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Long live all maidens

easy and beautiful !

Long live mature women also,

Tender and loveable and full of good labor. 

Gaudeamus Igitur

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Wise Women All

Hi Sarah,

I see you're in the jolly ho ho ho Christmas mode already, getting out your Xmas DVD's even. I'm not quite there ... yet. Somehow I'm still on funerals. I kept hearing that line I Felt a Funeral in my Brain and figured out that I had sung it once as part of a song cycle by Aaron Copland. Fixated on the words (Emily Dickinson), I realized that my nightmarish thoughts had a place even in the realm of the greats! Did you notice it was Friday the 13th that day I emailed you?

Glorious in Niagara-on-the-Lake on the weekend. Over tea at The Prince, my friend and I discussed aging men (in relation to aging women) and then drove to her acreage on Line 7. We sipped wine, sat on high-backed chairs till the sun disappeared behind the barns and covered ourselves with Costco blankets. We watched the horses in the pasture next door. I could hear the breath coming from their nostrils.

At Philomena's the pizza was waiting as I arrived in time to have supper with her and her sister, Rosa. The stories these old ladies tell get raunchier and more graphic each time I visit. Rosa preached about the certainty of the world coming to an end, that it would turn into itself in 2012 according to Einstein who was so right about so many things. They alerted me to the fact of diamond and oil mines up north where the Indians are. She reminded me that a well-known woman of colour was very intelligent and had wisdom coming from her mouth. But she couldn't remember her name and I wasn't going to say, Oprah? They talked about bidets, their controlling mother and Jim Jones. At one point a friendly neighbour knocked on the door and brought Philomena a memory foam pillow. The conversation continued with great animation and focused on a mélange of topics: about how not all priests were bad, on raccoon poop and the six baby possums found in a drawer in her garage and how people that don't cut their lawns should be taxed. Rosa wondered how it was possible for them to find water on the moon but not a decent hearing aid for her with which to listen to her operas.

Today I banged my knee on the piano, so hard, I almost saw stars. My caring student hoped I was OK, which I told her I was. A minute later though, I had to open the window wide and she shivered from the fall rain and gusts of wind that filled the room. I had to tell her that I felt like passing out from the pain and needed a bit of oxygen to help me deal. 

This week Franca came in with a completely memorized Kuhlau sonatina. Candy is absolutely serenading me these days with her magical broken chords of a little Italian minuet while Ariana pounds out the bell like sounds of Chimes, focused on depressing the damper pedal throughout. Your observations are very accurate. There is constant physical movement in my studio: strengthening those little fingers, giving posture hints, teaching relaxation of shoulders and arms and alerting them to how their feet are wound around the legs of the piano bench!  

Tiny red lights flicker on the perfect Christmas trees I see outside my window. Christmas has started. Like it or not.

See you at Chabichou. 2:30.


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