Friday, March 28, 2003

From Mrs. Dalloway.....

She began to go slowly upstairs, with her hand on the bannister, as if she had left a party, where now this friend now that had flashed back her face, her voice; had shut the door and gone out and stood alone, a single figure against the appalling night, or rather, to be accurate, against the stare of this matter-of-fact June morning; soft as the glow of rose petals for some, she knew, and felt it, as she paused by the open staircase window which let in blinds flapping, dogs barking, let in, she thought, feeling herself suddenly shrivelled, aged, breastless, the grinding, blowing, flowering of the day, out of doors, out of the window, out of her body and brain which now failed, since Lady Bruton, whose lunch parties were said to be extraordinarily amusing, had not asked her.

That my friend is one descriptive sentence isn't it?

The Clarica translation: Mrs. Dalloway is pissed off because she wasn't invited to the party.

Wednesday, March 26, 2003

I had a friend, for many years, a neighbourhood pal. She used to say with meaning (?) that I was the wise one of the circle, the spiritual one, educated, kind and one to always do the right thing. My how the worm turns because now I am the know-it-all, I think I'm better than her and everyone else, I am lucky to be educated, have a good life and yadi yadi yadi. She will go to her grave with a huge grudge and hating me for making her feel so miserable. She can manage that well enough on her own, mind you.

I might add that this person has a very colourful *ahem* life with loads of pain and trouble, most of which are self-induced. Bryan used to say if you looked up "dysfunctional family" in the dictionary, there would be her name. Too funny.

I don't know why I'm writing this here and now. I guess because I saw her recently. Pity I wasn't close enough to say "hello _____", but I wasn't. Besides I did that many months ago, months after our confrontation and was ignored. That was funny and immediately made me wish I had shouted "get over yourself" instead, but the fireworks would have only begun again.

I feel free and I am over this "friendship", which of course turned out not to be a true friendship in the end....unless one agrees with her opinions, her lifestyle, is ever ready to offer a shoulder to cry on continuously, never making an attempt to pull herself out of her mess. Auch well, I am over it all and I am free.



Virginia Woolf.......

I first "met" Virginia Woolf at college many years ago...oh about 30 years ago now. Up until that time I hated English Lit in high school but at college I had two incredible teachers for "Women in Literature". Janet, an American who was fun, lived for literature and still teaches at Seneca College I've heard. Linda was an English student at U. of T., practice teaching at the time, now head of some Dept. there and assisting doctural students with their thesis. Quite brilliant she is. It was through them I was introduced to Virginia Woolf and the Bloomsbury Group. I took many courses with these women and their influence was positive. After graduation I took a "Literature" holiday to England by myself and visited all the sites on my list - Virginia's house, the house where the Bloomsbury Group met, Jane Austen's house, the Bronte home on theYorkshire Moors, the haunts of D. H. Lawrence, a pub in London that Charles Dickens frequented. What fun that was. How brave I was to go on my own!

After seeing "The Hours" twice and reading the book, I naturally wanted to read "Mrs. Dalloway", one of Virginia's books I had not read before. I forgot how difficult she can be to read. Difficult and mesmerizing at the same time. Virginia Woolf, poor depressed Virginia who was in her head most of the time. I became totally engrossed with her can visualize everything beautifully in one's mind. One can visualize, and hear the sounds and smell the scents she is describing. Sometimes I get so lost in her words, I forget where the story is going. Truth be said, sometimes I haven't a clue what she is saying but the words are beautiful.

By the way....spring has sprung. The snow has melted and it's difficult to recall only 3 weeks ago when we had 2 foot snowbanks. Now the tiny pointy tops of spring bulbs are poking through the earth. Wonderful!



Saturday, March 22, 2003

I'm tired.

I've been painting and sanding and plastering and painting some more. Decorating.

And I'm very tired, sore muscles, sore legs but it's a good kind of tired. The same tiredness I feel after a day of exhausting spring gardening.

I'm going to bed.



Tuesday, March 18, 2003

The sun, the warmth, the makes us all itchy. My mother used to call it "spring fever", we just couldn't wait to get outside without heavy winter coats and boots and mitts. I remember feeling so free playing on the sidewalk in my new turquoise spring coat. I was probably 8 or 9, or was that 10 or 11...I don't know. I was probably skipping with pals, double-dutch maybe. I was freezing because it was far too early for spring coats, but what did I care. I wanted to chase the dirty snow away I guess.

You can just feel it in the air can't you? Spring, new growth (well soon the new growth will emerge), a certain kind of freshness.

Dark clouds loom "over there" but here in my little world, today is perfect.



Monday, March 17, 2003

I have seen a sign.

On March 13th I heard that familiar sound...the unmistakable song of a robin. And there he was in the pine tree at front.

Thank you.

Spring will come. In fact the melt-down with all the mess and mud and filth is indeed happening now.



Sunday, March 09, 2003

I need a sign.

I need a sign that spring is out there somewhere.

But I don't even feel it peaking around a corner. The snowbanks are above the cars. It's cold. I am getting very worried that the earth may be stuck on the spin cycle...stuck in winter.

Come back spring. I'm going to Canada Blooms this week. I can almost smell the spring bulbs. Canada Blooms has to be the best garden show ever. Can't wait.