Las Vegas - Dune Hotel - 1983

“Nadie te quita lo bailado,” is something my 19th century born Spanish grandmother used to tell me. It translates to “Nobody can take away from you the dances you have danced.” What it means is that good memories can never be taken away from you.

As I approach my 79^th birthday I would say that I am not much different from other people that age in that I look back at my past a lot.

In 1983 I read that there was going to be stripper convention/festival called The Golden G Strings. I have written about it at length. 

The Shy Boston Brahmin

Red and Black pumps and Scotch

Laura Faye, Peoria, Illinois 

Tempest Storm

But in this age of a fading, if not dead journalism, how else could I have gone to Las Vegas now to report on the event on speculation? I called up the Vancouver Province Sunday Magazine and told them that Maclean’s had assigned me to go. I called Maclean’s and said that the Vancouver Province was sending me to Las Vegas. At the time there was an airline called Western Airlines. I contacted them and told them of my assignment. I was given first class tickets. When I arrived the Dunes Hotel I obtained a $10 per day journalism rate.

Because a local gal from Vancouver won the competition Maclean’s and The Province had a scoop. And to top that I sold a photograph to the Chicago Sun Times.

Today when  was organizing my files I noticed this slide which to me shows a bit of the glamour I faced as I sat next to my fellow judge (because I was a Canadian journalist I was asked to be a judge) Tempest Storm.

I can dance these dances of my past and I can feel contented that I did live these wonderful moments which would in these times not happen again.

Rosemary's unknown Rudbeckia 18 July 2021

Rosemary had a way of showing me stuff that I did not know or notice. Sometimes she did this gently and sometimes not.

Many years ago when I was beginning to get work from Vancouver Magazine I was dealing with art director Rick Staehling. He was picky and he knew what he wanted.

I would show an 8x10 print to Rosemary almost every time I was on my way to the magazine. I remember one time when I proudly showed her a portrait. She said upon seeing it, “Why is that little finger sticking out?” This annoyed me and I left. When I showed it to Staehling he said, “Why is that little finger sticking out?”

From that point I trusted Rosemary’s opinions (but not always!). I believe that one of my trademarks in my portraits and dance photographs is that I always was careful about hands thanks to Rosemary.

Now many months after Rosemary’s death on December 9, 2021 she keeps teaching me stuff almost every day.

It was today that I noticed a flower that was about to open in one of Rosemary’s mixed perennial pots. According to my daughter Ale she says it is a Rudbeckia (Black Eyed Susan). She knows more about perennials than I do as she worked a lot with Rosemary in her Lillooet garden that Rosemary loved to visit to help.

Now even though I am an old man about to be 79 at the end of August I learn stuff. Thanks to Rosemary but thanks to my hostas I have learned something else which is most interesting.

Because in the last few years I have obsessively scanned my hosta flowers I know something about appreciating flowers about to open and also their continuation which can be gradual or overnight.

In praise of hosta flowers

Members of the American Hosta Society consider hosta flowers as unimportant and they put all their interests on their variegation, etc. I see these flowers on elegant scapes (hosta nomenclature for stalks) as supremely striking and they remind me of Swedish design.

Now because of hosta flowers and Rosemary I have discovered yet another flower that is beautiful before it opens.

While today, as I write this is 18 July 2021 I will place the blog back as I am filling holes left by my long melancholic blog writing block.

Rosa 'Abraham Darby'  19 July 2021

I  would consider the 2ist century the age of cleavage and pristine perfection.  That is all we see in social media and in newspapers (the ones that are left) or in celebrity sites.

This is why I have a deep admiration for Charlotte Rampling who wonderfully looks her age and I believe was never tempted to go for Botox.

It seems that this century is the century of pristine perfection. When women (of a certain age, and, what is considered a certain age? post photographs of themselves in social media including Instagram their friends comment, “Still looking good”. If someone put that under a picture of me I would have homicidal thoughts towards the offending person.

In my garden I have after many years come to appreciate how a garden (the heat this year has not helped) in July begins to show a tired wear. The lovely and perfect hosta leaves are not so perfect. My roses (the ones that are remontant) have bloomed and are in a waiting period. Some will bloom in early fall.

Meanwhile I appreciate and notice flowers that are not perfect.

I tell people that I miss my Rosemary and when I think of her (all the time) that I loved the way she looked being 76. I loved her exactly as she was. We met when we were in our early 20s. That was history.

I believe that young immigrants coming to Vancouver are interested in new and brand name stuff. But I believe that once they settle down they will appreciate antiques and old cars. Some of those houses featured in mu Vancouver Sun Homes section are pristine and do not look lived in. There is no clutter. Everything is in its place. To me those houses are not homes. My mother used to tell me that a house is not a home until you hang pictures on the wall. Can a large flat-screen TV be a lively article of decoration?

My almost rant above (I try not to rant) is but an excuse to place here a scan of a rose that is definitely past its prime. This Rosa ‘Abraham Darby’ has managed to keep all its petals and I think it is beautiful.

This blog will be posted back in June even though I scanned this bloom today 19 July 2021. I have holes to fill in past months because I have had a terrible blog writing block because of my persistent melancholy over the death of my wife back on December 9, 2020.