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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

« Trick or Treat | Main | Nostalgia, Murder, Superstition »

Monsters All

Dear Sarah,

If I could have dragged my tired body over to Harbord for that great pumpkin carving party you described, I would have. On Nov.1 the Star featured a decorative strip just over the headlines with a row of mad, sad and scary-looking pumpkins. I went a little crazy imagining grotesque pumpkin faces on prominent newsmakers like two perfect specimens of Camilla and Charles on their way to the Brickworks (Carlo has just offered me some pumpkin spice tea! He is so very sweet), and the Dalai Lama with his cartoonish grin. Lots of rotting pumpkins by the side of the road for garbage pickup this morning, some with doggy bags dumped right into the middle of their disembowelled heads. Mashed up pumpkin parts can be dangerous when camouflaged under fresh fall leaves (caught myself in time!). I know my neighbour will be putting up everything Christmas this weekend. There just is no competing.

 At Hildegarde, Hallowe’en is played up big but, not as big as in years past where the entire junior school would parade throughout the building in priceless costumes. These days, the whole production is over within an hour, all done during Assembly time. The girls can show off their elaborate creations of glitter and glamour within the short space of a half hour before continuing with their more serious academic activities. But the teachers love it too; all day they wear their cowboy hats, their tutus and gypsy headbands and show off their wizard hats and ridiculous wigs. 

 Carlo and I don't do it anymore (Hallowe'en I mean ...). In our neighbourhood, children are driven along the houses (safety is an issue, of course), parents wait in their SUV’s, idling, as their progeny greedily fill large pillow cases with sweet goodies. The Trick or Treaters are then whisked to yet another neighbourhood till Monsterhomeville has been exhausted. Maybe Carlo and I are becoming Scrooges, but it’s more fun to go out for dinner, leave the house in the dark, and come back later when the not-so wee ones are finally in bed.

 A Memoir class does appeal to me as long as it isn’t too homespun. God knows I have enough letters in trunks, email folders and files, and plenty of diaries crammed onto my bookshelves.

Last week Candy of phlox house wondered why the word ballet had that "t" on the end. I've always wondered about that. When I addressed her as Candy, as I usually do, she piped up, technically it's not my whole name. It's really Candace Marie Hélène. After an introductory session about proper pedalling technique, she matched up her fingers; tips to tips, cathedral formation and moving them back and forth said it's like an evil plan …   someone cooking up an evil plan. She was really trying to show me the importance of the arched hand and strong curved fingers that I constantly talk about in my lessons.

Drowning Girls at 2 pm then. A refreshing change ... maybe?!

Meet me just inside the door where it's warm. A glass of wine at intermission?


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