I never thought I'd see this again!!

 

The Roosevelts: An Intimate History

(Click on the link to watch!) I was astonished and deeee-lighted to find this entire series on Internet Archive! There are only fragments of it on YouTube, and a confusing array of chopped-up pieces on Dailymotion, so this was buried treasure, unearthed at last.  I LOVED this series when I first saw it on PBS in 2014 (it's yet another Ken Burns masterpiece), but it was never shown again. It is fourteen hours long, the most ambitious thing Burns has ever done, and by far the best. And it never seems too long or tedious - in fact, I didn't want it to end.

So what do I love about it? Everything. From the superb gallery of  photos and archival film clips, to the meticulous research, to just the right amount of commentary from the inevitable historians, and - most of all - to the superb narration, there is not a false note in it anywhere.

Bad narration, which is nearly universal on YouTube now (most of it AI-generated) is the bane of my existence, but in this case, the main narrator, not to mention the dead-ringer, right-on voices of Teddy, FDR and Eleanor (the last voiced by no less than Meryl Streep!) are so note-perfect that it's no surprise the music is sensitively chosen and utterly appropriate as well. I begin weeping when they feature Aaron Copland at his most tender and majestic, the heroic Richard Strauss (Death and Transfiguration, which is now my theme song), and sublime quotes from Stephen Foster.

It all works. But what was most gratifying to me was watching the first part again, and far from having my usual reaction to something I used to love and now can't fathom, I think I loved it all the more.  I've started reading more about the Roosevelt dynasty, but none of it is more poetic and hard-hitting than this series, which I honestly thought I would never see again.

Comes at a time when I am still feeling pretty rotten at times. Having supposedly dodged the bullet with my surgery, now I am not so sure. "Things" are showing up in my x-rays and blood tests, and I am more than concerned. I will be seeing a hemotologist, which made no sense until I finally clicked with the fact that I had to have a blood  transfusion in the hospital (why?). And I also might be seeing a nephrologist, a kidney specialist, because my poor old ageing kidneys might be out of whack as well. In the hospital, they found a spot on my lung which terrified me, though the followup x-ray seems to have indicated it was resolved. But my doctor is not so sure. So, more tests, more specialists, more trips to the lab.

I am trying to convince myself, and sometimes I even seem to believe it, that the surgery fixed everything and I am now back to full and vibrant health. But once they gut you like that, you're never quite the same, and I feel it almost every day.

I don't want to overshare online, but it gets lonely sometimes, and this blog is supposed to be more personal than, say, Facebook or YouTube (which I am now "off" in many ways, just fed up and not wanting to keep feeding something nobody watches anyway). I feel the same about the blog: I do post links on Facebook sometimes, but I am not sure why I bother.  I am convinced nobody really reads them. They are, however, there for my own reference, so that is something.

Something, but I am not sure what.

So when I find something as superb as this series, whole and complete, and in magnificent HD, it geos a long way (though not far enougth)  to make me feel this is all worthwhile. But I had a thought at the grocery store today, when I could not lift a five-pound bag of sugar into the cart: the natural limits of a human lifespan used to be "threescore and ten" - and by that reckoning, I'm already one year over the limit.

So why is this statement so subversive?

An artist, a man, a failure, MUST PROCEED. Proceed: not succeed. With success, as any world or unworld comprehends it, he has essentially nothing to do. If it should come, well and good: but what makes him climb to the top of the tent emphatically isn’t ‘a billion empty faces’. Even success in his own terms cannot concern him otherwise than as a stimulus to further, and a challenge to more unimagineable, self-discovering – ‘The chairs will all fall by themselves down from the wire’; and who catches or who doesn’t catch them is none of his immortal business. One thing, however, does always concern this individual: fidelity to himself.

- e. e. cummings

Lots of people object to this statement. For one thing, they don't like the use of "man/he/his", which is absolutely not allowed now - for God's sake, why doesn't he say "a man OR a woman", "he OR she", etc., especially with all the pronoun confusion affecting language right now? But the idea that failure is part of the game echoes my all-time-favorite quote from Teddy Roosevelt, which dares to call itself "The MAN in the arena". (Can't have that!)

But even more subersive is the idea that success has nothing to do with you. If it comes, fine, but if you strive for it, you will be chasing a phantom. Our entire culture revolves around success or failure, defined in terms of dollars and one's contribution to the overall economy, the GNP. Very seldom is artistic merit even considered. Popularity and the ensuing financial gain is the whole story.

The last few lines are the most subversive, and totally nonsensical to most people: the claim that how an artist's work is received is "none of his immortal business" (how I love that phrase!), and that the sole necessity of art is fidelity to himself (herself, itself, elephant self, Old Testament prophet self, Joan of Arc self, etc. etc. etc.)

This quote, along with a few others, has informed my life, and I have come back to them again and again because they run counter to cultural pressures and expectations. So many artists are crushed by this. Even artists who make a lot of  money, and are therefore deemed "successful" go through the tortures of the damned, because it is NEVER ENOUGH. Jump high, higher, higher - no, sorry, you failed to grab the brass ring. Maybe next time.

Go get 'em, Teddy! (Read at your own risk!)

 

Theodore Roosevelt, 26th President of the United States, on Americans:

“As for my own country, it is hard to say. We are barbarians of a certain kind, and what is most unpleasant we are barbarians with a certain middle-class, Philistine quality of ugliness and pettiness, raw conceit, and raw sensitiveness. Where we get highly civilized, as in the northeast, we seem to become civilized in an unoriginal and ineffective way, and tend to die out. In political matters we are often very dull mentally, and especially morally; but even in political matters there is plenty of rude strength, and I don't think we are as badly off as we were in the days of Jefferson, for instance.”

Whew! Let me blow out the flames coming from that particular statement. Though it was in a private letter and not meant for public consumption, it's more than candid about what T. R. perceived as the woeful limitations of his beloved country and its (too-often-craven) citizens. 

Of course, you're not supposed to like or admire Roosevelt. He killed animals, he seemed to love war, he pounded the podium when he gave a speech. (And those teeth!) But I've always loved the man, and have always wanted to know more about him. To this end, I'm making my way through an 800-page biography by H. W. Brands, called T. R.: The Last Romantic. But I have to tell you, the portrait he paints of the Old Lion is woefully un-romantic. 

I watched a PBS series on the Roosevelts (and how I wish they'd show it again, all 8 hours of it!), and my favorite two hours was devoted to T. R. And yes, the portrait that emerged was of a true romantic: fiercely passionate about everything (especially his family - he was devoted to them), sometimes too opionated for his own good, and not one to suffer fools gladly (or at all!) - yet at the same time, warm and gregarious, genuine, sincere in his patriotism (his vision was of what Americans COULD be, but somehow never were), and a lot of other things. 

But this Brands character does not even seem to like Roosevelt, and there are little jabs at his character on every page. Talk about thinking in black and white! This fellow has decided T. R. needs to be deconstructed, or should we say, given a hatchet job. I have ordered another bio (there are no doubt hundreds of them) which has been criticized for sentimentalizing Teddy too much. But what the PBS bio got right, and what Brands missed by a mile, was his complexity. 

The man was positively Byzantine, and was full of so many opposite traits that you wonder how he got along. But one commentator said, "What you MUST know about T. R. is that he was a depressive." The fierce exterior disguised a very tender heart, and he was hypersensitive, not to mention a ferocious intellect which soared above most of his contemporaries. THAT is the T. R. I want to hear about, read about, get to know better.

I even wrote in my journal about this! The book critic in me never quite dies, and each book I read comes under analytical scrutiny, but this one. . . I kept getting so turned off that I had to unload somewhere:

I am getting fed up with the TR book, which is a disappointment after a good start. It begins quite positively, but as it goes along the author gets more and more snide, then just starts taking shots at him on every single page. He’s literally attacking the man, claiming he did everything for his own gain and towering ego. Nothing about the latent depression, nothing about the warmth and charm of the man, which his supporters never failed to notice. (They named the Teddy bear after him, for God's sake!) But the book is all about his insufferable ego and how he’s basically a windbag, hot air that is all designed for self-aggrandizement and political gain. He doesn't befriend people - he "cultivates" them. 

I LOVED the PBS program, watched it more than once, and it was far more nuanced, claimed he was actually a secret depressive, his heart irreparably broken by the loss of his first wife. The portrait was of someone far more complex and nuanced than this Brands guy comprehends. I did order another bio, just out of interest. But it does seem the guy really doesn’t like Roosevelt and even thinks he was a phony. Typical politician, full of P. T. Barnum hype and even dishonesty. 

So why did he write this? As with the Van Gogh book, I see contractual obligation on every page. Brands signed a contract to write this, then began to get bored and irritated about ¼ of the way through, a contempt that just grows and grows. I’m reading it now because it supposedly helps me get to sleep, though it did not work last night. 

Enough said!

Rest, rest, perturbed spirit

Drove downtown in the rain
Nine thirty on a Tuesday night
Just to check out the late night
Record shop
Call it impulsive
Call it compulsive
Call it insane
But when I'm surrounded I just can't stop
It's a matter of instinct
It's a matter of conditioning
Matter of fact
You can call me Pavlov, dog
Ring a bell and I'll salivate
And how'd you like that?
Dr. Landy, tell me
You're not just a pedagogue
Cause right now I'm
Lyin' in bed, just like Brian Wilson did
Well I'm
I'm lyin' in bed, just like Brian Wilson did, oh
So I'm lyin' here
Just starin' at the ceilin' tiles
And I'm thinkin' about
What to think about
Just listenin' and relistenin'
To smiley smile
And I'm wonderin' if this is
Some kind of creative drought because
I'm lyin' in bed
Just like Brian Wilson did
Well I'm
I'm lyin' in bed, just like Brian Wilson did, oh
And if you wanna find me I'll be
Out in the sandbox
Just wonderin' where the hell all the
Love is gone
I'm playin' my guitar and buildin'
Castles in the sun, woh wo woh
And singin', "fun, fun, fun"
I'm lyin' in bed
Just like Brian Wilson did
Well I'm
I'm lyin' in bed, just like Brian Wilson did, oh
I had a dream
That I was three hundred pounds
And though I was very heavy
I floated 'til I couldn't see the ground
I floated 'til I couldn't see the ground, oh
Somebody help me
I couldn't see the ground
Somebody help me
Couldn't see the ground
Somebody help me
Because I'm
I'm lyin' in bed
Just like Brian Wilson did
Well I'm
I'm lyin' in bed, just like Brian Wilson did, oh, yeah
Drove downtown in the rain
Nine thirty on a Tuesday night
Just to check out the late night
Record shop
(Late night record shop)
Call it impulsive
You can call it compulsive
And you can call it insane, oh, oh
But when I'm surrounded I just can't
Stop

They took my eyes away. . .

I don’t like to post rants (too much), but this was a really bad experience. I noticed my glasses had a little gap where the frame was coming away from the lens. I took them back to SpecSavers where I bought them (2 years ago, so they weren’t ancient), and they took them into the back room. At one point I saw a guy, some repair person I guess, and he was holding them by one arm and waving them around. Then they gave them back to me and said, “No, we can’t fix them, but we’ll give you $50.00 off on your next pair!” The glasses cost $400.00, so this wasn’t much of a comfort, and for some reason I didn’t want to deal with them again. 

I noticed the frames didn’t feel right when I put them back on. When I got home, I saw that the split was far worse, and the damage now went halfway around the lens. All their manhandling and screwing around (I mean, waving a screwdriver around) had damaged them FAR worse than they initially were. I went to Pearle Vision to ask them what I could do, and they gave me a card for a glasses repair shop in Burnaby. (Nothing is close by in these parts.) We drove and drove and drove, couldn’t find a parking spot, etc. etc.. All the usual exhausting stuff. But the damage was still fixable. They did something called a laser weld, and now they look and feel perfect – BUT – they charged me $105.00. I doubt if we can get any of it back.

(P. S. Once more, this is a Facebook post that I copied and pasted. I was shocked to see my last post was in May. Surely some of them got lost? No, it's that I am still exhausted and having to parcel out my energy very carefully. Yesterday was draining and frustrating, as we always have  to drive around a lot, especially for medical things - nothing is E*V*E*R close by, as if Poco is the dark side of the moon and too primitive even for the most basic services. But never mind, the glasses are fixed, and I am NOT GOING TO HAVE ANOTHER EYE TEST - I am so tired of being tricked and even shamed into buying things I do not want OR need. So there.)

Back Yard Bear: he's at it again. . .

BEAR ATTACK!

So I get up in the morning, look out the window, and my three 6-foot-tall bird feeder poles are GONE. They’re not there anymore! I ran outside, and all the poles (thick metal pipe) were flat on the ground. It could only be a bear flattening them down. But, there were no food trays hanging on them – they were just empty poles, but the bear managed to crush them anyway.

Then it got worse! My husband discovered the bear had broken in through the fence and ripped out some of the boards. He wasn’t too happy about that, and now has a project, once it stops raining. We have already had to rebuild our fences more than once due to nocturnal ursine raids.

Bears are more of a problem all the time in these parts, and we’re right on the edge of a large green space with a creek running through it (SALMON!). We try to live in harmony with nature, but if it isn’t bears it’s raccoons or squirrels. Coyote sightings are relatively rare, but you’re more likely to hear them getting together at night for a group howl. Added to the weird bassoon-notes of barred owls, it makes for some hair-raising night noise.

But the bears are the worst invaders, though you can’t blame them for needing to eat constantly to maintain their massive bulk. People are being told to take all their bird feeders down (and I never leave the seed trays out overnight), and even barbecues have to be put in the garage, because the smell of cold grease is attracting them and they can literally rip a barbecue apart.

Being one who likes to win an argument, even with Nature, I want to try a new kind of pole that I can actually take down at night. I think Bill wishes I would just stop spending so much time and $$ on things that always get destroyed. But I am not willing to give up yet. It’s my worst trait.

Back Yard Bear: THE REVENGE!
The bear who smashed down my 3 birdfeeder poles will have a harder time pushing this one over, I hope! I always take all the feeders inside at night, but empty poles are no challenge for a beast who can easily snap a metal pole in two.

One hair-raising back yard bear story comes to mind: we used to have windowpane-mounted feeders which were great for seeing the birds close-up. Then in the middle of the night, we heard a pound-pound-pound and a CRASH. Running downstairs, we saw a large black bear standing on its hind legs at the window, swatting at the glass. We realized it would only take one paw-swipe to break the glass, and then we’d have 200 pounds of bear wandering around in our living room.

We managed to scare it away (after several tries), but the window feeders had to be taken down permanently. I thought the poles would be bear-proof, but apparently there’s no such thing. And squirrels are already trying to scale the new one, or parachuting down from the huge cedar tree in the back yard. The birds always come back, and I love them, but I can’t even add up how much time, energy and $$ I’ve spent on equipment over the past 10 years or so. I am hoping the fact I can partially dismantle the new pole at night will make a difference. But who knows. So the saga of me versus the I-don’t-care-bear continues.

(NOTE: this is actually two Facebook posts I copied and pasted. I'm just not up to blogging  a lot lately, since I am still hacking my way through the jungle of what is so delicately called "health issues". I do wonder sometimes if I am ever going to come out of this perilous woods. I feel all right, actually almost back to normal, but still have to have tests, and more tests, and lab work, and maybe even two more specialists on the other side of the lower mainland. It SUCKS and I want it to be over!)

Donald and the "fat shots": taking a shot?

DIRECT QUOTE from Donald Trump on health care and prescription drugs:

"I'll tell you a story, a friend of mine who's a business man, very very very tough guy, most of you would have heard of him, highly neurotic, brilliant businessman, seriously overweight, and he takes the fat, the fat shot, and he called me up and he said, uhhhhhh, President, he calls me President, he used to call me Donald, so that's nice respect, but he's a rough guy, smart guy, very successful, very rich, I wouldn't even know how we would know this, could I ask you a question? I'm in London, and I just paid for this damn fat drug I take, I said it's not working. He said (long pause) I just paid $88, in New York I paid $1300, what the hell is going on? He said I checked and it's the same box, made in the same plant, by the same company, the identical pill (sic), a businessman, but he's not familiar with this crazy situation that we have, but (long pause) but he was stunned, but it was just one of those stories, I brought it up with the drug companies, represented by somebody who's very very smart, good person too, and we argued about it for about half hour, and finally he just said, because they can't justify it. He just said look (long pause, then in husky voice), look, you got me. You got me. I can no longer justify, they've been justifying this crap. Years, they said oh, it's research and development" (he rambled on incoherently for another five minutes, but you get the idea. Whoever his "friend" is, does he really want to be identified with "fat shots"?)

The Saga of Abbie, the Corset Queen

                                

NOTE: I dredged this up from somewhere, and it's probably the longest post I've ever made, but the photos are simply superb, so here it is again. A very cute Victorian period poem with glorious illustrations Enjoy! 

The Saga of Abbie 

Who Is Happy And Well And Corsetted To The Limit 

by Anonymous

1 In my hourglass corset I'm laced every day,
My little wasp waist is shrinking away.
The stays squeeze me inwards so small and so nice,
In a pattern of lacing that grips like a vice.

2 When I was a child I could never understand

Why the shape of my mother was stately and grand,

But early one morning I once chanced to see

How Dad laced her corsets as tight as could be.

3 Dad said to Mama, "You're not tightened yet",

And he pulled till his forehead was glistening with sweat,

While Mother said gaspingly, "Close them you must",

While breathing so fast in her trembling bust.

4 At last Dad succeeded, the laces were tied,

An Ma was so slender, I ran to her side,

My eyes big with wonder, my mouth wide agape

As I longingly gazed at her beautiful shape.

5"O Mother, o Mother," I gasped out of plea,

"O when can I have a wasp waist for me?

A real lady's corset, all lace-trimmed and blue.

I so want to be beautiful, just like you".

6 Mother smiled as she held smelling salts to her nose,

Then she said "Ask your Daddy", and pulled on her hose,

But Daddy demurred, "We need more time to think",

But Mum whispered, "Let her", and tipped him a wink.

7 That night Mother said as we sat round the fire,

"Is a nice waspy waist what you really desire?"

"O yes, Mummy, yes. Do let it be soon".

But suddenly Mummy fell down in a swoon.

    

8 Up jumped my Daddy and went to the drawer

And took out the scissors (I'm sure that he swore)

To cut Mummy's laces. She feebly gasped,

"No, don't cut the lace", as her waistline she clasped.

9 It did not take long for my Mum to recover,

While Dad fussed around like an overwrought lover.

He said, "Listen, Abbie, now I'm warning you

That's what tight-lacing will usually do".

10 I replied, "So I faint, but I truly don't care,

I want a wasp waist like my Mummy, so there.

O, please Mummy do try dear Dad to persuade,

To let me be corsetted. Please get one made".

11 Daddy hummed and he hawd, "So that's what you say,

You're just like your Mother; she gets her own way.

If that is the garment you're dying to wear,

Tomorrow we'll go to the corsetière".

12 My anticipation was loaded with bliss,

I rewarded them both with a hug and a kiss.

That night in my bed as in slumber I curled,

I dreamt I'd the tiniest waist in the world.

13 We went the next day to the corsetières.

And inside the shop she displayed all her wares.

So graceful the shapes of the corsets and stays,

I stood there enchanted, my eyes all a-glaze.

14 She measured me up, she measured me down,

She looked through her pince-nez, her brow in a frown.

"A wasp waisted corset? We have just the thing

To make you a lady with a waist like a ring".

15 They took me upstairs, I was in such haste,

The corset was clasped round my tender young waist.

"Now come to the mirror and see with your eyes

Your waist whittled down to its tiniest size".

16 I looked in the mirror, my heart was so full,

And then on the laces I started to pull.

I wanted the tightness, so comfy to savour;

My parents had done me the loveliest favour.

17 "Do you think you can manage to lace in yourself?"

Asked Mother. In answer I grinned like an elf.

"I love the sensation", I tugged hard with zest

Till my arms ached again and I took a short rest.

18 "How do you feel?" asked the corsetière,

"It's a lovely sensation", I had to declare.

"I want to be smaller, with bosom up thrust,

And the smaller the waist the larger the bust".

19 Then mother said, "Let me start pulling you in".

"Your arms are not strong enough for you to win".

So taking the laces she started to tug;

Oh, the sheer joy of that beautiful hug.

20 "Please pull. O please pull my little waist in,

I want to be tiny, delightfully thin".

I felt the desire to endure like a saint,

But I fell to the floor in a rapturous faint.

21 I opened my eyes, and I smiled with delight.

There, I'd had my first faint in my corset so tight.

I rose to my feet and I asked, "Where's my corset?"

Mother said, "It is here, but this time don't force it".

22 "Please Mummy replace it and wrap it round me,

A wasp-waisted lady I'm dying to be.

I'm no longer a child, I'm a woman, so there,

And when I get home please put up my hair".

23 Once more in my corset, the corsetière

Pulled slowly the laces with consummate care.

"I'll not close the corset this time", she averred,

"We don't want a faint like the last", she observed.

24 Gently she pulled the laces along,

My waist became small in the corset so strong.

The stays, readjusted less tight than before,

Were fastened, but open an inch or more.

25 Across at the mirror I gazed with awe;

I stared, and could hardly believe what I saw.

My waist was a stem, a beautiful figure,

My chest looked and felt extended and bigger.

26 I saw my breast heave I was breathing so fast,

But I had an hour-glass waistline at last;

And later as Mum and I walked down the street,

We were conscious of pride in our figures so neat.

27 Then back at home the day was to face,

With a corset so tight that I could not unlace.

At lunchtime I ate up as much as the rest,

And felt that my dinner was stuck in my chest.

28 "Don't worry", said Mum at the end of the meal,

"It's only a transient discomfort you feel;

It will all pass with patience and rest,

And in time you will tackle your eating with zest".

29 I patiently got trough the rest of the day;

My corsets felt tighter, but I felt so gay,

And upwards and downwards I savoured the touch

Of the tapering body I wanted so much.

30 My waist is reduced to an eighteen inch span,

A sight for the eyes of susceptible Man.

Be it never so tight I'll endure the squeeze,

For a lady must ever appear at her ease.

31 One lovely night I went out to a dance.

My favourite swain I sought to entrance.

A corset that measured half an inch less

I wore with patience under my dress.

32 Then David my boy-friend said, as he went past,

"Our Abbie's a grown up young lady at last",

And in the first dance, he held my hand tight,

And asked "How many dances can you spare tonight?"

33 In no time at all my dance card was filled.

This night was my night, and how I was thrilled;

And as we whirled round in the gaslight so shady

I was no more a child but a regular lady.

34 My little wasp waist felt as solid as wood,

I bravely endured it as much as I could.

The joy and excitement helped me to forget it,

A wasp waist is mine, I'll never regret it.

35 And as we went round in a lighthearted whirl,

David said softly, "You beautiful Girl".

I gently responded without any haste

And daringly guided his hand round my waist.

36 And then on the lawn outside the dance floor

He placed his two hands round my waistline once more.

We kissed and we kissed, and he held me so tight,

I very near fainted with tightness that night.

37 My next tiny corset reduced by an inch

To sixteen and a half, a regular pinch.

I'm wearing the corset, awake or asleep,

My hour-glass stem I'm determined to keep.

38 Now that I'm tight in my corsets all day,

I sometimes feel consciousness fading away.

The pain and discomfort deny me my peace,

But nothing will urge me my stays to release.

39 It's my firm intention with might and main

A sixteen inch corset my size to attain.

Said Mum, "It will cost you devotion and tears

If you want a waist measure the same as your years".

40 The new corset came and was opened in haste,

A garment in elegant beauty and taste.

A sixteen inch corset with lace white and blue

To make my desire to be smaller come true.

41 "Please, Mummy, come help me the corset to try".

"You'd better ask Daddy, he's stronger than I".

So up in the bedroom, the corset was placed

Around my slim body prepared to be laced.

42 As Daddy pulled only gently at first

I felt that my up swelling bosom would burst.

The tightening in was an exquisite thrill

As I put all my trust in his strength and my will.

43 Daddy tugged on the lace until he perspired,

And the corset was closed as I had desired.

Across to the mirror I tottered to see

My new shape reflected; oh could that be me?

44 Hips flared into curves so majestic and sweet,

My chest was so large I could not see my feet.

My waist was a sensuous curve of blue,

A tight little thread that united the two.

45 As I went to the door, I knew I was pale,

But I entered the room like a ship in full sail,

My chest, as I walked swayed from side to side

And Mummy and Daddy surveyed me with pride.

46 That night in my bed, so determined was I

To sleep in my corset I wanted to try;

But try as I might, I started to weep,

For the merciless corset would not let me sleep.

47 By midnight I just couldn't stand any more,

And I tiptoed downstairs past Mum's and Dad's door,

And there on the sideboard, because it was handy,

I took a large drop of Napoleon brandy.

48 The tot was so strong, so I staggered to bed,

I fell on the mattress and lay down my head;

But sleep was denied and just would not come,

And by four in the morning my tummy was numb.

49 To breakfast I went all tired and teary,

My wasp waist had left me weepy and weary.

Said Mother, "In time you'll not feel the pinch.

Come up and I'll let it out just half an inch".

50 The pain and discomfort transcended belief,

I was grateful to Mum for providing relief.

But I was resolved that come what may,

My stays would be closed by the end of the day.

51 To hold and keep your waist small and indented

Expansion by night must be firmly prevented.

Your corsets by night will your figure be moulding,

A seductive wasp waist is an asset worth holding.

52 When I took off my stays a new pleasure I found,

Without their support I tottered around;

My uncorsetted waist was fragile and frail,

My top half would give way like a tree in a gale.

53 On opposite walls two mirrors I've placed,

So I can admire the back of my waist.

Minus my stays, of support I'm bereft,

And in rapturous pleasure I sway right and left.

54 I see in my mirror my outstanding chest,

While my heart is a-fluttering inside my breast.

A sigh of content comes up to my lips

As my burgeoning breast overhangs my hips.

55 My sixteen inch waist I now carry with ease,

My waist has adapted itself to the squeeze.

I thought I was down to my limit in size,

But the Man of My Heart thought otherwise.

56 Now Raymond my husband you must understand

Loves to caress my waist with his hand.

He said, "Now your waist is down to this size,

A waist like your neck would bedazzle my eyes".

57 'Twas the voice of the charmer, and I as his wife

Will go to extreme for the man in my life.

To be much smaller my waist must be pressed;

I'll make him so happy, I'll give of my best.

58 A corset of half an inch smaller was brought,

A body of fifteen and a half inches taut.

That evening my husband requested to lace,

And into his hands the new corset I place.

59 "Just let me relax for a moment", I said,

You can lace me in tight as I lay on the bed".

My spouse took the laces all set to begin,

And slowly but firmly he pulled my waist in.

60 He tugged at the cords till I asked him to rest,

To close the new corset would be a big test.

With only one inch left apart to defeat,

I arose with his help, and I swayed on my feet.

61 I found if I went on my hands and my knees

He could pull in my waist with more expertise;

The flesh fell away and my body felt lightened

As Raymond pulled hard and the corset was tightened.

62 He pulled and he tugged till the corset's constraint

Became far too much, and I felt a fresh faint.

With Raymond I desired no quarrel or friction,

But my waist was protesting against its restriction.

63 A last final heave and Raymond was able

To tie up the laces as taut as a cable.

He tenderly helped me to stand on my feet,

As he clasped me around his fingers could meet.

64 I hugged him and kissed him in mounting passion

My slenderness made me exult in my fashion.

Connubial bliss we have found every time,

Is enhanced by a corset, and truly sublime.

65 "I'll never remove my corset", I said,

"Until it has moulded my waist to a thread;

It shall squeeze me and train me, that's my resolution,

I'll take it off only for regular ablution".

66 Raymond's delight and encouragement worked.

From lacing my corsets my man never shirked;

And several weeks later without any haste

Another proud inch was removed from my waist.

67 At fourteen and a half my waist was my pride,

The pain and discomfort I took in my stride.

Though I sometimes have fainted because of the pinch

I'll not ease the lacing, not even an inch.

68 My hips and my bust were a sight to be seen,

My waist was a tiny tight tube in between;

Whenever I ventured alone in the street

I felt pride in the sound of following feet.

69 My husband, enraptured, was bursting with pride

At the way people stared when we walked side by side,

And often young ladies bedizened in style,

Asked, "How do you stand it and still keep a smile?"

70 If Ray wanted something, he put on the charm;

His speech became like silver while stroking my arm,

He murmured such love, so caressing his voice,

"Please, please lace in smaller", he gave me no choice.

71 I tried to demur, even put up defiance,

My smooth-tongued charmer induced my compliance.
I had to admit as he gave me a hug,
Tight-lacing had captured me, just like a drug.

72 He gave me a corset so tiny to don.

A fourteen inch body, Could I get it on?

As he pulled came Desire, to be smaller yet.

I will be fourteen inches without a regret.

73 The corset went in with a pitiless grip,

I said, "Hold the laces, don't let them slip".

Ray answered, "I'll close it by hook or by crook.

Ah, I've done it. Now go to the mirror and look".

74 "Hold me up. Raymond, darling, my knees feel so weak",

He did so, I leaned with my head to his cheek.

My waist was compressed in its captive confinement

In superlative style and rounded refinement.

75 My mirror I love, for to see myself there

With a waist like a wasp is an ecstasy rare.

There I can admire my middle so frail,

My breathing so rapid, my features so pale.

76 He held me so tight as he stood by my side,

He knew that my knees were about to subside.

My small strangled waist could be crushed in no more,

I felt my knees give and I sank to the floor.

77 A few moments later I roused with a sneeze,

For Ray had pushed my head down to my knees.

His murmuring words were of love and of praise,

But all I could say was, "Don't loosen my stays".

78 "Are you sure you can stand it", asked he.

I answered, "That only depends upon me.

I am quite determined the tightness to bear,

And I'll sleep trough the night in my corset, I swear".

79 I slowly awoke as the dawn came to creep,

And below my wasp waist my hips were asleep.

As Ray pressed my tummy with finger and thumb,

I had lost all feeling, my muscles were numb.

80 There are many sensations tight-lacing bestows,

There's a feeling of weakness from hips down to toes.

When walking your chest sways from side to side

And your waist gives way weakly if you take a big stride.

81 These lovely sensations when felt in good measure

Will give the tight-lacer a world full of pleasure.

All men will admire your delicate sway,

The envy of women will make you feel gay.

82 In spite of the pain and discomfort I felt,

I wished that my flesh could be ordered to melt.

Now Raymond has said that he'd love me to wear,

A thirteen inch corset like Madame Polaire.

83 He showed me Polaire in a corset of lace,

With an hour-glass form of perfection and grace.

"That's only a picture, it may be quite true,

But I'll have a REAL thirteen inch waist for you".

84 I wanted so much my wasp waist to maintain,

But could I endure being smaller again.

The drug of desire to be tinier still,

Has conquered my body and strengthened my will.

85 The promise of gaining a torso so trim,

To be really admired in my figure so slim

Was almost too much, I chafed at delay;

But the thirteen inch corset arrived the next day.

86 The corset was lovely, I just had to smile,

I held the stay up to admire it awhile.

"Don't let us hurry", I ventured to say,

"Enjoyment is better for a little delay".

87 Though Ray was impatient, "All right", he agreed,

"To see you laced in is a pleasure indeed.

Whilst I don't mind a little suspense,

My desire for your lovely wasp waist is intense".

88 With arms around each other we stood tightly clasped,

I could feel my heart thumping; "Please lace me", I gasped,

With a movement of joy and in trembling haste

He fitted the corset around my waist.

89 "Please place it on loosely at first", I began,

"My shape in the mirror I'd like to scan,

My fifty four inches of bust to admire,

I think my new corset can lift it up higher".

90 "I'm waiting no longer", at last he declared,

"I'm lacing you in, or will you be scared?"

I smiled at him fondly and said, "Let's begin",

And in tense excitement he was lacing me in.

91 He pulled on the laces quite gently at first,

Then tighter, still tighter, I was ready to burst.

The hold of the corset was gripping at length

As firmly he pulled with all his strength.

92 My waist in its corset was much tighter now,

I wanted it closed no matter how.

My tight little waist was protesting amain

As Raymond continued to tug once again.

93 "Don't stop, please go on," Ray responded with vigour,

While I held my breath and endured the rigor.

As Ray on the laces his finger did press,

I heard him ejaculate one word, "Success".

94 The corset was closed, I was smaller still,

My thirteen inch waist was martyring thrill.

Swaying I went to the mirror to see

My waist microscopic; oh could that be me?

95 I clasped my hands round it as tight as I could,

My waist felt as hard as a column of wood.

My fingers and thumbs almost touched front and back.

How fragile it looked, but I felt on the rack.

96 I walked up and down with unsteady stride,

Ray holding my arm as he paced by my side

My waist was protesting, I swayed like a tree,

Enjoying the weakness that came over me.

97 Ray gave me some brandy, I took it in sips.

I rested my hands of the shelf of my hips.

The cone of my bust emerged like a flower,

I could gaze at my figure for hour after hour.

98 My thirteen inch waist by now is the norm,

My waist has surrendered, I keep it in form.

My body's resistance to corsets has gone.

No more do I tight-lace, I put corsets on.

99 The envy of women, the praise from the men

Would urge me to tight-lace all over again.

So if you desire to be praised for your taste,

Wear an unyielding corset and sport a WASP WAIST.

100 My upper part sways with each step as I stride,

My burgeoning bosom I carry with pride.

The ground I can only see eight feet ahead

In my six-inch heel shoes as I daintily tread.

101 The span of my waist is a minuscule measure,

A wee link my husband adores like a treasure.

I love my wasp waist, I'm the happiest wife,

With a waist like a stem I will wear all my life.