BLOGG # 124 NOSTALGIC FROSTINGS

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


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

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.

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!

BLOGG # 118 "WHILING AWAY THE LAZY SUMMER HOURS"

I am sure I have said this sometime before  but these last few weeks have been the best July  days I have ever experienced on the West Coast. Every day in the past seventeen have been perfect and being true to my belief that to fully appreciate a perfect summer day one must "while it away," I have been doing just that. As some of my readers may know I had a total right hip replacement seventeen days ago -a magical surgery which will give me many more years of living joyfully. The  success of this profound surgery-and I use that term truthfully-depends on the skill of the surgeon and the recuperation afterwards by the grateful patient. To maintain the delicate corrective surgery depends on the discipline and cooperation of the patient and I have been doing just that with careful exercises and careful movements to not damage fragile muscle, slowly rebuilding strength. This does not sound like "whiling away hours" but I have just googled the term and that is just what I have been doing-whiling away hours waiting. Every morning I get up before eight -grab -well not literally-usually given to me by a loving family member- a coffee and sit outside on the deck in my special chair admiring the view. The view faces East so I feel the early hot sun on my face,see the hazy blue of the ocean and contemplate Mt. Baker in its glory. It is unbelievable that I am sitting outside in my light clothing feeling the morning heat on my face and I have to pinch myself to believe it. It feels like I am sitting on a deck in Greece looking at the Mediterranean sea-not the Pacific ocean. My daughter and I both feel like we have been transported to our summer place we used to go to  on an Aegean Island years ago-the years dropping away.How quickly one falls into the slow motion of a lazy Mediterranean morning. We sit there turning over pages of old fashion magazines and glory in the heat. I can't think of a better way to recuperate. The day whiles away into afternoon-a light lunch outside -a gentle walk with walker- gentle exercises -then a typical afternoon serious Mediterranean nap. Sometimes there is a wake-up coffee call again on the deck-which is now in glorious shade-and occasionally a quiet game of scrabble or rousing game of picturama as the afternoon progresses into a lazy evening. The evening is a gift from the Gods. We sit outside in our minimal clothing-no sweaters-unheard of on the West Coast- watching the pink glow of the sunset reflected on the deep blue sea talking or reading.The evening stretches into dark night and we listen to the birds sleepily  settling down and inhale the aroma of the jasmine as it is wafted to us by an obliging cool breeze lifting our hair and rustling the pages of our magazines. The mountains turn dark and Mt. Baker looks for all the world like a Japanese woodcut and I wonder-did I after my surgery get transported to a magical island located somewhere in a Mediterranean  Japanese  sea?  As you see this is a perfect question or contemplation to accompany "whiling the hours away"and I do spend time doing so-What a perfect location for Nirvana-A Mediterranean Greek-Pacific Japanese Island -think of the great food and the beauty of these two ancient cultures.Mnnnnn-I think it is time to come to earth and do some more disciplinary exercise, deep breathing and stretching to ground myself.  "Whiling away hours" is wonderful but as according to google definition-it is a waiting period. And indeed it is because this morning I woke up to a gentle West Coast cloudy morning.

BLOGG #117 ON THE TOPIC OF TOO MUCH AND "CATCH 22"

The other day a dear and wise friend of mine said to me "We have reached the age in our lives, Laurie, when we can no longer say the words "too much"No longer can we afford the luxury of saying that. Though I did not want to hear  this, I had just admitted to being in a lot of pain and made the statement-"I am afraid I did too much today." She also was complaining of discomfort because of "too much."  She said she  did too much walking that day and now is  in pain again. She was right in saying we can't do "too much" Whenever we say " too much" in anything we do we know we will be in trouble. This is the truth of living at our age:
 over achieving; over exercising; living in an overabundant way; overspending;oversleeping;overeating -to say nothing of over drinking-especially wine will get us into trouble. I will not expand on over- experiencing pleasure in all it's other various aspects etc etc. This is a very disconcerting thought . So to make myself feel better I tried to think of things to do where "too much" would be a virtue. 
This is a challenge of course because we are instructed by the experts to keep active but must not overdo. I will start with one of my latest decisions to improve myself -which is practising my scales on the piano to improve memory and strengthen fingers. Surely a virtue. Unfortunately, the net result was an attack of arthritis in my troublesome shoulder and I am now down to zero practice. Obviously it  was a case of "too much" - a real case of "catch 22".
Listening to good music should be a virtuous activity. Unfortunately as we age we sometimes become hearing challenged-like me. To really enjoy the full bodied sound of  Beethoven,one must turn the volume up full force which makes it "too much" music for the neighbours who will  certainly let you know. Reading -especially good literature will entertain and improve our minds. Again there is a problem as most of us develop cataracts at this age and eye strain is not encouraged - so reading can be too much. I tried to make a list of simple activities -for example the  practice of  deep breathing -surely there is no harm there. The truth is if you overdo the deep breathing you can trip into hyperventilating -not a good thing. Too much bathing-dry skin;the well tooted "eight hour night sleep" being good for you may not be true either. I personally find when I wake up after eight hours I can hardly move.
It is important to present a pleasant appearance to the world especially at our age to try to dispel the ideas the youth have that one becomes  repulsive with age. For me a gentle make-up regime is essential and I follow it religiously to try to dispel that myth. However our eyesight becomes challenged and it is very easy to put on too much and become grotesque thus really proving the myth. We have all witnessed the woman with too much make up precariously perched on her face. I also have not been able to put on eyeliner and mascara while wearing eye glasses so that becomes precarious too..One of the pleasures of both male and female pensioners is the wearing of perfume and lotion. It is one of the more innocent activities left to us-or is it?? As we age our olfactory nerves diminish  and we can easily wear too much scent. We all have experienced smelling overpowering perfume   in a crowded elevator on a hot day. So -to sum it all up. It seems that to have  relatively stress free years for the older population, the aim is to find,as the ancient Greeks suggested ,"the Golden mean"-really  that becomes our very  own search for the Holy Grail of the elderly. Having said all this ,I will close with my own personal experience of attempting to find this Holy Grail. Six months ago I enrolled in an "Artist in Residence " program at a local Art College in the end of June. At the same time as I enrolled in  this I was fully aware that I was on the list for a hip replacement which was likely to happen this summer. As fate happens, I received the telephone call two weeks ago for  surgery slated in early July- four days after the course. Now two weeks intensive painting  frenzy which is bound to happen as I explore the  extreme possibilities in my creative search is definitely an activity to be defined as "Too much" Logically I should cancel the program. But- and pay attention dear readers - I will not! Why ? Life is too short, there are no reruns ,there is no rehearsal. There are times in our lives when in spite of  the wisdom given us, we must defy and follow our desires and choose to "do too much"