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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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Enigmatic Variations

Hi Sarah,
See what happens when the routine is changed? Sorry you didn't hear from me. Spent a few wonderful days at Philomena's in Niagara eating stuffed green peppers with anchovies and stuffing myself with cherry cheesecake. I'm lucky to have her as a mother-in-law. I want to answer you first, but briefly, as I too, am saving the best for the last, although I feel like telling you first.
Giving up candy for Lent is passé, is it not? I am truly trying to be a more compassionate person - so, OK, I was being cheeky and it was not a Lenten joke. Bel'Arte was superb in that it served as a Lenten meditation for me as well as for the audience, from the comments I heard afterwards. The group unwound later at Sin and Redemption, the pub across the street. Yes, Angèle Dubeau is angelic and brilliant. I am not familiar with her chamber group though and have admired her solo performances. Must listen to some sound bytes of the Pietà ensemble.
 So Sarah, which two men?? My sweet old Carlo and Francis of old? Anton Pieck is long dead so you couldn't have meant him. I am in love with his art. Concerning those ‘smooth peachy cheeks' again, a friend of mine was convinced that it is their daily shaving, and thus massaging of their faces that produces that effect in men. But really, what we do in the way of rubbing in face creams (since we were all of thirteen?) should have eliminated all those wrinkles (so they promised). I believe it's the slowing of the female hormones, which are doled out more and more stingily as the years progress – and then stop altogether! Unfair. Just like the men always seeming to find time for a drink.Unfair.Your staffroom conversation about marriage did not surprise me. The grass is always greener on the other side. Choosing a partner is like going into the Fun House with eyes wide shut. Sorry for the clichés. At times Philomena found it difficult to live with her husband. Now, after sixty-three years she feels lost without him. Go figure. Her mother craved variety and suggested a rotation of partners every five years. Very progressive thinking for a ninety something year old woman from Barille. But she was a woman who had thrived on hard work. It's play we women crave I think.
 And play I did this afternoon. Francis and I met at Art Square Creperie across from the AGO. No sure what to say in this email and what to save for when I see you. In a nutshell (I like my clichés tonight), we tried to do a rundown of our past thirty-four years in about one hour and a bit. Our petite Asian waitress was most considerate, placing our crêpes on the small wooden square of a table in front of us almost unnoticed, and in respectful deference, till she flicked the lighter to flambé the cognac. Our half finished sentences tumbled along and the green and blue flames shot up. Ooohh! It was all a bit crazy: why he left the priesthood, why he went for me, why he married Isabella, then more about his grown children and me about mine. We had to leave so we wouldn't miss the exhibit: we ambled past town squares with their town clocks, past sailboats in quiet harbours, reverent parishioners kneeling in prayer, people seated in the wooden pews of St. Bavo's in Haarlem, brass pots and cool earthenware in warm kitchens, Anton Pieck's exquisite watercolours recreating the old bond between us.
Talk about a merging. Yes, that's what it was, a merging of our spirits. His once dirty blonde hair is now sprinkled with wisps of grey, more ashen looking, or muddy, as they say. His muscles are a little on the flabby side but the Kirk Douglas dimple in his chin has only deepened. I am both exhausted and exhilarated. I want to tell you everything. Let’s wait till we meet.
Call me.  


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