Fitness: Health for the Body and the Mind

Dancing on TV

In recent weeks I've been delighted to discover an excellent fitness channel on Sky TV: it's called 'Body in Balance' and is channel 275 on Sky. It's particularly rich in yoga programmes, which is useful for me as I've had to give up yoga classes at the moment for lack of time. I was intrigued to see there is even 'Yoga for Babies', where babies are manipulated and mothers can do abdominal pull-ups at the same time! The babies on the programme were clearly enjoying the experience.

There are also programmes of Pilates and more vigorous cardio-workouts, and different types of dancing: salsa, belly-dancing, Bollywood, etc. A couple of weeks ago I was especially pleased to find 'The New York City Ballet Workout' for 3 half-hours a week. One of my ballet teachers had enthused about the book going with this which someone had given her, which combines ballet and keep-fit. The programmes were clearly taken from a DVD which had been rather oddly chopped up into ½-hour slots. Sometimes the exercises were fairly undemanding and done standing up, or another programme could start with rather tough abdominal pull-ups, lying on the floor. This latter one turned into what is called a 'floor barre' - doing leg-stretches and kicks etc. lying down instead of standing at the barre as usual, and lying either on one's back or one's front or one's side.

One particularly mad compilation started with the 'révérence', the curtsey which ends each ballet class (and prepares younger dancers for eventually curtseying to an audience). It even referred to the body cooling down, although we'd only just started. Then it went on to teaching us, under the heading of 'sequences of steps', some repertoire - part of Balanchine's 1964 ballet Tarentella. Having learnt part of another Balanchine ballet, Serenade, at a recent ballet-day at Norfolk Dance, I was thrilled to be able to have a go at a second one. It involved various sorts of steps to the side with the legs in different positions - to the happy initiated: balancés, ballonnés, passés, pas de basque, fondus - together with jumps and arabesques and some heel-and-toe character steps in differing speeds (such as I've been learning in recent character-dance classes). This was most exhilarating, and as the programme was repeated later that day, I was able to video it to try to learn the sequence more accurately through repetition.

This episode with the 'révérence' and Tarentella then ended with exercises at the barre, such as are normally done at the beginning of a class! It was a crazy compilation, but the individual elements were most useful. Interestingly, the programmed pointed out that in this workout, the only full pliés (bending of the knees right down to the ground) that were done in the centre unsupported by the barre were done in 2nd position, with the feet wide apart so that one's weight is better supported. This is easier, whereas in our real classes we have to be prepared to do full pliés with our feet close together, which makes for a much more difficult balance without toppling over.

Having enjoyed 3 of these programmes that week, I was disappointed that these ballet workout programmes disappeared from the schedule, and I don't know if and when they will return. In the meantime I've followed others of their programmes - yoga, belly-dancing for beginners and Bollywood. The latter two, with much twisting of the hips, are very good for working away at one's middle, ideal for slimmers. And apparently moving one's head backwards and forwards, as in Indian dance, massages the thyroid gland, a key to one's metabolism. The Bollywood workout was the more energetic of the two, and the joints of my legs with my trunk certainly ached afterwards.

I've also been keenly watching various dance competitions on TV, together with Dancing on Ice and, at a much higher level, the Olympic figure-skating championships, although British Eurosport's promised full coverage of these was disappointingly much curtailed, as it was at the European championships.

In the meantime my own ballet classes become ever tougher, as many participants comment. Every time I take the beginners' and improvers' courses at Norfolk Dance they seem to get more advanced! Jane continues to include a character-dance element in her classes, which provides an invigorating and interesting contrast, although my shoes kill me!

I see that Cinema City in Norwich is relaying a performance from Moscow on 31st March of the Bolshoi Ballet in a 1933 ballet of theirs about the French Revolution (close, of course, in time to their own), called Les Flammes de Paris (The Flames of Paris). Naturally I've booked for it and look forward to the experience. What it is to be obsessed!

'Fact Into Poetry' Workshop

My dancing and painting have somewhat taken me away from my original emphasis on creative writing, so last Saturday's workshop prompted me to spend more time on something that is much closer to the path the major part of my life has taken. It was 'Fact Into Poetry', a workshop led by poet Helen Ivory at Norwich Writers' Centre in Princes Street. It focussed on facts in our lives and how we could broaden them out into poetry. Lasting from 10 till 5 with lunch in the middle, it guaranteed that we gave prolonged attention to the subject.

We were a roomful of poets who started by considering definitions of the word 'fact', a word that is actually capable of very varying interpretations. One person's 'fact' may be fiction to another. Much poetry is essentially metaphorical, suggesting a link between two different levels of being, so we started by looking at the riddle poem. Here one thing is described in terms of something else, and the reader or listener has to read between the lines and guess what the poet was originally thinking of. For example, you may be told "I am the yellow hem of the sea's blue skirt" and be expected to come up with the answer 'beach' and your imagination will have been stretched.

We looked at some examples of other poets' work in this field, and then tried our own. Most participants expressed their riddles in a couple of lines, but I write naturally in iambic feet (alternating short and long syllables) and I find that this metre, so close to the natural rhythm of English, helps binds lines together, even when they do not rhyme. So I wrote 8 of these iambic lines of 8 syllables each about a sleepless night, comparing it to wandering lost in a dark wood and to an unstoppable machine, but no-one guessed the answer, so it can't have been too brilliantly developed!

In our next exercise we had to think of 5 things known to be facts, and 5 aspects of the same things which might possibly be true, and 5 others that we had blatantly made up. This did not lead to the composition of an actual poem, but gave us a sense of handling different shades of truth about the same subject.

After looking at a few poems that incorporated quotations from factual books into a poem and broadened out from them, Helen distributed a number of technical manuals at random to see how we could use material from them in a poem. I got the 'Operating Instructions' booklet for Neff ovens! I actually have a Neff oven, put in when we had a new kitchen fitted a few years ago. So I was not surprised to be greeted with a flood of different languages for the instructions! I read French and German, so I thought I'd include some of this in my poem for comic effect as I pretended to flounder through the manual.

Therefore I began my poem with a peremptory instruction in German before explaining that I wanted to cook my lunch in my new kitchen. My wanderings through German and French prompted me to ponder the mysteries of life, all the while engaging in intermittent conversation with my husband about lunch not being ready yet. Eventually I come upon the English instructions, with which I see fit to take issue, but it doesn't tell me how to turn the machine on, so we end up eating salad. The poem was great fun to write, and I could combine it with real experience and made-up things, and I hoped it would be reasonably entertaining.

The next project is what we'd been wondering most about. We had been asked to bring along a selection of documents to use in the construction of collage poems - things like passports, photographs, old phone bills or bank statements, receipts or official-looking letters, which Helen called 'the documentation of the living'. We would use facts and quotations from these to broaden into a poem. Almost by definition we'd be dealing with significant areas of our lives. I enjoyed accumulating my selection: I thought it would be safer to give the passport a miss, but brought along other receipts, ballet course brochures, things to do with Slimming World and Norwich Writers' Circle and painting, bus and train timetables, medical documents, yoga exercises, parish documents, the EDP Event Guide, my engagement book, etc… and a list of my blog post titles!

It will probably be no surprise to regular readers that I decided to base it on my obsession with ballet. Invaluable here were brochures and timetables for ballet classes and the dance festival in London I'll be attending next month as I did last year, the bus timetable and bus pass, and the fact that a visit to the dancewear shop figured twice on my Barclaycard statement that month. Photos were also useful, especially the one of me jumping that I had transferred to a T-shirt to cause further mirth at ballet classes. This allowed me to base my poem on how one's perceptions of what is possible vary throughout one's life, with one of the benefits of age being growing confidence.

I did feel that what resulted was more of an explanatory essay and would need a lot of work to turn it into a poem, but as Helen pointed out, I'd only had 25 minutes to work on it, so it was only a first draft. Helen made the useful suggestion that a threefold repetition of how one thinks in different decades would round things off better than the twofold repetition I had so far, and I shall no doubt build that in, for threes help bind a shape together, as many will know from gardening.

It was interesting to see what different sorts of documents other people used. One woman started with that letter we've all just had about how there will be a change in how our medical records will be stored. A man brought along the ration-book he'd had as a schoolboy in the 2nd World War in which, among other oddities, he noticed when he came upon it recently that none of the coupons for sweets had been cashed in! He is still bristling with indignation about this, has confronted his mother about why no sweets were bought, and feels he still wants to find some sort of compensation for this deprivation!

We then moved onto what Helen referred to as metaphorical and emotional truth, and looked at examples of rather surrealist prose poems by Yugoslav-born Charles Simic who writes in English. They were about his perceptions as a child in the aftermath of war, and included phrases like "My mother was a braid of black smoke" and meeting others who "were trying to put on their overcoats with arms made of smoke." We then put our hand to writing in this vein, with images that were resonant but clearly not literally true. I wrote about being brought up by my mother on her own and regarding that as normal, which it wasn't then.

The final exercise we tried was basing our poem on a couple of pages of recorded opinions about ghosts. Many of us liked the one about ghosts loving the smell of lemons! I took 8 of these statements and, in the light of my cat being on the point of dying, wrote a poem about the last cat who lived here. I have always found having his grave in the garden, where our Mossop will shortly join him, to be a source of comfort, and now wrote a poem about this benevolent spirit coming to visit me at night. This seemed to go down particularly well with the group, although I'd thought it might be considered rather sentimental. Throughout the day we read our efforts to each other: one could opt out if we wanted, and some people did sometimes, but most of us were sufficient show-offs to be happy to read our work.

Helen suggested another exercise which we did not have time for, but which I've started to work on at home. This was to take the word 'Orange' and write down any associations that came to mind about it. Then one would take a fruit of the orange family and considered how it felt to the touch, and then peel it and consider its appearance, different textures, smell and taste and compose a poem out of this. Such exercises often form a part of poetry workshops.

Altogether this was a most useful day to spend, focussing on the creative act, considering different methods and producing some actual work. As in a religious retreat you step aside from your normal set of occupations and operate on a different dimension. That in itself is refreshing, and I'm sure it will bear some kind of fruit for us all.

Saying Goodbye to Your Cat

It looks as if the time draws near. Our cat Mossop has been very poorly with cancer for 3 months and received various treatments. Her appetite has declined and she is very bony, although she gratifies us with purrs. She staggers about, sometimes falling over, and sometimes lets out awful mews.

We had a dubious digit amputated in December which healed well, but other paws then became sore. The original paw swelled into a monstrous thing, which puzzles her – she will lick it and try to bite at it. Latterly we had the amputated digit analyzed (it had been preserved), and it proves to be a very invasive cancer which has probably spread to the other paws and other parts of the body, particularly the lungs.

One option was to amputate the whole front paw. Cats can get on very well on 3 legs, but they’re usually quite healthy when this operation is done. My husband and I were at odds as to how to proceed: he wanted the paws and chest X-rayed, and, if the cancer was confined to one paw, to have it off, and, if it was very widespread, to have her put to sleep immediately. But an X-ray needs a cat to be put under anaesthetic, dangerous to an elderly cat. (Ours is 15 or 12, and recently has looked more like 15 than 12).

From observing Mossop closely, I was of the opinion that she was already very close to death. She’s not self-sustaining: she’ll only eat if we force an appetiser pill down her throat. She’s weak on her legs and very thin. She reminds me so much of the last cat we looked after with cancer: they both became ill in November, but she’s declined much faster. I felt that she wasn’t in a strong enough state to have major surgery, and that it looked as if the disease had already spread so far as to make the amputation of 1 leg irrelevant. And the mere knowledge that an X-ray could give us was of academic interest but couldn’t help her, and the vet had added that an X-ray can always miss small bits of cancer.

So we arrived at the vet’s surgery undecided, to talk it through with the vet. She agreed it was a difficult decision, and that she’d hardly know what to do with her own cat. I put Mossop on the floor to wander around (during which she helpfully weighed herself – and had lost still more weight), and the vet saw how weak her legs were, especially in the back area, whereas a cat would need strong back legs to support her if she had a front leg removed. Her other front paw had also become sore and was oozing. The vet didn’t think her a very suitable subject for surgery, but would be willing to go ahead. This confirmed what had seemed obvious to me – the cat was already suffering in so many parts of her body that she was clearly in the later stages of her life. It would seem cruel to me to put such a weak, old cat through the ordeal of an anaesthetic and possible amputation. The vet said, furthermore, that even if she survived the anaesthetic, she could die of shock afterwards and the operation could have complications.

Yet we all recognized that Mossop still had a quality of life and was not quite ready to die, but that we should be prepared to put her to sleep soon, probably within a week. We shall try to give her as nice a last week as possible. She doesn’t struggle when we give her the appetiser pill, as if she understands we’re trying to help, though she still doesn’t co-operate with opening her mouth very easily. We’re having to give it more often, but she does eat in varying amounts. Besides the vet’s special food, this week’s keenly accepted delicacies have included brown shrimps and pheasant. (Yes, there are humans who have applied for the position of our cat!)

We are spending as much time as possible with her, and feel so privileged to have her sitting so fondly and elegantly on our laps. Although sad, I feel this is a very special time, a kind of celebration of her life in a way. Just as in the weeks when my father-in-law was approaching death, I feel we are entering a sacred space where life and death come into contact with each other. It was a privilege then to escort my father-in-law into death, and it is a privilege now with Mossop. We’ve only had her for 4 years – so short a time! – and yet she has brought much enrichment to our lives.

Tasting With The Eyes

I get a lot of pleasure from looking at antique objects or ones that demonstrate craftsmen's skills, and I am glad that retirement gives me more time to exercise my eyes in this way. One opportunity that came my way recently was at a preview of an antiques auction in Aylsham. Of course there were all sorts of interesting items there - furniture, china, glass, jewellery, metalwork - but one category one doesn't usually see so much of was vintage clothing of the 18th and 19th centuries as well as of various parts of the 20th century.

I was particularly drawn to the 18th and 19th century dresses and their different styles, including a lot of mourning wear of the Victorian period. One advantage of auction previews is that you can handle objects, and in the case of really old clothes that are hand-made, you can see how they are made. I find this contact with the work of real people 200 years ago or more very moving. They would no doubt be astounded to think that someone was still looking at it! Even the hand-made earlier 20th century dresses gave one an insight into a way of life long gone.

A museum would be very guarded about letting you handle textiles as contact with hands degrades fibres, and you would certainly have to wear gloves if they did let you. Yet there was no such bar here. Nevertheless I tried to be responsible and not touch the garments any more than necessary, especially as I was not intending to bid for any. But it is informative to get really close to old objects and get to know the feel and weight of them, and in that way one can grow in knowledge and appreciation of them.

As well as ladies' dresses there were gentlemen's embroidered waistcoats, as well as hats and children's/dolls' clothes. The life of other ages sprang into view before one's eyes. Sometimes, of course, one still had a memory of these times.

The same day I went along to the Sainsbury Centre for the Friends' Preview of two new exhibitions there, The Artist's Studio and the 3-yearly showing of the Anderson Collection of Art Nouveau. The Artist's Studio interestingly explores the different ways they have depicted their and other painters' studios in works from the 17th century to the present. It includes the earliest known British painting of an artist in his studio, George Jamesone's self-portrait of 1642. I was particularly drawn to the exhibits associated with the satirical genius Hogarth - his own palette and mahl stick, and a later painting of him in his studio by E.M. Ward in the 19th century. This is a delightfully theatrical affair, showing Hogarth working in his studio at a portrait of Captain Coram, with Coram present, and a host of other visitors coming to observe Hogarth like some kind of spectacle, with a maid cutting up a delicious-looking fruit cake for them, and a little black servant also offering goodies. The overall effect was stunning, and shows what a theatrical experience an artist's studio could turn into.

Another exhibit I was especially interested in, with a local connection, was an engraving of the 19th etcher Minna Watson at work in her etching studio, with her husband, the painter Charles John Watson, in the background. I was acquainted with watercolours of both artists from Norwich Castle Museum's collection, and had written poems about both some years ago when the Castle invited local writers in to write poems inspired by works held there.

I've visited the Anderson collection a number of times before and love art nouveau objects. Since this collection is brought out every 3 years, the organisers like to give it a different slant, and this year the emphasis was on exploring the different makers. I really appreciate this movement which is inspired by the curving lines of nature and of natural forms, and have a particular weakness for the jewellery and the furniture. It was lovely to see it all again. Both these exhibitions will be on till 23rd May.

Of course, I like to have a go at illustrating myself, so availed myself of another of the opportunities at the Castle to go along and do some watercolour painting there. Again things were set up in the Bird Gallery and I followed the attendant's advice to paint a colourful roller (I'd previously seen this kind of bird on a visit to Kenya) without drawing it first, but by following the blocks of colour around. This coincided with some advice I'd also recently heard on a painting programme on Sky TV ('Information TV') that one should trust the brush to make the shape and not map it out with drawing first of all. The blocks of colour on a roller (blue/purple/brown) were an ideal subject for trying this. Unfortunately I'd become very travel-sick on the bus going in (trying to save money by using my bus-pass, but on a lurchy, bumpy journey!) and combined with the constant turning back to look at the model in its case, I became thoroughly sick! At one point I had to rush out of the gallery to the loo as I thought I was going to be sick, although in the event I wasn't. The kind attendant looked after me very well, fetching me water to drink, but my painting suffered.

Before leaving I thought I'd have another look at the new Cotman exhibition in the Watercolour Gallery, but quickly discovered that moving from painting to painting was giving me another form of travel sickness, so I had to cut my losses and quit. I was dreading getting the bus back, so rang my husband who gallantly came to collect me, though my plans to cut costs and petrol fumes had to be abandoned. And, strangely, I continued feeling sick for about a day! I hope I haven't lost my faith in the buses! I've never been a very good traveller in petrol vehicles.

On Saturday I spent a day at a pastel-workshop. I've taken several of these before, usually lasting 2 days but this was a single day. These workshops are the only way I've found of studying this medium as I haven't found a regular course. I like the medium very much for its softness, although it is messy. On this day we were drawing a live male (clothed) model. The morning was spent on technical drawing skills, dropping plumblines and noting angles and matching up different parts of the anatomy, and in the afternoon we added colour. I found it very difficult, as I generally do with the human form; my drawing skills have a lot of improvement to get through, but at least I am confronting it and having a go. I wasn't as pleased with the portrait, however, as with some of the other things I've produced at these workshops.

And, like Hogarth, I had my own mahl stick this time! This is a useful implement on which to lean to prevent touching parts of the painting one has already worked on. I'd made up my own from presumably a child's toy drumstick bought at a car boot sale, sewing a fragment on one of my husband's old shirts around one of its knobs to prevent slipping. And very useful it proved, too.

Six Poems for St. Valentine's Day

Most of us are likely to be at least in a bit of a mood for love in the aftermath of St. Valentine's Day, so I thought I'd put forward 6 of my love poems to stir our affections.

The first is a nature-poem born out of this cold season when even the snowdrops are delaying to do their stuff, and looks forward to Spring, a traditional season for lovers.

In the Snowdrop Season

Frail like a snowdrop

My feelings dance around a centre

In giving my love to you.

Tough like a snowdrop

I will persist in depths of winter

In giving my love to you.

Bright like the birdsong

Our lives must be cheered

By giving my love to you.

Inseparable pair-bond

Will carry us through life's trials

In giving my love to you.

Eternal the Springtime

For hearts truly joined

In giving my love to you.

Receive this Spring posy

As one more small sign

Of giving my love to you.

The second poem is a in a set form with a refrain, called a rondeau, on the theme of constant love in a long-term relationship:

You Are the One

You are the one with whom I want to share

Each breathing moment, always, everywhere.

With you my happiness can overflow;

At other times my worries you will know;

Whatever comes, I know I'll find you there.

No other life-force can with this compare

As, side by side, life's burdens we must bear;

And when I think of who gives me this glow,

You are the one.

Of all each other's quirks we are aware,

And Fate has made of us a likely pair,

So, if I want my deepest thoughts to show,

My shining eyes will sing fortissimo,

Reflecting on the one for whom I care:

You are the one.

The third is an acrostic poem (the first letter of each line spells out the words of the title) in a more headily romantic vein. This mood continues in the fourth, where I wanted to give an impression of speed through very short lines:

Lovers’ Dreams

Longing to see again one special face,

Once more we gladly succumb to its grace -

Vision of plenitude glowing with gold,

Ecstasy shimmering, growing more bold;

Riches are hovering just out of sight:
Sweetheart, let's seize them - the future is bright!

Dancing till daylight or singing in tune,

Riding the silver beams dropped by the moon,

Each magic moment will root in our hearts,

Amply renewing what shared life imparts,

Music transmitted to oncoming years,

Sealing togetherness, banishing tears.

Heartbeats

You see a favourite face:

Heart leaps,

Pulse keeps

A strange and furious pace.

You're in a different sphere:

Shapes swim,

Eyes brim

With embryonic tear.

No words you need to say:

Souls meet

In sweet

And giddy interplay.

The urgings of the flesh

Spur you

On to

Delights forever fresh.

Yet will love always be?

Who knows?

Life shows

Persistent irony.

But treat that love with care:

Stay true

Though you

See others stray elsewhere.

O youthful heart, beat fast!

Tire not

Nor clot

And pray that love may last!

There ought to be a more plaintive poem for those not currently feeling satisfied, so I include 'Searching' for those who want one in this mood. It is in a short form with a double refrain called a triolet:

Searching

Down corridors of memory

Again I seek a special face,

Recalling things that used to be.

Down corridors of memory

Where ghosts still linger stubbornly,

What shall I find to take their place?

Down corridors of memory

Again I seek a special face.

Finally, for something completely different, I thought we'd have a bit of humour, so essential in human relationships. It was inspired by seeing 'griddled squid' advertised in a restaurant window in Orford. The words already rhymed and cried out for a poem based on silly rhymes for different types of fish. So instead of the lusty shepherd of old-fashioned pastoral poetry, I imagined a lusty owner of a fish-restaurant trying to entice his lady with irresistible fish dishes. Someone has actually set this one to music, and it was sung at a special lunch, as well as at the Norwich Writers' Circle Christmas party!

The Lusty Restaurateur to His Love

Have some griddled squid, my dear;

Munch my molluscs, do.

Tasty tentacles are here,

Binding me to you.

Devilled crab is fab., my dear:

Let me tempt you now.

Visions of sheer bliss appear

If you will allow.

Sure you’d like my pike, my dear -

Pike can pack a punch.

Disregard its rueful leer -

It's a luscious lunch.

Have a wad of cod, my dear,

Comforting and bland.

It won’t shock you, never fear -

No surprise is planned.

Love comes whole with sole, my dear,

Véronique or grilled.

My intentions are sincere -

You could be quite thrilled.

I’ve no space for plaice, my dear;

Trout is up the spout.

Hake, for Heaven’s sake will cheer -

Come and help me out!

Not too late for skate, my dear!

Listen to my plea:

Fishy pleasures are so clear:

Come and feast with me!

A Day of Ballet at Norfolk Dance

Last Saturday we were privileged to have a day of ballet (class plus learning repertoire) at Norfolk Dance where I regularly follow courses. It really is an excellent organisation. Its 3-day ballet summer school last August was such a success that we clamoured for more - and there will indeed be another next August. But we also suggested the occasional single study day, and we were delighted when they decided they could give us one this winter. Just the thing to console us for the cold days and inspire us to look forward!

Once again the day's work was led by Nicky Gibbs, our normal ballet teacher, and Derek Purnell, the Director of Norfolk Dance, who used to dance with the Royal Ballet - an ideal combination. First Nicky took us for a 1½ hour class following the structure of any ballet class, from amateur to professional. The standard was generally more demanding than usual at our Improvers' class with her, and I was glad that I already attended the more advanced Friday class with Jane, so that I did not suffer as much shock as I would have otherwise. One of my companions found it startlingly more advanced. A few days later, Nicky told me that she had in fact simplified the work she had originally intended, as there was such a range of experience among the participants (which included another ballet teacher) that she had to try to strike a balance with what was possible.

The barre work involved more complicated combinations, including frappés (striking movements with the foot) with fast little petits battements on demi-pointe, and different sorts of fondus and développés -movements designed to strengthen the leg extensions. The work with flexed feet and hands in the centre was intended to prepare us for some of the repertoire work, although we didn't in the end get that far. The jumps sequence involved a number of different jumps, more like those we perform in Jane's classes.

The next 1½ hours were devoted to learning repertoire with Derek. He'd decided to give us Georges Balanchine's 1934 ballet Serenade to work on. (Balanchine, born in Russia, was associated with the Ballets Russes and then emigrated to the USA where he created this work for the American Ballet). Derek first of all showed us part of a video performance of this ballet by Birmingham Royal Ballet. (After retiring as a dancer, he became CEO of this company prior to coming to Norwich and oversaw its move from London). It was a very graceful and lyrical classical ballet, though produced in modern times.

The section we saw was based on the corps de ballet moving in groups, and we wondered how we would ever master it. Not so bad when they were standing still! However Derek taught it to us bit by bit, and we had not only to master the steps but to move as a body, keeping in line and sometimes working in fours to make shapes, to the music of Tchaikovsky's romantic Serenade for Strings. Nicky and another of our ballet teachers (the first I ever had) were also among our corps. There was much waving of arms, and our jumps moved off in different directions, with one of my companions falling in one of these on the slippery floor.

After a break for lunch we reassembled, with Derek ironically referring to us as Norfolk City Ballet. We continued learning sections of this ballet. Although we didn't get as far as Nicky thought we would, it seemed to us that we were learning an awful lot. I as usual found things to confuse me, but I wasn't the only one: several others referred to being bewildered and mentioned thinking that, if other dancers were doing something different to them, these others must be right. So many of us suffer from this lack of confidence, which presumably only experience can cure.

We performed the whole routine several times through, trying to improve each time, until it was time to vacate the studio for a horde of children who were having a dance party - such a good idea. I always find it very inspiring to learn real repertoire, and it shows you what the classes are working towards. I also find it very useful to be studying ballet at different levels of difficulty - you get a different sort of perspective at each. So last week I spent 10 hours or more in ballet classes, with this study day added to my usual 6 hours. I must be reasonably fit, as it doesn't seem too much of a strain.

I didn't start feeling tired till I sat down in the evening - during the day the exercise had simply invigorated me. While my husband was kindly cooking the supper, I dozed off in front of the TV. Apparently he bellowed and bellowed for me to come and get my meal, but I slept on! And for 3 nights afterwards I slept without a break - most unusual for me, who frequently wake up during the night. So the cells had a chance to rejuvenate!

And back to ballet class 3 days later! At least I got my Tuesday class in before the snow returned, but in view of Wednesday's icy roads, prudence kept me regretfully at home that evening. My husband came back from his fitness class at 6 p.m. and said I'd be crazy to drive on those slippery surfaces, and I had to agree.

Watercolours at the Castle

On the Saturday before last I went to the first day of a splendid new art exhibition at Norwich Castle Museum - Watercolour in Britain: Travelling with Colour, as well as doing some painting there myself. The exhibition is a combined project with the Tate Gallery in London and with Newcastle. There are a large number of works by Turner and by Edward Lear, better known for his comic verse, and then there are earlier examples and more modern ones. Many of them are inspired by travel, and what particularly attracts me as an amateur student of painting is that the labels contain abundant comments about the painting and drawing techniques the artists have used.

These are appealing subjects, as landscapes (which perhaps most of them are) are very popular, set both in Britain and abroad. Turner's more impressionistic studies of places under particular effects of light make an immediate impact, even on those who do not think themselves very 'into' art. Watercolours more than oils give paintings a definite translucence and suggest subtle shades and transitions of light. Some of the later artists also combine watercolour with other media.

This is not the only exhibition at the Castle, for the Watercolour Gallery also hosts a new one called A Blaze in my Heart, about Norfolk artist John Sell Cotman, a leading light of the Norwich School which flourished in the early 1800's. His paintings are shown alongside some of the many letters in which he pours out his emotions and gives us an idea of his turbulent life.

The exhibitions are accompanied as usual by various events, such as talks (I attended one on Cotman on Tuesday), children's activities and having a go at watercolour painting yourself. You won't be at all surprised to learn that I've already been joining in! On Saturday, marking the opening of the main exhibition, two artists were on hand, helping the public to put brush (or fingers!) to paper. One was demonstrating traditional methods, and the other experimental, for adults or children. Of course I had a go at both.

From Graham Rider I got some tips on painting trees more effectively, and tried to imitate what he was doing. One of the brushes I was using was a large Chinese one. I'd bought several Chinese brushes while in China, but did not realize you needed to shape them and splay them out to get different effects of texture. I had already found that their bushiness was good for evoking foliage, but was glad to get more advice. My attempts at deciduous trees were better than my conifers, where I found it difficult to lighten my touch and make them more angular.

Emma Jarvis manned (yes, it is the best word, O ye PC) the experimental table. Here the idea was breaking normal rules and freeing up one's creative imagination. We were encouraged to combine media, applying paint over oil pastels or charcoal to build up the layers and observe the subsequent effects. I also followed the suggestion of squeezing paint out of the tube onto the paper and moving it around with my finger, and threw in a few thumbprints for good measure. My designs were based on plant and flame shapes, and I noted how red tones gave them a lift.

While there on the first Saturday I also had a quick look at the newly opened Mammals Gallery which has been rejigged and debugged and looks impressive, arranged in categories. It will certainly merit a longer visit.

In the main Watercolours exhibition room was a notice announcing that further painting activities would be available on Tuesdays and Fridays run by Museum interpreters, as long as the exhibition lasted. So the Tuesday after, before the talk I was going to attend on Cotman, I went to the Bird Gallery which was set up with materials for painting. Child painters were mainly envisaged, but adults are very welcome, and you only need one or two to sit down and others may pluck up the courage to have a go.

This session was being run by an interpreter I'd often met at similar events in Norwich museums. He is a trained art teacher, but not all of the interpreters will be. I was their first client of the morning, and set about painting a large pelican in a case. While I was there, another party came around and one of the adults was brave enough to join in. The room is very suitable as its skylights let in a lot of light, and it is comparatively quiet.

Getting the effect of feathers is difficult, but again I seized a Chinese brush and tried to achieve dry effects with it, after my initial wet-in-wet washes had dried. At least I 'covered all the paper', as the interpreter said, and tried to bring out the paleness of the wings by putting a stronger sky behind it. It all dried very pale, apart from the darker feathers, and I probably used too much shadow colour on top to try an shape the bird, not retaining enough of the original white. Painting white is, of course, difficult: we don't tend to used white watercolour paint but leave the paper white, or use a very dilute yellow wash for cream. The museum had not provided any Raw Sienna, which is such a useful colour, so I used dilute yellow ochre for the main part of the bird.

The interpreter showed me some of his very good paintings of birds and also copies of similar subjects by other people, which was very instructive for me as a student of painting. I admired the vivid deep green of his grebe (like a mallard's green), which he said was Winsor Green, and he pointed out that Winsor Green and Winsor Red were traffic-light colours, a useful notion to have in one's head.

I can see that I shall be paying many visits to the Castle to see more of these exhibitions and to avail myself of further opportunities to practise my painting with helpful guides. Oh, the blessings of retirement!

Get Close to a Historic Object

I've been to several sessions for the over-55's at the Shirehall Study Centre (part of Norwich Castle Museum) where you come close to objects from the past which are normally only glimpsed in a glass case. These sessions used to be free, but they've recently had to start charging £5 each for them, and you have to book, for there is only room for about a dozen people at a time around a table.

Last Thursday there was a spectacular session on Illuminated Manuscripts - books of prayers and psalms dating back to the Middle Ages, before the era of printing. I've long been interested in the culture and history of the Middle Ages, and their objects can be extremely beautiful. On this occasion the presenter was Rosie Mills of the Victoria and Albert Museum who had taken an art history degree at UEA. She had brought along an illuminated breviary, a Book of Hours and a psalter to show us, all of East Anglian if not Norwich origin, and now belonging to Norwich Castle Museum.

These hand-written books dating from the 1300's and the 1400's were impressive items. It was interesting to see their physical make-up - the pages made of parchment (animal membranes) which is sturdier than paper and therefore more likely to survive the centuries, and we could see how the scribes dealt with holes and tears and how the pages were bound.

Some of the crossings-out were not mistakes, but deliberate deletions. This happened notably with the feasts of St. Thomas à Becket after Henry VIII broke with the Church of Rome. In time all saints' days came under suspicion, but Henry, in his concern with power, had a particular objection to St. Thomas à Becket, who, after all, had been murdered because he had opposed the power of the Throne. During the Restoration feasts of St. Thomas à Becket were deleted in many English breviaries unless they were sent to the Continent for safe keeping. Having an interest in the history of Christianity, I am fascinated both by the objects in themselves and in what happened to them in varying political circumstances.

Yet what is particularly striking about such volumes is their 'illuminations' or pictures. The first letter of each psalm would be elaborately decorated with little vignettes, often with scenes from the Bible. The colours are still very vibrant and glinting with gold, which would have been further enhanced by surrounding candlelight, when they would have really come alive. So much more effectively seen than in a museum case where only one page is open! Often there are also full-page pictures as well, and little scenes or motifs suggested in the borders of the pages.

We were not allowed to turn the pages ourselves, as the salts in our hands would have corroded these ancient pages. Often I am horrified when I see people, even museum curators, on TV handling historic documents without gloves, for I know what damage that can do over time. (And there was David Dimbleby doing it again last night in the new series The 7 Ages of Britain, handling Anglo-Saxon books 1300 years old, including the oldest complete Bible in the world!) I used to work on manuscripts myself during my career and took great care, even those these were only of the 18th century and the ones we were looking at on Thursday were up to 400 years older than that. At our session the presenter was turning the pages wearing gloves.

It was a real privilege to be able to get so close to the works, and to feast our eyes on their incredible beauty and on the nobility of their materials. Also to catch something of the personality of the men who made them so many centuries ago, and who would probably be surprised we were still looking at their work. Rosie pointed out that monasteries were not the only places where such books were compiled, but that there were city scriptoria as well, and that specialists could often tell by the handwriting styles where a manuscript is likely to have been produced.

Some of you may have been to the dazzling exhibition of Cambridge illuminated manuscripts at the Fitzwilliam Museum a few years ago, when the recently reacquired Macclesfield Psalter was on display. Since the latter was in the process of conservation, they were able to detach individual pages and display them before they were put together again. It was good to seize the chance to see so much of the psalter on that occasion, as it is normally so limiting to see a book opened at just one page and not be able to handle it.

Rosie was able to point out which features of the handwriting and decoration were particularly East Anglian, and also to indicate the similarities between styles of illumination and the Norwich School of Glass Painting, whose craftsmen had overlapping training.

Some traditions take a long time to die out. A mediaeval scribe who made a mistake would have to scrape it away with a knife, and the rewriting would be slightly fuzzy as some of the substance of the parchment had disappeared. One of the listeners who used to be a schoolmaster commented that in his day one of the few things a teacher could be dismissed for was making mistakes in his class register. Apparently corrections were not allowed, so teachers would similarly scrape away with a knife and write on top! This account delighted our young speaker from the V and A!

These sessions at the Shire Hall occur once a month. The previous one I attended in December was on the Castle's Egyptology Collection, with an account of how certain objects were acquired, e.g. bequeathed by Jeremiah Coleman who set up the mustard factory and travelled in Egypt collecting, or by the local writer Rider Haggard. This included some items associated with his novel She, later made into a notable film. Or there was an important mummy donated by George V from Sandringham. And previous sessions involved objects associated with eating and drinking in the past, and with souvenirs brought back from travels. They are well worth attending to expand one's experience and also get close to objects that are usually kept remote.

Character-Dance Plus

However pleasurable and satisfying one's favourite activities are, it's always worthwhile expanding one's experience. I can never get too much classical ballet, but when Jane suggested introducing into her Friday class a character-dance element, I was enthusiastic.

This form of dancing is a type of national dance of various countries, stylized for the purposes of ballet. You often see them as interludes in the great classical ballets, such as the mazurkas and czardas of Coppelia and Swan Lake. They are an opportunity for the corps de ballet to show off some colourful dancing, and are a part of every ballet dancer's training.

Warned of this approaching development I had invested in some character-dance shoes, which I had been lucky enough to find in the excellent Porselli's sale, paying only £5 instead of the usual £25. They necessarily have low heels (and I don't usually wear heels these days because of the arthritis in my feet) and are of a stiffer leather than I normally wear, so they are going to kill me, but no matter! One has to suffer for one's art. We had also been asked to take along a full cotton skirt, and I was pleased to be able to use one I had slimmed back down into. In fact I'd had 5 inches taken out of the waist - but was to find that it was still a bit loose there, so perhaps I've lost a bit more girth even since I had it altered. Better that way round than the other. It's a skirt I'm fond of, in a vibrant red colour, which I thought suitable for the occasion.

At our 3-day ballet summer school we had already worked on the elegant czardas, a Czech dance that the courtiers dance in Swan Lake, and I had enjoyed that, although it was difficult and I hadn't done any national dancing before. At the summer school we had also done barre exercises in the character-dance mode rather than the normal classical steps.

Jane now wanted to introduce us to some peasant character-dance steps, such as the villagers dance in Coppelia. We placed our fists on our hips, whereas in the courtly version one has one's hands on one's hips. So there we were, pointing our feet, waiting, stamping and clapping, galloping to one side and back, jumping while clicking our feet together in a step called 'holubetz', and pivoting with one hand in the air, the other on our hip, while our skirts billowed out. There was a lot of painful kicking of one's bunions, especially in the infamous 'holubetz', but my feet recovered afterwards, I was relieved to find.

It was great fun, and Jane said that we picked up the steps very quickly, because we were used to learning ballet, which is a hard taskmaster. She also said that she had thrown us in at the deep end, which was gratifying to hear. We ended the session with a 'révérence' (salute to the audience) in the character-dance style rather than the classical kind. Next week we shall be learning some steps from the courtly tradition of czardas, which will make an interesting comparison and gradually build up our dance education.

On Sunday afternoon my husband and I decided to keep up our good practice of a local country walk, but what a different day it was! Instead of the lovely sunshine and cheering blue sky, the weather was cold and damp, and everything looked grim and grey and dirty. It was only a concern for our health, and the pleasure of being together, that kept us going. One feels sympathy for those who suffer from seasonal affective disorder - this was certainly a day for it. Yet the exercise will have burnt off a few calories and blown away a few cobwebs. The fields were still wet and squelchy, but it was nice to hear the trickle of a running stream. It reminded me that I must press my husband to agree to a small water-feature this year, as the sound of running water is so therapeutic. Just the thing to add to our wind-chimes, which he also wasn't keen on at first.

I hadn't attended my painting group at Yelverton for some time, largely kept away by the snow on the intervening roads which I didn't want to risk driving on. I was finally able to go on Tuesday, to find that our group-leader had gone to visit family in New Zealand for 3 months, but other members of the group were there. The plan was to paint an object we had brought from home, and I had taken a model of a camel. I'd bought this at a car-boot sale in memory of my holidays in China, for it was a modern reproduction of a Tang Dynasty camel - the Tang reigned from the 7th to the 10th centuries A.D. It was a very sophisticated civilization and they were well-known for their vibrant pottery glazes which they splashed on - which we in Britain couldn't have emulated then. Their pottery horses are more famous, but they also have camels, and mine was painted in typical deep brown, green and yellow ochre.

I did my best at trying to reproduce it, but it is difficult to blend the washes. One of our group was photographing our efforts (as 'evidence' that we were doing something!) and my camel looked rather better in the photo than on the page! Yet I'll keep trying, and it's good for the grey cells to increase one's range of skills. I also continue to watch interesting programmes on how to paint on the ‘Information TV’ channel.

How to Cause a Stir in a Ballet Class, Plus Visit to the Ballet

Not by my dancing, at any rate. Even when, last year, I fell executing a pirouette and lay there startled a few seconds, wondering if I’d damaged my coccyx again, it didn't cause a tremendous stir. No, wardrobe matters are more likely to be a discussion point. Fellow-dancers can wear a wide range of garments to class, and some of them can verge on the flamboyant. I find the subject of dancewear an interesting one, and my own collection of dance clothes has been growing.

I thought that the Improvers' class, most of whom know me, was a suitable venue to launch my new T-shirt. This I had designed myself with the photo of myself and others jumping at a ballet workshop! The photo had been taken when some of us over-50's had been attending the workshop organised by the Theatre Royal with the Northern Ballet Theatre when they were appearing in Norwich last autumn, and I had been very pleased with it, as it had shown me as if suspended in mid-air and looking quite slim.

I had already made use of this as my profile photo on the Sagazone website where I also write under the name of Dianthus. After that, I'd accepted an offer from an Internet firm for a 'free' calendar made up of one's own photos in which this one had featured, and I could also see its potential as an illustration on a T-shirt, a garment that is very useful in exercise classes. I decided that black was the best background to the highly illuminated ballet studio that figured in the photo. So there it was - an image of a brightly lit studio at The Garage, a handful of us middle-aged ballet enthusiasts and the Education Officer of Northern Ballet Theatre who was teaching the class. I wore it with the same shorts and tights that figured in the photo.

The shirt immediately caught the attention of my fellow-dancers, although it took them a bit of time to realize that I was one of those depicted in this ballet scene. It certainly tickled their sense of humour, once they got over their shock. One of them was a friend of the teacher from the Northern Ballet Theatre, and on the spot texted her to say that she had been spotted balancing on my left breast! Some of them agreed that a bit of self-advertisement did no harm, and it told people about our activity. My teacher observed that I had got airborne in the photo, a fact that had reassured me when I saw that I could actually jump high enough to point my feet!

One unpredicted feature of the T-shirt was that, although cotton, it proved very warm for an exercise class, so it possibly wouldn't fulfil one of its main functions, for one needs very light clothing. But it's a favourite of mine, and it will be wanted!

We went on to do a very hard and demanding class, which included a new barre exercise of petits and grands retirés (raising one foot up to the other knee) and scissor-swings with flexed foot to either side of the supporting leg, designed to prepare one for jumps while beating one's feet against each other. There were various sequences involving the manipulation of arms and legs, pirouettes, waltz-steps and jumps, interspersed with Pilates stretches from time to time. It left us satisfyingly tired, and I did a lot of healthy yawning on the way home and had a very good night's sleep, 3 or 4 hours of it unbroken, unheard of for me these days. Exercise is definitely good for you.

The next day presented further inspiration as we went to see Moscow City Ballet performing in Norwich in Cinderella, danced to Prokoviev's luscious music. (Unfortunately no ballet workshop attached to this company!) The choreography was by the artistic director and founder of Moscow City Ballet, and was of a very egalitarian kind, giving a lot to do to characters of the second rank or lower. Before the story as we know it started there was a very male-dominated prologue where the Prince's father dreams that the fairies are asking him to seek out a wife for his son. This King must surely be the most energetic rôle of a father in ballet, performing many big jumps and demonstrating a sense of comedy.

All the characters produced very vigorous virtuoso dancing. Yet I felt that Cinderella herself did not have enough to do in the first act. She notably had very little comic interplay with her stepmother and sisters, which we Britons are familiar with in Frederick Ashton's version for the Royal Ballet, and which we are also used to seeing in our pantomimes. But it was all thoroughly enjoyable and absorbing and proved very instructive in regard to the steps I was learning. (When I started to learn ballet, I could make very little connection between the material in the classroom and what was presented on stage, but nowadays there is not such a great discrepancy). Costumes and scenery were also very sumptuous - no silly minimalism here! The principals danced with verve, though the very good person who played the Stepmother was listed as only a member of the corps de ballet - evidently very ripe for promotion!

I enjoyed the time I was able to spend in such a magical world, and then I was off immediately, with added inspiration, to another of my ballet classes. There, among other things, we worked again on some sections of Les Sylphides, as well as exercises with waltz-steps, and pas de chat jumps which continued the work on grands retirés featured in this week's classes. It's a wonderful life!

Dancing to the Radio

I was drafting a letter on my home computer on Tuesday morning when I was interrupted by an extract from Prokoviev's ballet Cinderella on the radio. These days when ballet music comes on the radio I get up to dance to it! I like letting the music suggest the choreography - I did that a lot when I was 5 or 6, so have recently returned to a childhood habit! But now I can incorporate the steps I have learnt in my classes and practise trying to do them better.

What I didn't know was that this extract would last half an hour! It was a really good aerobic exercise, including lots of fast steps. Some of it involves witty comedy, and some more languorous reflective movements. Yet on it went for rather a long time, even for me, and I was rather hoping it would end soon, but of course didn't allow myself to stop! My husband, who is becoming used to finding me blithely dancing to the radio or a tape, came in to discuss finance in the middle of it all, but it wasn't quite the moment.

I got in a healthy sweat, which is useful in the week of our monthly visit to Samphire's excellent farm-shop at Blickling, where we buy horribly sinful things like spicy sausages, incomparable pork pies (normally banned from our menus) and delicious lemon tarts. Hopefully my half-hour of dancing will have worked off some of the food-intake.

By chance we're going to see the ballet Cinderella this week before one of my ballet classes, when Moscow City Ballet, whom we've often seen, perform at Norwich’s Theatre Royal. It is always a delight to see their productions. I remember one particularly good idea they had in their Swan Lake. In that story, it is amazing that Prince Siegfried can mistake the malevolent Black Swan for the gentle White Swan he fell in love with, but Moscow City Ballet had a good production idea to help explain his mental confusion. Normally the Black Swan Odile enters in a black tutu, but this time on her first appearance she was wearing one that was black one side, and then when she turned, it was white in the other half. As she turned from side to side, she appeared alternately to be a black swan and a white one, and you could see him puzzling, "Is it Odette?" Once he accepts that it is his love, she returns dressed entirely in black, showing her true colours, and the tragedy races to its completion.

On Tuesday evening there was Beginners Ballet again, with Nicky taking us in her steady way through the basic movements of ballet, focussing on posture and alignment, backed up by some Pilates exercises again. It is useful to be able to look at aspects in more detail, and Nicky is very careful not to rush beginners. At the same try I am trying to concentrate on doing things better than I did, which I can sometimes achieve but sometimes I still appear rather ungainly to myself. Oh, to be thoroughly graceful! Nicky gave me some indications about how better to hold my arms and hands in different positions when balancing, and got us to move across the floor and co-ordinate our arms and legs. People concentrate very hard in these classes, and, in the second week, more people are starting to wear leotards instead of just trousers, and one or two are even venturing into dance skirts. We are all gaining confidence.

A Perfect Day for a Walk

There was a different feeling in the air when I stepped outdoors on Sunday morning. Freed at last from the blocking cover of snow, we could appreciate the sun glinting on the wet surfaces, and the birds seemed to be sharpening their song. Our hazel catkins were slightly lengthening, although the mahonia buds were still tightly closed, imprisoning their heavenly scent.

We could also enjoy the play of sunlight in church, not only on the cypress outside, but through the new stained glass windows casting their reflections on the white walls. And then it forced its way through the clouds of incense used in our services, clothing the young altar-servers in a mysterious haze and turning them into shadowy figures.

A walk was obviously called for, and would do a lot for our health. So after lunch and listening to a programme of lovely early music on the radio, my husband and I set off along the local lanes. I have always enjoyed walking, from the nature rambles of my childhood, to a lot of functional walking to get to my destination before I had a car; walks to soothe the stresses and clarify my thoughts when I was working, and walks to reduce my weight and also inspire my imagination when I retired. Other walkers were abroad - small groups and couples, dog-walkers and even some young people, and I felt glad for them.

We even came across members of the Central Norfolk Health Walks, a group we have often walked with, following a trail on our patch. This group was very useful to me when I started trying to become fitter and lighter after I retired. They go on brisk walks around various parts of the county and in town, and I relied on them a lot to form new good habits before our local sports centre had opened, which later provided me with mnay useful exercise classes, and long before I had discovered adult ballet classes and seen them as possible for me. If you want to be motivated to take some exercise with other people who know what they're doing and to have company and security on a walk, it's worth picking up their brochure of walks and joining in.

The sun was still shining brightly, and there is something about a blue sky in winter that is immensely cheering. It cast strong shadows across the landscape and the house-fronts, which gave added drama. The birds showed off their different kinds of chirp in the branches and chattered in the hedgerows. The sunlight brought out the different shades of brown in the deciduous trunks and branches, some offering a more reddish tint, some more yellowish, while others were softened by the green lustre of lichens. In the distance those with a mass of smaller branches created a smoky effect.

Pools in the fields reminded me that I was still bereft of my beloved car boot sales. These have been out of bounds while the snow was on the ground, but even now the field is considered too wet for such an activity. I really miss these wonderlands of odd discoveries. But when we started across a field now, the squelchy surface confirmed the reason for their abeyance.

We walked past some extremely gnarled old trees which recalled to me a phrase of a poem I wrote after a January walk 3 years ago, when I talked about their 'arthritic limbs'. I was stirred to particular empathy because I have arthritis in my own hands and feet, and the image very well conveys the branches' contortions (more dramatic than mine, fortunately!) In the poem I am trying to capture the moment of pause before Spring takes off, while being at the back of our minds, and I think I'll give it to you now.

'BEFORE THE SAP RISES'

The trickling plash of time

Burbles in unseen depths

Somewhere beyond the hedge.

To the garrulous rooks

The sky screams bluely "Come and fly me!"

As yet unbirded, aged trees stretch out

Arthritic limbs as best they can,

Shivering without their summer clothes.

Scots pine swishes across to fir -

"Shush! Shush!" is their loud greeting.

"There! There!" the cedar flaps appeasingly.

Chirp and chatter in the hedgerow

Have still left holly berry treasure,

Not this year stripped in direst need

But left to rutilate on branches,

Redolent of fire, streaking red on green.

Shining, glowing on bark and lichen,

On ivy-leaf and grass-blade

And stiffly set catkins,

The low-lying sun dazzles its clients

And gently massages the shoots,

It not yet being time for major stretching.

The corn-field snores gently, half-waking;

Its sunlit gate invites an unseen horse to jump.

The ovulating bird holds future eggs in order

Ready for relevant action

When the earth twists a little.

The forceful wind shakes off each last leaf

And blows away last year's detritus,

Preparing vistas for the new seasons.

Alongside, in their sundry quests,

Earth's walkers are invigorated.

* * * * *

And indeed we were invigorated that afternoon after our healthy exercise in the fresh air, looking at and listening to beautiful things. January is a time for New Resolutions, and what could be a better one than getting out in the fresh air and walking one’s way to health?

Two Anniversaries

This week sees two anniversaries. Wednesday is my birthday. When I mentioned that I had a nicely symmetrical one coming up, a friend commented, "Not 99, surely?" The young (well, forty-something) are so cheeky! No, not 99 - one just needs to turn those digits upside down! It's a number which also recalls the year in which I graduated from University - happy days!

And what is the best possible way I could celebrate this? Why, going to a ballet class, of course! Fortunately there is an Improvers class as the term is now starting. It will knock out any idea of a celebratory meal, but that will be postponed till Sunday, when I'll have a joint birthday meal with my husband, whose birthday occurs ten days after mine, so Sunday is a mid-point and a more convenient evening for cooking.

The Norfolk Dance term began on Tuesday with Beginners' Ballet. This is the 8th term I've followed this class, and each time our teacher Nicky manages to approach it in a different way. This time she was putting more emphasis on stretches of different kinds, and whatever she does is of general usefulness for one's development as a dancer. I am glad she had got over her own aches and pains with a well-deserved rest over Christmas. Dance-teachers today risk over-stretching themselves with their demonstrations, unlike the teachers of yesteryear such as she herself had, who never moved off their stool and demonstrated steps in a kind of sign-language with their hands only.

Nicky is good at giving confidence to people who are new to ballet (as some of them are), building them up gradually and not flooding them with French at first. And whereas in some terms we venture as far as the grands battements (big kicks) in the first lesson, this time she decided to go for lower kicks combined with springing up onto tiptoe. It all varies things interestingly, especially for us old faithfuls.

It was nice to meet familiar faces again and chat, and also to make the acquaintance of some new students, whose experiences of life vary very much.

In the Improvers' class on my birthday all the students were familiar returners. We're a devoted crowd! There is much more content in this class compared to Beginners, and we gradually get back into shape. I had quite a lot of problems with cramp in my feet in Beginners, due to the muscles being insufficiently warmed up, but I did more exercises before the beginning of the class on this occasion. To both classes Nicky is recommending a book she has recently discovered, The New York City Ballet's Workout, some of whose ideas for strengthening muscles she is incorporating into her classes.

In this class we do more work on occupying the feet and the arms with different sorts of movement at the same time, so the brain has immediately to get back into harness. We added glissade jumps and pirouettes into our sequences, and seemed to be moving on quite fast. Sometimes at the beginning of term there is not so much difference between the levels in Beginners and Improvers, but this is certainly not so this term. Nicky no doubt wants to make us progress us more quickly.

Saturday will be my first anniversary as a blog-writer on the EDP website, and this is my 165th post today. I started doing it because the EDP appealed for volunteers to write a fitness and healthy lifestyle blog, and I thought this would be a useful and interesting thing to do, now that I have the time as a retiree. It's probably even a kind of therapy for myself! I've covered various types of fitness activity as well as weight-loss, plus the more spiritual/cultural dimension that can give our hearts a lift and thereby improve our health as well.

This year's blog-writing divides clearly into two halves for me, marked out by the redesign of the website in June which made the blogs far less visible. For the first 6 months I had a lot of readers and felt it was reaching the community who might find it useful. Overnight in June this changed, and I've had far fewer readers in the second half of the year - just those who were clever enough to find their way to the blog. I feel sad that the fitness campaign can't be achieving its purpose and having the effect that it could, but well done, you faithful readers who have sought it out.

Getting Rid of That Extra Weight, and Return to Ballet Class

The Christmas problem was predictable. There was only one - what would happen as a result of those Christmas goodies? Either one has a completely non-traditional Christmas and carries on a laudable path of weight-management, or one is going to put on weight. I had no intention of doing without my Christmas pudding, Christmas cake or the occasional mince-pie, so I was going to have to do a rescue job afterwards.

It isn't a disaster, and Slimming World is happy for you to go 3 pounds above or below your strict target, but after Christmas I was half a pound beyond that. No time to be complacent: the weight had to come down again. Something I readily resort to in this situation is largely doing without alcohol and chocolate, which quickly cuts down a lot of calories. I eat quite a lot of fish anyway, which is another favourite short-cut to weight-loss, and chicken is a further old faithful. Yet I am finding it more of a struggle in winter to keep the weight down than in summer, perhaps with the cold weather making me want to eat more, and not just the extra lettuce leaf or piece of celery.

We had a delicious Christmas cake this year which we haven't finished yet (and certainly aren't going to waste!) but I've gone easy on it over the last week or so. Over the actual Christmas we had it instead of an evening meal - although a normal evening meal is probably less calorific. Abstention makes it even more of a treat when one does allow oneself a piece; the same is true of chocolate, of course.

I wasn't getting as much exercise, either. Over the Christmas the ballet classes had broken up and the local sports centre, where I could have attended fitness classes, had closed for 2 weeks, and when it did reopen, driving there in this snow was not an attractive proposition. Walking to the local library to use the Internet gave me a fair bit of exercise, and I also made use of an aerolates video I'd bought at a car boot sale (a combination of aerobics and Pilates). The presenter rather strangely referred to straight aerobics, which get you into a healthy sweat, as 'counterindicated' today - by which I suppose she meant that it's no longer as fashionable, something I'd noticed in lists of fitness classes.

As well as that, I practised my ballet to suitable music on the radio and to ballet cassettes, freestyling as the music seemed to inspire. This is exactly the sort of thing I did a lot when I was 5 or 6 and could hardly stop dancing! Now I thought it would free me up for dancing more loosely and with more abandon, as opposed to always concentrating on which confusing sequence of steps it was now that one had to follow. And it was thoroughly enjoyable, and got me into quite a sweat, so presumably worked off some calories in a more pleasant way. I have always tended to see music in terms of choreography, and so find it easy to devise steps that echo the music.

Then finally, although the first official ballet class of 2010 had to be cancelled due to snow difficulties, the Friday morning one went ahead. The route in was actually quite anguishing. I'd intended going by bus as I hate to drive in the snow, but my husband insisted on dropping me off. It wasn't too dramatic when we started, but then it began to snow heavily and we had to get up a steep hill with very little traction and some skidding. It was the first time we'd seen the skid icon on our present car! (How useful to be told you are skidding as if you weren't likely to have noticed!) I wouldn't undertake such a thing again, especially as we needed the car later the same day to take the cat to the vet to have stitches out.

We were only 3 students who had managed to get to the class, and the teacher, who lives in the wilds, had stayed in Norwich overnight to be able to walk there. All of us had rather disorientated minds after the break and found it difficult to remember things. I was surprised what a difference the break had made. But it was so nice to get back, and for once the studio was heated - we are used to having to keep our leg-warmers on and to start by running around! The exercises are at Grade 7 level, which is way above mine, but I like a challenge and my love of ballet overcomes any inhibitions. The fact that everyone was floundering to some degree meant that one took more time to get on top of the exercises, which included the new steps coupés fouettés raccourcis (involving flexing alternate legs) and coupés ballottés (a rocking step).

The class also included a modern exercise sequence based on the contrast between the ideas of tension and release, which was interestingly different, and I like to extend my repertoire of approaches to dance. Here we could forget about turnout, and some of it was performed rolling about the floor, where the positions were good for strengthening the core muscles, especially the back and abs.

Then in our final sequence of travelling steps and jumps, our teacher Jane wanted us to think of covering much more space and be more concerned about losing ourselves in the music than being technically correct with the steps, but however hard I try, I get in a muddle. One day, perhaps, I’ll get there.

Anyway, after all that I was pleased to have lost a pound in weight over the past week and to be back on target. This is what I would have expected, and had not been too worried about the inevitable weight gain over Christmas. As long as one has absorbed good principles of weight-management (especially the avoidance of fats and sugars) one can usually get back on track. The other ballet classes begin this week, but I must admit that the thought of driving to evening classes over snow fills me with alarm.

Three Snow Poems

Since the snow so dominates our awareness at the moment, I thought I’d put up three of my snow poems, as poetry-writing comes naturally to me and helps me to make sense of life. The first imagines the mindset of playful snowflakes descending from the sky to make trouble. The second, short one was inspired by driving back from Lowestoft one evening when it hadn’t been snowing, but all of a sudden a blizzard seemed to appear out of nowhere, making the way ahead almost invisible. The third evokes the atmospheric stillness of a snow-covered garden.

The Snowflake Gang

Yes, down we go in winter's sharp descent

And leave our birthplace high among the clouds;

On playful exploration we are bent

And all our friends are rushing round in crowds.

Look - over there - some naked trees to shock!

Let's go and jump on them to heart's delight,

And then in icy-cold embrace we'll lock

Their branches, dressing them in stylish white.

And there some houses roofed in ugly grey,

Unutterably boring to our mind;

I think we'll change the colour-scheme today:

A new exciting blanket they must find.

Let's play at being sculptors, and transform

The shape of this old house-lamp on the wall;

We'll simplify its style now as we swarm,

Get rid of fussy detail, knobs and all.

Don't drift away, but come and join my game:

It's more exciting here - there's more to do -

Let's just gang up, and things won't be the same:

We'll grab this land and change it through and through.

Yes, this is fun - it's just the life for me

('And me!' 'And me!') - we'll have a tale to tell.

A jolly, pally, jokey set are we,

Incredibly attractive chaps as well.

Hey, let me be the first on that bald head!

The shiny surface needs a smart new cap.

No, not you first - I thought of it, I said!

Now let's catch others in the coldness trap.

Let's see how big a drift we can amass!

We'll try to shut our victims in their home,

And then we'll make the roads a real morass,

And ambush brazen cars that dare to roam.

We'll break some legs and halt the ambulance,

Then stop the trains and close the airports, too;

Our japes will lead them all a merry dance:

They'll recognize our power when we are through!

White Terror

Obliterating

View through tormented windscreen

Snow swirls in the night

Like life's dizzy challenges

Zooming in out of nowhere.

The Silence of the Snow

Across the sleeping garden reigns

The silence of the snow,

And, softly blanketing, restrains

The endless urge to grow.

Activity seems frozen quite,

Frost silhouettes each leaf,

And yet mysterious forces might

Confound our unbelief.

But frothy snowdrifts mask it all

And make us hold our breath,

A hint of magic they install,

Where gloom sees only death.

The strutting pheasant seeks her food,

The pigeons flap their wings,

The perky robin, scarlet-hued,

To snowy stalk now clings.

Their tracks are left upon the ground

With those of larger paws:

The garden's secret life is found

The more that one explores.

Yet silence takes us out of time

And gives acutest sense

Of pure existence in its prime

Which magic hours dispense.

Amidst its winter kingdom in

This gleaming, silent hour,

Beneath its solemn baldachin

The snow transmits its power.