That Empty Concave Space
Saturday, May 11, 2019
I will not deny that since I was 14 or 15 in Mexico City I
would buy whatever magazines featured Brigitte Bardot and in particular those quite
lame publications that showed only cleavage. When my mother started working for
the school for the children of the engineers of American Smelting and Refining
in Nueva Rosita, Coahuila we lived in the American Hotel. The hotel had a
reading room with American publications.
One of the engineers, Juan Jaime, was subscribed to Esquire,
True and Argosy and he would leave his magazines there when he was finished
reading them. In those years Esquire was quite racy so I savoured a bit more
than just cleavage.
In my years of admiring cleavage and breasts (nobody
would wag the finger at you negatively
for that preference in the past 20th century) I have never
understood in particular our masculine obsession for a concavity that is really
just empty space between two small, medium or large masses.
Strangly Spanish has no exact equivalent word for cleavage.
Escote (the word in question) defines how a woman wears her dress be it low cut
or high. A dress that is escotado is a low-cut dress.
But being Argentine has not diminished my fascination with
women wearing a low escote. In my 20s I compared notes with my fellow sailors
in the Argentine Navy and we discovered that men were more often gentlemen
(giving their seats to women in buses) in the summer as they could then look
down on them once they had gracefully ceded their seats.
I am 77 and when possible I keep my fascination in transit
using such excuses as convincing women I know to pose while holding a rose or
other plant from my garden on their chest
But some women are either uncomfortable with the fact that
their breasts may be too small (my snobbish preference) or two big.
I know of one particular modern dancer plagued with large
breasts. She hired a most capable dressmaker to design dance costumes that kept
everything in check.
From an early age I remember my mother telling me that when
she had me, she was plagued with an oversupply of milk and at the hospital
where I was born they used some sort of pump so she could share her milk with
other babies whose mothers were not so lucky in the lactic sector.
Not too long ago I convinced a friend to pose for me holding
one of my garden roses up close. She had told me that she was not comfortable
with her chest since sometime in her middle 20s they grew and grew.
I am happy to report here that I was able to both please her
and myself with the collaborative effort.
Family Gathering in Burnaby, BC
Friday, May 10, 2019
|Standing L to R , Bruce Stewart, Hilary Stewart, Rebbecca Stewart, yours truly. Sitting - Ruth Brooks, Hilary Stewart and Rosemary|
My sister-in-law Ruth Brooks is in town for week’s visit.
She came by train from Brockville, Ontario. The visit of a relative always
provides us with the excuse of a family dinner. This time it was at our younger
daughter’s house in Burnaby. It was a splendid occasion to celebrate 3 mothers' day.
I packed a portable lighting system in the trunk hoping to
lure my two granddaughters, Lauren, 16, and Rebecca, 21 to pose after a group
family photograph. I crossed my fingers and in the end the two did pose for me.
|Lauren and Rebecca|
These family gatherings, as small as they may be bring me
memories of gatherings in Buenos Aires with that ancillary branch of my father’s,
the O’Reilys. There are lots of them and Rosemary and I are made welcome.
The two of us and our two cats in Kitsilano can be isolating
Our Burnaby dinner was just right and driving home I felt
glad that the granddaughters did consent to a few pictures.
An Elegant James Mason
Thursday, May 09, 2019
|Rosa 'James Mason' May 11 2019|
You find a beautiful and rare rose at a nursery. You pay for
it and put it into your car. For me it is almost guaranteed that damage will
happen in the car trunk or in the back seat. A carefully grown and tended rose
suffers on its way home.
We are preparing our little deck garden (and laneway garden)
for a Vancouver Rose Society open garden on June 8. In these preparations of
snipping black spot leaves or moving one of our plants from here to there,
there are little accidents.
One such accident happened when I tried to tie back a very
large modern Gallica, Rosa ‘James Mason’. It was falling over onto the deck
from its narrow flower bed. A bud broke off and I was about to throw it away
when I noticed (something that I do know about) how handsome and elegant the
unopened bud is.
Weltschmerz & the Ikea Solar Lamp
Wednesday, May 08, 2019
We have been in Vancouver now a couple of months since we
returned from our trip to Italy.
I have since experienced malaise/weltschmerz/ennui/ with a
generous touch of melancholy with a desire to do nothing and stare at the
ceiling or at our two cats Niño and Niña.
My sister-in-law Ruth is arriving tomorrow via train from
Ontario. Rosemary and I have been busy with a double spring cleaning in preparation
for her one week stay.
In the middle of this pleasantly gentle turmoil, I have
found comfort in the “I-am-here” stability of an Ikea solar lamp. Every evening
it is a beacon in our garden that makes me smile. And consider that I spent $9.
The other calming factor is Niño.
I am sure he would make an excellent hospital cat. I look at
him and my stress dissipates. Both he and Niña must have never been faced with turmoil,
fear or aggression. They don’t scratch, except the leather sofa that is now
protected by a Hudson’s Bay wool blanket. They just stare.
They are not mal ojo
but buen ojo. Could they be in
cahoots with my Ikea lamp?
|Niño and yours truly by Ilse Taylor Hable|
Art Kube - The Man Who Cried - Jan 9, 1935 - Feb 10, 2019
Tuesday, May 07, 2019
Vancouver has a poor memory. I remember Art Kube as the man who cried.