The opera which was wonderful, was Rusalka-a romantic fairy tale composed by Dvorak. The story is familiar and has been repeated in many versions. The best known is "The Little Mermaid." In this version the little mermaid falls in love with a prince and to become human she has to exchange her lovely tail for legs.The payment for this transformation was to suffer pain in her feet especially when she danced with her handsome prince. Always there is a price to pay.
Rusalka fared worse. Rusalka,a water sprite who took the form of a wave, fell in love with a prince who frequently bathed in her lake.She negotiated with a witch to change her into a human being so she could be with her beloved prince. Her price was to lose the ability to speak- a true metaphor of neurotic love.
Of course the marriage was doomed to fail. To take away the right to speak one's own thoughts is the worst thing to happen to a happy union and it is amazing how often this does happen. One of the temptations when in love is to keep one's own real thoughts to oneself and try to say things that will please the loved one-A sure road to disaster- The other thing is that to block a woman's ability to express herself is a recipe for explosion. And so it was! It is ironic that in both myths the females are willing to give up so much;their home, their talents, their best features -tails and tongues and immortality for love-a tale of caution for all women. This is a dark fairy tale. They both die tragically to the delight of the witch who was a real number.
Always there is a moral-worse luck-to a fairy tale. The moral here was that true love cannot happen unless one is true to oneself and Rusalka really betrayed herself. She did not protect her own self, she was willing to compromise herself and her lover just to experience his embraces.
The Shakespeare saying "to thy own self be true it follows as night the day you can be false to no man" or something like that was the loud message here.
This is not my last word on love or Valentines. Unfortunately I am just starting -there is more to say.
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
BLOGG # 124 NOSTALGIC FROSTINGS
The past few weeks have been a very stimulating and challenging time for Victoria's mild weather accustomed residents. A shocking blow for survival has hit us as we battled wind snow, freezing cold,slippery ice and frost.
Though housebound most of the time I loved it all-the lashing stinging whips of wind and snow across my vibrantly reddened cheeks; the painfully cold fingertips inside my gloves; the moist air trapped in my swaddling wool scarf around my mouth and nose all reminded me of my childhood in the winters of middle Alberta. I spent a fair amount of time looking out of my balcony window watching the struggling pedestrians crossing the car park and noticing their makeshift winter apparel. These are not savvy Albertans with their parkas and snow boots nor are they suave Montrealers with their fur hats and sophisticated fur trimmed coats- think Pierre T. No, these marine climate creatures are wearing light, skin tight parkas in vibrant colours and sophisticated black leggings or jeans. One imaginative man even wore leggings and shorts. Scarves were wound round and round necks and all wore impractical boots or colourful running shoes.
This of course took me back in time to when I was a young child. I remembered my beloved head covering -called a parka-it was brown with a small red trim and a tiny embroidered flower . It tied firmly under the chin and peaked into a pompom. It was incredibly cozy. My shoe coverings were in felt up to almost the knees with clip closures. Mittens were hand made by my grandmother and were connected with string down the sleeves and the scarf also hand knit was long and usually wet. Of course we all wore long underwear and ribbed stockings. I don't know how we managed to dress and get to school on time. When we finally got to school our poor teacher spent the first hour unraveling us all-the encrusted scarves ,the wet overshoes and soaking outer trousers. My school was in the country and most of the children walked several miles to school and were frozen solid by the time they got there.
There is no doubt that in a deep freeze there is time for reflection nostalgia and musings [unless we are shoveling snow}and of course creativity. Perhaps this is why so much good music comes from northern climates. The long winters stimulates melancholic reflections. I have just listened to a wonderful piano piece by the Norwegian composer Grieg in which he expresses deep grief for his dead parents. This piece could only have been composed in the deep depth of winter.
I too painted a dark piece-that could only be painted in forced solitude in winter. But now we are back to a milder climate with clouds and rain and it is time to put away scarves and mittens and pull out the trustworthy rain proof, our galoshes and umbrella. Also it is time to become more lighthearted and to socialize again. Time to call your friend for a coffee and a gossip. The time for in depth reflections in dark cold evenings is over. The time for dark creativity is over too . It is also time to lightheartedly blogg. So my dear bloggers. congratulate yourselves for surviving the challenges of winter and gird yourself for spring peaking around the corner. My local supermarket is already shamelessly displaying chocolate Valentine boxes.
In closing,a prairie friend of mine wrote to me during this freezing spell reminiscing about his childhood in Saskatchewan when he spent hours standing at the window watching the blizzards through frost encrusted windows and feeling so cozy in the warmth of the kitchen. I too used to stand for hours in the dining living room area -tracing with my fingers the leaf like designs of the frost coating the windows-I can still feel the texture and coldness as I traced them and I probably felt cozy too but don't recall that so much. But I do remember the quiet and the meditative quality while tracing the frosts. This remembering was enough to inspire me to finally write a blogg.
.
Though housebound most of the time I loved it all-the lashing stinging whips of wind and snow across my vibrantly reddened cheeks; the painfully cold fingertips inside my gloves; the moist air trapped in my swaddling wool scarf around my mouth and nose all reminded me of my childhood in the winters of middle Alberta. I spent a fair amount of time looking out of my balcony window watching the struggling pedestrians crossing the car park and noticing their makeshift winter apparel. These are not savvy Albertans with their parkas and snow boots nor are they suave Montrealers with their fur hats and sophisticated fur trimmed coats- think Pierre T. No, these marine climate creatures are wearing light, skin tight parkas in vibrant colours and sophisticated black leggings or jeans. One imaginative man even wore leggings and shorts. Scarves were wound round and round necks and all wore impractical boots or colourful running shoes.
This of course took me back in time to when I was a young child. I remembered my beloved head covering -called a parka-it was brown with a small red trim and a tiny embroidered flower . It tied firmly under the chin and peaked into a pompom. It was incredibly cozy. My shoe coverings were in felt up to almost the knees with clip closures. Mittens were hand made by my grandmother and were connected with string down the sleeves and the scarf also hand knit was long and usually wet. Of course we all wore long underwear and ribbed stockings. I don't know how we managed to dress and get to school on time. When we finally got to school our poor teacher spent the first hour unraveling us all-the encrusted scarves ,the wet overshoes and soaking outer trousers. My school was in the country and most of the children walked several miles to school and were frozen solid by the time they got there.
There is no doubt that in a deep freeze there is time for reflection nostalgia and musings [unless we are shoveling snow}and of course creativity. Perhaps this is why so much good music comes from northern climates. The long winters stimulates melancholic reflections. I have just listened to a wonderful piano piece by the Norwegian composer Grieg in which he expresses deep grief for his dead parents. This piece could only have been composed in the deep depth of winter.
I too painted a dark piece-that could only be painted in forced solitude in winter. But now we are back to a milder climate with clouds and rain and it is time to put away scarves and mittens and pull out the trustworthy rain proof, our galoshes and umbrella. Also it is time to become more lighthearted and to socialize again. Time to call your friend for a coffee and a gossip. The time for in depth reflections in dark cold evenings is over. The time for dark creativity is over too . It is also time to lightheartedly blogg. So my dear bloggers. congratulate yourselves for surviving the challenges of winter and gird yourself for spring peaking around the corner. My local supermarket is already shamelessly displaying chocolate Valentine boxes.
In closing,a prairie friend of mine wrote to me during this freezing spell reminiscing about his childhood in Saskatchewan when he spent hours standing at the window watching the blizzards through frost encrusted windows and feeling so cozy in the warmth of the kitchen. I too used to stand for hours in the dining living room area -tracing with my fingers the leaf like designs of the frost coating the windows-I can still feel the texture and coldness as I traced them and I probably felt cozy too but don't recall that so much. But I do remember the quiet and the meditative quality while tracing the frosts. This remembering was enough to inspire me to finally write a blogg.
.
Sunday, November 13, 2016
BLOGG #123 LEONARD COHEN-ART-AND SANITY
- This past week-no,this past month-actually these past eighteen months have been a roller coaster ride for all of us as we watched two titans fighting for power in the most influential country today. It reached the point for me that I avoided all news-papers, radio and TV. The whole campaign seemed to escalate into insanity as we watched helplessly and when the outcome finally came most of us were plunged into stunned disbelieve and shock. This shock reverberated around the world. I too was reeling until I said to myself "get a grip Laurie-this is politics not the end of the world."I also said this to my long suffering friends in a most irritating way I am sure. My own fear was that this reverberating shock circling the world at high speed would spin the Earth out of orbit and plunge us into darkness too- that is my excuse for trying to placate myself and others and I apologize. Life,as we all know, tends to follow events and so naturally this past week of mine was also jammed full of appointments and not only the world was spinning and reeling but I too, in frenzy, tried to keep up and make sense of my own crazy life. Friday morning I woke up late after a ten hour sleep and immediately checked my schedule- it was blank! sheer bliss. So I stretched deliciously and decided to stay in my sleep gear all day or at least a good part of it. The first thing I did was to finally turn on the radio to CBC news and heard "Leonard Cohen died last night" Even though I was in shock I still heard the next announcement which was a two hour special from 1pm to 3pm celebrating life. I knew now what I would do with my day.I would be glued to the radio from 1 to 3pm. To while away the hours I pulled out my watercolours and worked on a few pieces that needed work. Art following life, the pieces I was working on got darker and darker and I was pleased with the rich dark results- a rare occurrence for me. Spot on 1pm I poured a glass of wine, sat back in my recliner and turned the radio to CBC and straight into sanity. What a sane man this colourful man was. What a gift to us -his ironical prophecy in "Democracy is coming to the USA" -his sensuality and outrageousness in "Closing Time", his love of women in "Suzanne" and his heartbreaking love songs, his Spirituality in "Hallelujah." He really is "The crack that lets the light in".He is a great teacher for he reminds us to live life fully, break some rules,live sensually,love generously and above all be a crack in the world to let the light in. Light that is needed now.The amazing thing about this great poet is that he fought depression his whole life and yet he could leave us this precious legacy. Like a true artist,he used his life and disadvantages as "grist to the mill" and turned it into Art that will sustain people forever. I got gloriously drunk on wine and poetry and song and decided to try to be a crack in the world to let the light in too-even if it means to be a fool and I advise you to do so too. This emotionally packed week culminated for me by attending a five and a half hour Opera by Wagner "Tristan And Isolde. This Opera with it's beautiful music and doomed love story pushed me to the height of feelings of beauty and sadness. Wagner -this difficult man-who by the way was considered a racist and misogynist-also used his life as "grist for the mill" to make this sublime opera. The question of course is "How could this unhappy and not very nice man make such sublime music?? I can only say that each person's life is unique and a blessing and we cannot understand it -especially in Art. So remember your life ,dear blogger, is unique and can be a crack that lets in the light.
Friday, October 28, 2016
Blogg# 120 AUTUMNAL CONVERSATIONS WITH MY BALCONY PLANTS
It is again my favourite season of the year and as is always the case,it is different from last year. Last autumn I was in a rehab center nursing a broken ankle and spent my time admiring the autumn leaves outside the window. This year, on the other hand, I am spending time having deep conversations with my balcony plants. I have great respect for my five potted plants and over the last two seasons we have become very intimate . First of all these plants survived the winter months last year in total neglect because I was absent all winter recuperating. Nonetheless when I came back from the rehab in March I found daffodils waving in the March wind looking so brave. Next a very dead looking pot started to thrust shoots that in turn became hyacinths and to my amazement geranium leaves pushed through old dead branches and debris and then started sprouting blooms. Tulips came next-purple ,near black , and all ranges of pink. These were the result of bulbs I planted two days before I broke my ankle in October last. What a gift for me to come home to. The last surprise was a huge deep orange lily which appeared in my oldest pot. I do not know where it came from-I think it was a gift from angels. My apple tree also started blossoming much to my enjoyment. My spring months were spent healing on the balcony and these young blossoms watched while I went through my daily repertoire of exercises often in pain. As I got stronger and surer of my balance and less distressed with pain and progressed from walker to cane I felt their encouragement and their pleasure at my success. My youthful blooms became fuller and more luxurious as spring moved towards summer and as they blossomed and became more seductive I too became more confident in my movements and blossomed. Throughout spring I watched the cycle of life of my spring flowers from first bloom through to death and became aware of my own life cycle. As summer progressed my little garden became breathtakingly beautiful with new blooms and I spent a lot of time sitting among them and blessing them. In the height of summer our conversation was interrupted as my right hip deteriorated and my plants watched me regressing and struggling in pain as I tried with difficulty to water them. The time came when I had to have hip surgery and had to abandon them for a month.This was July the hottest month this year and yet when I came home they greeted me still strong and beautiful with no reproach. Again we went through exercise programs on the balcony walking up and down with cane and walker and again I sat in pain among them. Again they nurtured me with their beauty and faithfulness and watched me as I progressed. As the summer turned to late summer I watched the blooms push to their fullest beauty and I felt the same myself as I pushed to robust and healthy beauty. We all bloomed at our best. We also conversed about the reality of our highest bloom- what it meant-and our own mortality. I also watched the progress of my five apples to gorgeous red and full maturity until they fell to the ground and into my apple pie. It was at this time I understood best how we are all connected. My balcony flowers and plants, like me, will go through the inevitable life cycle together. We are not different .Our fate is the same. We are one. I am watching my flowers go through their cycle and know they are watching me going through mine. September and October were reflective months as I watched and conversed with my fading garden. We talked and reflected about this in our own way-no not with words-but with communion. This time is a very tender time for us who are reaching autumn. The feeling of being one with nature and the universe is very strong and sweet at this time. This is the conversation I have been having with my balcony garden. This is the different approach to autumn I am experiencing and I am so grateful to my balcony five plants for this.
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
BLOGG # 119 " HIP HIP HOORAY"
Well here I am dear readers, at home recuperating and becoming proficient at looking after myself. The biggest problem for me now is my inability to remember things . The other worrisome thing is a noted lack of inspiration to create-my studio is neglected and I feel no desire to write. The truth is I find myself saying I can't think properly. It seems my thinking is connected to my hip and my hip is not well. ?? Do I think with my hip? I have just finished reading an article in a science journal about the fact that scientists have discovered we have more than one brain - that a second brain is in our gut-well I have always known that. Now it seems that perhaps my second brain is in my poor recuperating hips. Actually that makes sense for the female of our species. After all hips are the cradle that contains the source of human kind [ I won't discuss where I think the secondary brain of the male of our species resides] and hips play a very important part in the lives of the female as we know from unhappy experience. As I ponder on this new idea of mine I can see where it is leading. If the hip is the source of our creative brain ,no wonder there is so much controversy about the female hip. It has been the butt of the most vicious and demeaning jokes, it has been abused for it's dimensions and the way it moves and there has been consistent attempts to have it reduced to nothing- and no wonder-it behooves the male establishment to control the female ability to create and above all to think clearly. Hence the hip reduction brain- washing. The obvious place to control the hip is in fashion. We can go back as far as Marie Antionette in the eighteenth century. She is exquisitely portrayed in seductive clothes until her waist and then disappears into a submarine shaped garment. Her hips thighs and legs do not exist. No wonder she lost her head. The female form in the Victorian age-an oppressive age for woman- is worse. The hip is encased in a grotesque bustle which distorts the body and the hip is nonexistent again. At the beginning of the twentieth century with the beginning of emancipation, the hip emerges in an almost normal form with the suffragettes and it remains normal until women want to improve their education and apply to the higher learning establishments. To thwart this tendency is the narrowing of the female silhouette until it resembles a pencil. The device which enables all this is a garment called a girdle. This torture item was made with rubber and encased the body from the knee to the waist. You can imagine how hard it was for the young woman competing with the bright males in Oxford in this hip reducing, therefore creativity reducing, garment. With the advent of world war 2 fashion changed because
rubber was needed for the war effort and women with their intelligence and creativity were needed for the war effort. Consequently shoulders broadened to build confidence and skirts were short, loose and flirty. After the war the need of women's intelligence plummeted and we were plunged back into the kitchen- Kuche and kinder- the fashion changed and the girdle was brought back in -a nasty rubber garment you had to peel on-and off. Note-as a teen at this time ,the garment did not pass my hips. The girdle of course prevented us from thinking again -it was discouraged anyway-and until the late fifties all we thought about was the engagement ring and the possibility of having matching refrigerator and stove -oh yes and a husband. The hip is resilient of course and there was a small movement starting by the late fifties. The movement was the feminist movement and by the sixties the world for women changed. Off came the bra. Off came the girdle and there was a burst of creativity lasting for twenty years at least.The sixties of course was the age of the hippies. In the eighties Jane Fonda happened-with her exercise program-"exercise til you burn"-and as women moved up the ladder of success the pressure to get thinner and less hippy increased and they got dumber as they spent hours in pointless relentless exercise programs and trying new diets. The cost of this was high as women lost confidence-and hip brain-and anorexia ,bulimia and low self esteem emerged. However , at least the girdle remained buried. Then with the millennia a new garment was created as women tried to "break through the glass ceiling."
The new garment is called "spandex" a high tech breathable-I bet-garment that starts at the knees or lower and goes up to the neck flattening out and encasing in armor the entire female body in a neutered form resembling all the world an unyielding pipe -with hard breasts-no that is not where our brains reside. I tried spandex on in a shop-not breathable! I have just read an article in the Vogue about the top model-- gorgeous Gigi Hadid who fought back at the vicious snipes by the media and internet about her curvaceous body saying"yeah-I have boobs I have hips I have thighs. I am a woman." So we have now reached the point where the most beautiful features of the female body is again denigrated- especially the hips. So my advice to you dear female reader the next time you eat a piece of chocolate and someone says "an ounce of chocolate in your mouth puts a pound on your hips"be smart, smile enjoy the chocolate and definitely toss the spandex giving your lovely body freedom to move as it should- especially your hips-nothing is more enticing -remember Marilyn Monroe walking to board the train in the movie "Some like it hot" with such hip intelligence. And now, feeling much more intelligent myself as I diligently do my hip building exercises and as my hip gets weller I am able to think and write again. Hip hip hooray!
rubber was needed for the war effort and women with their intelligence and creativity were needed for the war effort. Consequently shoulders broadened to build confidence and skirts were short, loose and flirty. After the war the need of women's intelligence plummeted and we were plunged back into the kitchen- Kuche and kinder- the fashion changed and the girdle was brought back in -a nasty rubber garment you had to peel on-and off. Note-as a teen at this time ,the garment did not pass my hips. The girdle of course prevented us from thinking again -it was discouraged anyway-and until the late fifties all we thought about was the engagement ring and the possibility of having matching refrigerator and stove -oh yes and a husband. The hip is resilient of course and there was a small movement starting by the late fifties. The movement was the feminist movement and by the sixties the world for women changed. Off came the bra. Off came the girdle and there was a burst of creativity lasting for twenty years at least.The sixties of course was the age of the hippies. In the eighties Jane Fonda happened-with her exercise program-"exercise til you burn"-and as women moved up the ladder of success the pressure to get thinner and less hippy increased and they got dumber as they spent hours in pointless relentless exercise programs and trying new diets. The cost of this was high as women lost confidence-and hip brain-and anorexia ,bulimia and low self esteem emerged. However , at least the girdle remained buried. Then with the millennia a new garment was created as women tried to "break through the glass ceiling."
The new garment is called "spandex" a high tech breathable-I bet-garment that starts at the knees or lower and goes up to the neck flattening out and encasing in armor the entire female body in a neutered form resembling all the world an unyielding pipe -with hard breasts-no that is not where our brains reside. I tried spandex on in a shop-not breathable! I have just read an article in the Vogue about the top model-- gorgeous Gigi Hadid who fought back at the vicious snipes by the media and internet about her curvaceous body saying"yeah-I have boobs I have hips I have thighs. I am a woman." So we have now reached the point where the most beautiful features of the female body is again denigrated- especially the hips. So my advice to you dear female reader the next time you eat a piece of chocolate and someone says "an ounce of chocolate in your mouth puts a pound on your hips"be smart, smile enjoy the chocolate and definitely toss the spandex giving your lovely body freedom to move as it should- especially your hips-nothing is more enticing -remember Marilyn Monroe walking to board the train in the movie "Some like it hot" with such hip intelligence. And now, feeling much more intelligent myself as I diligently do my hip building exercises and as my hip gets weller I am able to think and write again. Hip hip hooray!
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