BLOGG # INNER RESOURCES

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

BLOGG # AGING BEAUTIES

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

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

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

BLOGG# PIVOTAL MOMENTS

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

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

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

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

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

BLOGG#128 THE EASTER BUNNY

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

BLOGG# MY BACK YARD IN SPRING

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

BLOGG# SPRING 2017

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

BLOGG # 125- BELATED VALENTINE BLOGG

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