Travels Through The Lens

A Nibble of the Big Apple, January 2008

2008-01-13T22:34:00.000-06:00

View of the Chrysler Building from my hotel room:

Sights in Central Park:

Favorite things seen at the Met:

Things seen after the Met:

Dallas Zoo July 2007

2007-07-08T14:18:00.000-05:00

Cactus League Spring Training 2007

2007-03-25T11:36:00.000-05:00

I have vowed to be more diligent in promptly posting from my trips . . . so here I am, posting from Scottsdale, Arizona, where is am comfortably ensconced in a cool and lovely hotel room with a bright bougainvillea-dotted-dotted view of the pool. This year's spring training visit has, thus far, been even better than last year's . . . perhaps due to more temperate weather (70's and 80's during the day, and no rain yet--knock on wood), lack of speeding tickets (so far as I know--I may again receive some in the mail when I return home) and the fun baseball-loving company of several comrades from bleedcubbieblue.com.

My hotel is located near Camelback Mountain:

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As the inhabitant of a very flat part of Texas, I find the presence of such an imposing mountain both comforting and somewhat cartoon-like.

The traffic to Ho Ho Kam on Friday afternoon was surprisingly heavy, so I entertained myself by looking at the stunning sky:

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I was grateful when I finally found myself settled into the left field lawn area, with this remarkably good view:

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Here are the team lineups for you:

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I was able to photograph a few players during the game . . .

like Derrek Lee:

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and Matt Murton after a good play:

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and Alfonso Soriano, with the bullpen behind him:

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Zambrano started the game and appears fully ready for the season to begin:

Kerry Wood had a nice relief appearance:

He looks as fit and trim as the youth who threw a 20-strikeout game:

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Despite the action on the field . . .

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. . . a small Cubs fan slept nearby:

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He apparently feels so confident that the Cubs' offseason moves will make a difference that he doesn't need to nervously watch a spring training game with the rest of us. Perhaps he was right, as the Cubs won handily, 6-2.

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Friday night brought a lovely dinner out at Don and Charlie's, one of my favorite baseball haunts in Scottsdale. I felt very lucky to see one of the better-known Cubs fans, George Will, who was also dining there. Or rather, he was waiting to dine, as apparently even George Will must wait his turn at Don and Charlie's unless he has a reservation.

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Saturday's game was Cubs v. Giants (again), this time at the Giants' park in Scottsdale Stadium. One's first sight of a park like this can take the breath away momentarily:

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I arrived earlier for this game and was able to catch the Cubs during the last part of their warmup. Derrek Lee was taking some throws at first:

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Here I captured Lou Piniella's watchful eye without even realizing it at the time:

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The national anthem brought fans and players alike to their feet:

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We sat on the left-center field lawn for this game, right next to the Giants' bullpen. Watching Barry Zito, the Giants' starting pitcher, warm up was a special treat. Just before this picture was taken, Zito was sitting on the nearby stool with his head in his hands, seemingly willing himself to pitch well:

And here he is in action:

Soriano did well at handling an obnoxious Giants-fan heckler, though here he appears to be saying, "What, me?":

Floyd, in right field, was lucky enough not to have to run very much:

Watching the ball go by . . .

It was a good game for the Cubs, with a solid outing by pitcher Wade Miller (who struck Barry Bonds out twice!) and a 3-2 win that wasn't even that close, until a late-in-the-game 2-run homer by the Giants' Mark Sweeney.

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Saturday night's dinner was a real treat. Al of BleedCubbieBlue.com was kind enough to include a few of us readers in his dinner at Kona Grill with Bruce Miles, Cubs beat writer for the Daily Herald. We were able to coax Bruce, a humble guy who quietly but devotedly loves the game of baseball, into sharing with us a few stories from his years of covering the game. It was a really special evening and we appreciated his graciousness in allowing us a peek into what we all believe is a truly charmed way to make a living.

That's all so far, folks . . . but I will be updating this post with a few more pictures from these games, as well as photos from the remainder of the trip. However, I'm off to the ballpark now. Have a great rest of your Sunday!

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Sunday's game was at Ho Ho Kam Park, against the Angels. Jessica of BCB Fame was there with this charming artifact:

We saw another relief appearance by Woody, but he did not look strong and we later learned that at least in this instance, appearances were not deceiving:

But I did enjoy testing the shutter speed of my camera, as you see above. Woody tried to entertain himself by picking off a runner:

But we could not forget that Woody appeared a shadow of his former self, both physically and skill-wise:

There was chatting at third base:

And a kid with a faux mohawk:

I am always intrigued when I see a sidearm pitcher:

And this instance was no different.

Sadly, the Cubs lost, 3-2, marring their perfect record during my 4-game visit to Spring Training.

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Monday came all too quickly, marking my last day at Spring Training with the Cubs. Today they would play the Angels again, this time at Diablo Stadium in Tempe:

I think this may be my favorite park of the three I have visited in the Cactus League, though I cannot exactly put my finger on the reason. It may be that it is so cozy (seating only around 9,000, as opposed to Ho Ho Kam, which seats around 12,000) . . . you can't beat the feeling of intimacy that comes from being so close to the field. Speaking of that, we enjoyed really great seats at this game, thanks to Jessica, who had procured two extra seats that were spitting distance from the Cubs' dugout. I think you'll see the difference in my photographs from this game as a result.

Here is the pregame stretching and chatting:

Ryan Theriot, looking sharp as always:

As did Rocky Cherry:

The Anthem . . . during which the sun highlighted how very, very red Matt Murton's hair is:

Mike Quade, ready for the game to begin:

Jason Marquis arrives:

Marquis did not take long to hit his stride:

Those are two different pictures, by the way--notice how his expression is identical in each?

Ronnie Cedeno runs for the dugout:

Alfonso Soriano comes in from the field:

As does Jacques Jones:

In the Cubs' turn at bat, Murton hits:

If Ryan Theriot keeps playing like this, they will know how to spell his name:

Quade and Blanco consult:

The team appears to have solid camaraderie . . .

. . . and they all seem to be looking to the coaches for actual, well, coaching--so unlike last year!

Theriot moves along the bases, finding time to be social:

Lou Piniella is deep in thought:

and then goes to the bullpen for Neal Cotts, who my friend Chris the White Sox fan says earned extra time on their team due solely to his smoking good looks:

It's possible.

Cotts soon gives way to Rocky Cherry:

And Derrek Lee gets a chance to run:

Here's how the third base line looked from our seats:

One of the benefits of our seats was the ability to take a quick peek into the dugout. Notice something odd here?

Yes, that is Matt Murton, chatting with the little bat boys . . . could he be nicer? The rest of the dugout crowd looks to be at peace:

Aramis Ramirez looks especially trim this year . . .

he surprised us by pulling up his pants in Soriano-style, which makes him look even taller and thinner:

As the team looks on . . .

. . . Scott Eyre finishes it out:

The game was duly recorded by a Meticulous Scorekeeper Extraordinaire:

And the end result was a good one, with the Cubs winning 8-7 behind the strength of winning pitcher Rocky Cherry.

This set of young men may have a huge impact on the season--we shall see:

Lou Piniella meets with the press gaggle, including Carrie Muskat (in orange shirt, behind Lou), Bruce Miles of the Daily Herald (in striped shirt, with faded red hat) and Paul Sullivan of the Sun-Times (whose arm is showing at the far right of the photo):

and here are Your Chicago Cubs:

That's all for this year's Spring Training, folks. Hope you enjoyed the pics, and that you, too, will make it to sunny Arizona next year to join in the fun!

NYC in July: Day Two--Brooklyn

2006-07-15T08:57:00.000-05:00

So, I grabbed a cafe latte and a bagel, then caught a train to Brooklyn. Here is what Joe, the excellent photographer whose work can be seen at Joe's NYC, told me about DUMBO:

Well one of my favorite spots is DUMBO, the area between the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges which has a couple of new waterfront parks, the Best Pizza in NYC (Patsy's), some galleries, the incredible JacquesTorres chocolate boutique, and lots more. But best of all, the areaunder the bridges is still undeveloped, ragged, and beautiful. Take theA to and walk toward the water or the F to York and likewise.

I followed his lead and emerged from the train at York and Jay Streets, between the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges. The area is still very much under construction, providing for many interesting sights, including construction pictures like this one:

and this one:

I was transfixed at the sight of this mystical-looking Brooklyn Bridge:

Likewise, I appreciated the Manhattan Bridge peeping over the buildings:

These are some other views of that bridge that I liked:

Several interesting shops reside between the train station and the water. The first was a Chinese antiquities shop where they have these interesting wall hangings:

I especially liked the darker brown one on the right and am considering purchasing something like that for my office. I found myself inexplicably entranced by this Chairman Mao clock, complete with waving arms of the people, especially after the owner told me the story of Chairman Mao and the guy on the right side of the clock:

I am now the proud owner of the clock. A cool Danish furniture store caught my attention as well. They have interesting displays like this one:

I forged ahead to the water, finding that at first it could only be viewed through chain link fence or from the buildings at the waterfront. How great would it be to have an office here?

But then I found a little surprise. Who knew that Brooklyn has a beach facing Manhattan? Here it is:

I sat on the adjacent pile of rocks for a while and thought deep thoughts while admiring the details surrounding me:

Artists can be found in the lovely park that extends beyond the beach:

This artist gave me permission to take his photograph:

The walking path winds through the park and back to the water:

There is also a beachfront with small rocks, being enjoyed by humans and birds alike:

What is it that makes every little boy instinctively want to throw the small rocks into the water?

The bridges loom large over the park, where many people were chatting on this Saturday morning:

This park even has a charming boardwalk:

I found these doors, found in the building anchoring the Brooklyn Bridge, really interesting and beautiful:

I reluctantly left the relaxed and gracious park and wandered the Dumbo neighborhood for a little while. I could picture myself living in this apartment:

I found a nice urban grocery store, complete with a corner table at which one could sip lemonade and read the paper while watching the world walk by:

While sitting there, my friend Jay and I made plans to meet up in Madison Square Park, where he was scheduled to buy lunch for a friend's nephew. So I jumped back on the train, which turned out to be a blue train running on the orange train's route, leading to me criss-crossing the city for way too long before finally climbing out of the subway and catching a taxi to our meeting place. I'll write more about that next!

NYC in July: Day One

2006-07-14T19:09:00.000-05:00

I arrived at Newark airport at 10:30 a.m. on a Friday and thought to myself that this is the perfect time to arrive in New York--the week's busy-ness is still in the air, but there is also a palpable anticipation of the weekend. I caught a cab and immediately liked my cab driver, a very tall and ruggedly handsome guy from Haiti. Just as we were beginning to chat, he received a call on his cell phone and I was treated to an animated conversation between him and his mother. Actually, the conversation was mostly on her end, as I heard a whole lot of nothing, other than him saying something like "maman" while nodding vigorously. He explained to me sheepishly after hanging up that he was supposed to pick up his mother to take her shoe shopping the other day, but couldn't make it, and that she was very eager for him to fulfill the shoe-shopping promise. We continued a pleasant ride into the city with talk of baseball and football and other things, like the progression of Haitian slaves brought to this country via Louisiana. I have often wondered what we could do to change this country if we harnessed the collective wisdom of the country's cab drivers.

Before I knew it, we arrived at our destination, the Washington Square Hotel:

I had never stayed here before, but it is in the middle of the Greenwich Village/Soho area that I know and love so well, is very convenient to the subway and the price is right. Sadly, I was not able to check in early, as my room was not yet ready. So I checked my bag and trotted across the street to Washington Square Park, where I conducted business with a client via cell phone for the next 30 minutes or so. Business concluded and feeling hungry, I began looking for the Sullivan Street pizza place recommended by my friend Jay, when I realized I was really craving the salmon and feta omelette found at my favorite French cafe. Washington Square is as quaint as always:

On my way out of the park, I saw this sign at a church across the street:

I thought I was finished with organized religion, but I would like to know more about a church that would post this sign.

I found the street where my favorite cafe is located, and stumbled upon this unexpected sight:

Yes, it was a boulle tournament in honor of Bastille Day! The sights and sounds were wonderful:

As the pictures may reflect, it was a magical scene, revealing of the special nature of New York City. I reluctantly tore myself away and found my cafe just as I left it:

After a deliciously lingering lunch, I strolled back to the hotel and found I was able to check in. The room was just as I expected it--small and cute. I was able to see the park by peering out one of the small windows in the bedroom part of my room. The window air conditioning unit was blasting away, making the place particularly comfortable on this warm day. After another call with a client, I fell into a deep slumber, lulled into dreamlessness by the sound of the Cubs' announcers. I planned to wake up at 6 p.m. so as to be able to attend the Yankees/White Sox game, but I returned to sleep immediately after fielding my wakeup call and did not wake again until after midnight. I left my room around 2:30 a.m., and realized that New York is the kind of place where one can still find a good slice at that hour. After that, I stopped by a favorite bar for a glass of wine. On the way back to the hotel, I noticed a few guitar players at work under the Arch in Washington Square Park. I stopped to listen, leaning up against the base of the arch with a few others who were not yet ready to call it a night. The music changed from the delightful to the surreal, as did the conversation: the music ended with a Pink Floyd singalong and the conversation with a fellow listener with an offer of pot and/or sex. And at that point, I called it a night (alone).

My Saturday morning was spent in Brooklyn, a place I have never visited but always wanted to see. This is one of the first sights I saw as I followed the kind and thoughtful suggestions of Joe, the amazing photographer from Joe's NYC:

I'll write more soon about the other sights I saw in Brooklyn . . .

San Diego in May . . . Oui, Oui!

2006-05-12T20:58:00.000-05:00

24 Hours in Chicago on a Gorgeous Spring Day

2006-04-09T08:09:00.000-05:00

For once, I thought I would write about a trip before the calendar flips on my travel month . . . so here is the tale of my 24-hour Sunday trip to Chicago!*

The trip began with a quick trip to my office (at 5:00 a.m.) so that I could request a postponement of my Monday jury service. (Feels strange--I am not usually up at this hour on weekdays, much less on a Sunday morning!) One can postpone jury service online, but in my haste to escape the office on Friday night immediately after finishing my deposition, I forgot to bring the notice home with me, and one needs the notice to postpone. So I ran up, logged in and requested the postponement on the County web site, due to out of town travel. Mission accomplished!

Off to the airport for my 6:45 a.m. flight. No need to check baggage--I learned that all it takes is a 24-hour trip to help me confine my packing to carryon luggage. Pondered purchasing some Starbucks, but convinced myself I would sleep on the plane. Too excited to sleep, I read for a bit, worked on writing about my Arizona trip for a bit and thought about what I wanted to do in Chicago for a bit.

Arrived at Midway, felt too lazy and sleepy to tackle the CTA train into the city. Caught a taxi ride; the radio was blaring what sounded like a loud and heated Arabic talk show program when I settled in while the driver placed my bag in the trunk. I arrived at the hotel and was not surprised to find that they were full and that I would not be able to check in early. So this is all you can see of the hotel for now:

I trotted over to the nearby Starbucks and settled in for coffee, a bagel and the Sunday paper. I felt the vibration of the passing L train through the wooden floorboards under my feet. There was also good eavesdropping to be had, in the form of a group of three men and a woman who seemed to be golf partners, but I couldn't be sure; there was no other clear connection among them. By the time I was finished, I decided I did not want to lug my laptop bag on my wanderings for the day, so I returned to the hotel, checked it with my other bag, and walked just around the corner (how handy!) to the L stop at Clark and Division.

Took the train south, and took some pics along the way. This one is of the guy and girl who were startlingly identical to Cher and her gay shopping boyfriend in the movie Clueless:

I loved listening to them! When I switched trains, a guy was providing soothing musical stylings on the platform. I have a clearer photo of him, but liked this one best:

One connection and a pleasant and vigorous 1-mile walk later, I was at the Maxwell Street Market at Canal and Roosevelt (just south of downtown Chicago, sandwiched between some construction sites and the University of Illinois--Chicago campus). Here is a sculpture on the UIC campus:

I was not alone--people came out in droves for the cheap shopping and beautiful weather. The place was lighter on antiques than I had hoped, but full of culture and atmosphere, as these photos show:

It was a multicultural place:

With interesting things for purchase:

Balloons for the kids:

And music for all:

Plenty of food:

Bruce Lee was there:

And an altar:

And a cow:

And "Smath":

I followed the crowds to the end of the street:

There I saw this cool band:

and this cool crowd:

Considered sitting on this couch, but didn't:

I reluctantly tore myself away because I was getting hungry and had my heart set on Gino's East Pizza for a late lunch. I sat down for a brief rest, finding a nice perch on a railroad tie flowerbed border. I saw these Navy men approaching and briefly felt a swell of patriotism:

Then I realized that they were probably headed to the market in their snappy uniforms to recruit young Hispanic men to fight in the Shrub's War Based On A Lie. This made me mad and sad and I saw them completely differently as they departed:

On the way back to the train, I took these photos:

The Halsted L platform was full of interesting things, like these guys exchanging directions:

and this sign:

and the least private urinal ever, fully in view from the L platform:

I emerged at the Brown Line's Chicago stop and it was familiar to me. This time, the paper shop I love was actually open, and I popped in for a quick but longing look at their wares:

Just a few blocks away, Gino's East was refreshingly uncrowded and it didn't take long to be seated and get a nice glass of wine:

Here is the view from my table:

(You will note that a Gino's hallmark is their willingness to let customers write all over the place.) This is probably one of my favorite seats I have had in the place, which is not the "original" Gino's, but a tourist-sized one that replaced that shabby, dark and cave-like environment several years ago. You'll see in the photo about a large photograph of the original Gino's. Gino's has some interesting memorabilia as well:

There was an odd exchange with my waiter, in which I asked if he was surprised to see me, thinking that he had a startled look when he rounded the corner to my booth. He replied, "No, I knew you were here. I just didn't expect you to be so happy," to which I responded, "I can tone it down if you like" (jokingly). I'm not sure he got the joke. On another note, as I waited for my pizza, I wondered if there was some super-secret back room, because lots of grunge-hip dressed people were led past my table, seemingly into the netherlands of the restaurant.

Sadly, it takes 45 minutes for one's deep dish pizza to be prepared, but it is well worth the wait and it makes one appreciate the meal all the more:

After this delightful gourmet experience, I headed back to my hotel, where I wanted to check in, get settled and take a nap before the Cubs' night game. I was pleasantly surprised by the cuteness of my room, which was so notable that it made up for the smallness of the place (which was to be expected, given its super-reasonable price):

Before long, I was in dreamland, dreaming of a Cubs sweep of the Cardinals:

Excited about the game, I awoke just over an hour later, took the short walk to the L and joined the throngs on the Red Line train headed to Wrigley. Thanks to daylight savings time, there was still lots of sun to be had and Wrigley was looking quite beautiful after her winter bleacher makeover:

Here are some fans peering through the new "knothole" view of the park from the sidewalk (I took this on the way in):

The players were still warming up, literally, because it was a chilly night even before the sun set:

This guy's throw to the plate in the pre-game festivities was hilariously bad, but his reaction was hiliariously funny:

Rex Grossman, the not-so-punky Chicago Cubs QB, overthrew to the plate, lest he be called a girly-man:

The lights wait to spring into action in this first night game of the season (the earliest a night game has ever been played in the season during the Cubs' short tenure as a team playing under the lights of night baseball):

This would be the debut of Sean Marshall, the Cubs' rookie pitcher:

I feel somewhat proprietary about Sean, having seen him pitch a game during the Cubs' spring training. Here is his first big league pitch!

If you are a Cubs fan, you know that the game was a thing of beauty as well--here are the box score, a story about the game (titled, "Bye Bye Birdies") and the Bleed Cubbie Blue take on it, if you are interested in knowing more! And here are my photos of a few key moments in the game:

Jacque Jones breaks his mini-hitting slump (the season is young, after all) and hits a 3-run homer to put the Cubs in the lead:

Michael Barrett is welcomed at home plate after hitting a game-winning grand slam that put the Cubs in the lead for good in the 8th inning:

The chill night air could not dampen the spirits of these fans:

Or of these, who would not leave!

This is what we were all waiting for--a Cubs win, and a sweep of the Cards!

Yes, it is true: the game ended in not only a Cubs win, but also a sweep of the Cardinals, the first one in five years! Some post-win photos:

(This is a guy who caught a foul ball while walking along the concourse behind my seat--he was holding a beer at the time.)

Michael Barrett, basking in the glow of his second-ever grand slam, gives an interview:

There was much jubilation and, rather than wait in a boring and interminable L train line, I waited for the line to subside while taking in the post-game scene. The scene included fabulous drumming and some drunken dancing and singing by happy Cubs fans:

I like to call him "Captain Underpants."

* Please forgive the widely varying size of the photos in this post. I am not sure what happened, as I treated them all the same after downloading them. I think I have screwed up the various settings on my camera through some recent experimentation--will get that fixed! :)

Business trip to guess where?

2006-02-28T22:37:00.000-06:00

Answer: Austin, Texas.

This is the first house I rented when I started working in Austin after law school . . . it was painted yellow then:

I chose it because it was close to downtown in an area with lots of trees, and had a small fenced yard, in case I wanted to get a dog. On this visit, the gray cat you see in this photo quickly aproached so I could pet her.

This house, which is next door, belonged to the old lady who owned my house:

She was really nice and quite lively for her age. Once, when I locked myself out of my house, she opened the garage for me (the other side of it was hers) so I could obtain a window-breaking tool, then helped me knock out the kitchen window with a golf club wrapped in a golf towel. I was sad to hear a few years later that she died after having a heart attack or blackout while driving.

After my brief trip to the past, I drove to Barton Springs road and settled in at Fliptronics, a funky Austin-style coffee bar, for an afternoon of work, fresh air and free wi-fi:

The patio was quite comfortable:

Upon seeing this guy, I felt a bit old and conservative, an extremely rare feeling for me:

This dog (Scout) loved the attention while her owner sat and typed at a free table across the patio:

A few hours of productivity later, I headed for the Shady Grove, an old favorite restaurant where I was meeting a college friend for dinner:

She is really excited about the potential candidacy of Mark Warner of Virginia for President in 2008:

The weather was gorgeous:

Ah, Barton Springs, how I miss you!

Nighttime at the Shady Grove is no less wonderful than daytime:

Work day in Orlando

2006-02-21T21:49:00.000-06:00

I arrived pretty late Monday night and was slightly saddened to find this in my room:

Nothing against being accommodating, but the handles creeped me out a bit, so I requested something different. The people at the lovely Portofino Bay Hotel were happy to help, and installed me in this room instead:

The next morning, a work day for me, dawned a bit overcast:

But before long, the sun emerged:

I couldn't bear to be inside and decided to work on my Powerpoint slides near the gorgeous pool:

This became my "office" for an hour or so:

Isn't it lovely?

I took a few more pictures to reward myself for my hard work:

Then I headed back inside to prepare for my meeting that night:

I'm not in the mood to write more just now . . . maybe later.

A springlike February weekend in Houston

2006-02-05T18:12:00.000-06:00

My highly uncooperative Volvo, Sven, decided the road trip I planned to take to Houston on Saturday was not meant to be. Just as I commanded him to drive to Houston, he flicked on his engine light and made the most terrible of engine noises. Luckily, I was able to grab a not-terribly-expensive flight to Houston, which got me there only a bit later than I had planned. So instead of this:

I experienced this:

and this:

Whenever I visit Houston, my happy memories and warm feelings for the city come rushing back and I realize how much I miss that town and how passionately I hate Dallas. At such times, I feel as if I have experienced nothing but bad karma and painful events since moving to Dallas. Occasionally, I even wonder how my life would have been different had I elected to stay in Houston rather than taking a transfer to Dallas with my former employer. But then I remember the wonderful friends I have here, people whom I would never have met if not for that move, and I'm okay with it. But still, I want little more in life right now than to live somewhere else.

Anyway, immediately after retrieving my ever-so-inexpensive but fancy rental car ($17 a day--I challenge you to find a better rental car deal!), I raced to Chuy's. There my law school roommate and I caught up over margaritas in a chat session that was wonderful and long overdue:

It is amazing to me to think of what great friends we became, given that we barely knew each other when we decided to room together. I don't think we knew of anything we had in common at the time, except being law students and loving dogs. I'm happy that we reconnected and plan to do better at keeping in touch!

Next, I dashed to my hotel, which was surprisingly hip and comfortable:

It is the Hotel Alden, and was also surprisingly affordable, if you are ever in Houston and in need of a hotel. The staff there were unfailingly friendly and helpful.

After relaxing for a little while, I headed out for a gathering in honor of my most honorable and talented mentor of my career. He is a man who managed to make being an excellent lawyer not mutually exclusive with living life as a truly fine human being. Unfortunately, he is now retiring, and the world of the law and those who practice it significantly poorer for his departure. The gathering for him was very nice and he seemed to enjoy himself, though a bittersweet note hung heavily in the air, as he is not yet ready to let go.

On Sunday morning, after admiring the view of the old courthouse from my hotel room window,

I met a friend and her dog for coffee:

Honeybear The Dog did an excellent job of attracting cute men to come talk to us! I almost felt as if we should be paying her a "finder's fee."

Not having had enough time spent chatting with cute men, my friend and I met other friends at a new (to me) brunch place called "Dharma," which comes complete with its own bike with basket:

Dharma is a great hole-in-the-wall with a tasty and reasonably priced brunch buffet (10 am-2 pm for those of you who live in or will visit Houston) and I am happy to have found it, with the help of my buddies. Another cool thing about Dharma is the neighborhood in which it resides, just on the fringes of downtown Houston. Here are a few of its neighbors:

The day held one last surprise before my depature for the airport:

As the picture reflects, I was so surprised I didn't snap the picture until the horse was halfway around the corner! I regret that I do not have time to write more, but it was a great 24-hour trip to Houston. I cannot wait to return!

Paris Day Three (Part 1): Wanderings

2005-12-26T15:25:00.000-06:00

I awakened very late today (near noontime) and felt guilty and disappointed by it. But hopefully this means I will feel fresher tonight for the opera and festivities afterward.

I set off for the cute shop-lined streets nearby that lead to the Ste. Germaine neighborhood and adored this cute white dog:

A beautiful flower shop:

Colorful and stylish advertising:

This chestnut salesman stood just outside Les Deux Magots (the competitor to my favorite Cafe de Flore):

I took in other funky and beautiful sights en route to my lunch destination--tree art, window art and restaurant art:

My lunch destination, suggested by Rick Steves, was La Crepe Rit du Clown:

The restaurant's walls are a dark orange wash, with a few interesting photos. Gifts wrapped in red or gold foil adorn the ceiling and the tables and chairs are the wooden type common to French cafes. Two servers appear to be handling the entire place, which includes an upstairs and a downstairs.

This meal is my favorite thus far in Paris! I order a Crepe Trompette, with champignons (mushrooms), creme fraiche and, I think les oefs (eggs), but very very small ones. The crepe itself is light brown, with little holes that look like the moon's surface. The mushrooms in this crepe are the most flavorful I have ever experienced!

I'm flipping through my Paris guidebooks by way of lunch entertainment, finding with a vague sense of unease that I feel as if I have outgrown the guidebooks. Perhaps it's that I have covered the Paris basics quite well on my trips and want to branch out to other, off-the-beaten-path diversions here.

Meanwhile, a woman and her two little girls are seated, with the girls squeezed onto the banquette in a space typically occupied by one grown person. The twenty-something seated next to them at first appears a bit unnerved by her proximity to two wiggling, giggling little females, but she soon settles in comfortably, realizing they are harmless.

Having tucked deeply into my lunch crepe, I realize that the 10 euro price includes not only the lunch crepe, but also a dessert crepe and a drink--what a deal! For my drink, I choose warm apple cider and, for my dessert, a caramel crepe, accompanied by cafe au lait:

Have you seen any more beautiful meal than this, I ask?

I reluctantly step out of the warm restaurant into the chilly and overcast day . . . it's a good thing I have a small umbrella, I think. It is only a short walk from the restaurant to the Jardins de Luxembourg, and that is the direction in which I turn.

There I am reminded that French kids are no different than American kids:

The park is surprisingly busy, given that it is so overcast and cold outside:

These two are among my favorites . . . I love the woman's little smile for the camera:

There is intense newspaper-reading going on:

And focused chess-playing and -watching as well:

This group of small horseback riders intrigues me:

and the enthusiasm of this rider in particular delights me:

Chairs await spring:

And birds amuse themselves quietly:

There are, of course, statues:

The people-watching near the big pool of water is excellent:

This mom and daughter are nice enough to pose for me, thanking me in French for the portrait:

This fountain and its surrounding audience of chairs has been one of my favorite places in the Gardens since I first saw them in 1994 . . . visiting them is like seeing an old friend:

It was difficult to take good pictures with the light so flat, but I like these colors:

I head out of the park toward the Latin Quarter, pausing first to snap this photo of an outdoor "art show":

More later . . .

Christmas Night in Paris

2005-12-25T18:02:00.000-06:00

While in Paris, I had the bright idea to research something “local” to do on Christmas Eve. I was delighted to stumble upon an internet posting for an event called “Christmas on the Bridge” in one of the arrondisements found in northeast Paris. I meticulously researched the best metro train to take, determined which stop was closest to my destination, dressed warmly and embarked on what I hoped would be a grand adventure of the local variety, my favorite kind.

I walked from my hotel to the Orsay metro, only to learn that the stop I needed was not actually found within the Orsay stop, but rather was connected to it. “Connected” meant that one must climb the stairs, walk outside and aim in the general direction of the place where the other stop was supposed to be, with nary a sign along the way to let you know if you are getting it right. My saving grace was that a backpacked guy appeared to be headed toward the other stop as well (few people were at this stop on nightfall on Christmas Eve), so I followed him.

My travel to the far-flung stop was relatively uneventful, though the people-watching opportunities were excellent. For some reason, the only folks I saw who inspired me to grab my beloved Moleskine notebook (small, black cover, lined pages with tiny pocket in back) and make a note were a middle-aged couple wearing matching Land’s End-type coats, one dark green and the other mustard-colored. Each had horn-toggle type closures. I remember thinking that they looked like a pair of small children wearing matching clothing selected by mom who had been jolted forward into middle age without being given the opportunity to change clothes.

Before long, I jumped off the metro at my appointed stop and emerged into the cool, crisp night air. Outside, I was faced with a dilemma, in that all of the streets converged into two traffic circles and none of the streets were marked. I kept turning in a circle, trying to match my map to the direction and configuration of the streets, but with little success. No one offered to help and those who I approached backed away in what appeared to be suspicion or even fear. This, of course, caused me to wonder if I was in a dangerous neighborhood, or if this was such a far-flung suburb that they had never met a tourist before.

At long last, I took a chance on an unknown street and found I had chosen correctly. However, the importance of the notation “this map is not drawn to scale” became immediately obvious to me, as I saw that my route was much longer than it appeared on the map. I wouldn’t have minded this, had I not dressed up a bit in anticipation of the Christmas Eve dinner I would go to directly after the Bridge event. Sweating despite the cold, and with feet bitterly complaining about my route-planning skills, I finally reached the location of the bridge—or, put more accurately, the place where the bridge was supposed to be.

And there I found neither bridge nor a bridge-based event. All I found was one of the small children’s carousels that had been scattered throughout the city as a holiday treat. There was a small forest nearby, and it occurred to me that the bridge was probably found within it, but there were few people going into that forest and I did not feel comfortable plunging in on my own when I wasn’t sure of the safety of doing so.

So, with exhausted feet and a sigh of disappointment, I turned toward what was obviously the nearest metro station (not the one at which I had arrived) and enjoyed the strings of lights hanging between the shops and the festive air of the people window-shopping and scurrying to their Christmas dinners.

I was relieved to reach Le Grand Colbert, a restaurant I selected based on its good reviews and on my interest in seeing the place Diane Keaton’s character loved so much in the movie, “Something’s Gotta Give.” (This is where Jack Nicholson interrupts her romantic birthday dinner with Keanu Reeves). The desk clerk at my hotel had been kind enough to make a dinner reservation for me. I left my camera at home that night, but thanks to some other fine photographers, you can still get a glimpse of the outside of this lovely restaurant:

(photo Courtesy of Jerry and Sara Steele)

Here is how the inside of the restaurant looked . . . isn't it beautiful?

(photo courtesy of Philip Greenspun)

From my white cloth-covered table in the front of the restaurant, I can see the front door. This disappoints me at first, as I love nothing more than surveying an entire dining room, with all of its entertainment options, but a banquette and common decency prevent me from doing that here. So my sight line is limited to a couple I know to be American (the only wild card is which Midwestern state they hail from) and two French guys waiting for a third friend who is very, very late.

A red velvet curtain hanging in the door way keeps most of the night air out; it is manned by a very friendly doorman. When he opens the curtain, I can see a dark brown wood coat rack circled by a brass ring. The doorman opened the door with a flourish and a laugh and I already know he’s a likeable and fun guy. His confidence and joie de vivre remind me of a Parisian artist my friend Amy and I once met on a bridge across the Seine, who took us on a great little adventure tour of the Eiffel Tower and a lovely dinner place on a hill with a view of the city.

Here is what I order for dinner:

2001 Chateau La Bienfaisance (Bordeaux), demi bouteille (mmmmm)

Goat cheese with greens in a light mescaline dressing (delicious)

Terrine of duck (more food than any one human being could eat)

Crumble aux pommes et la glace vanilla (apple crisp with vanilla ice cream, just wanted to try it)

As you can see, the dinner was not quite what I had hoped, especially the entrée and dessert. To be fair, I ordered more food than I could ever eat, though my excuses are: (a) the terrine of duck surprised me with its vast size; and (b) I really wanted to try a dessert to satisfy my sweet tooth. But even with those caveats, I do not believe the duck was close to being on my “favorites” list, and I consider myself quite the finder of duck to write home about in European restaurants.

Here is a note I wrote about my people-watching during dinner—I’m not sure who I was talking about: “She was blonde and uber German-looking, the kind of woman who orders steak tartare.

I then caught a cab and took it to a movie theater in the Latin Quarter that I had noticed. Woody Allen’s movie “Match Point” was playing (having, unusually, opened in Paris before the U.S.) and I was just in time to see it. I settled into my nice aisle seat in the tiny theater, feeling happily buzzed and full from dinner, and enjoyed a very good film. I also noticed that no one in the theater was eating anything—a vast difference from American theaters, in which people munch and chomp their way through the most soul-wrenching of movies. The driver of the taxi I took back to the hotel was very nice and permitted me to practice my French on him for the entirety of the 10-minute trip.

And thus ended my Christmas night in Paris.

Christmas Day in Paris (Part 2): More Ice and A Walk in the Marais

2005-12-25T14:00:00.000-06:00

Okay, so after watching sledders, I moved on to the skaters, also in front of the Hotel de Ville! I nearly joined them, as they brought back fond memories of skating on the ice in my neighbors' backyard as a little girl. Instead, I photographed them and moved along:

Next to the skaters was a beautiful carousel, lit up by the sun peeping out over the roof of the Hotel de Ville:

I strolled toward the Marais, a primarily Jewish neighborhood, thinking that perhaps more shops would be open there on Christmas than elsewhere in the city.

This shop window caught my eye:

As did this unexpected Christmas tree in the heart of the Jewish area:

I made a mental note to return to this cafe, with its brightly colored tables:

And noticed the strange juxtaposition of the churchgoers and the homeless that this photo portrays:

The Place des Vosges was next on my list . . . it is a large community park, surrounded by imposing but beautiful buildings and filled with trees and sandy walking paths. I focused on the people today, which included this band of singers:

and these brothers who kindly posed for me (I like to call the one on the left "Luc Skywalquer"):

and this boy being fascinated by sculpture:

The Marais neighborhood continued to beguile me with its charming cafes, interesting facades and inviting courtyards:

I tried to figure out why this dog would proclaim his sexual status:

And did a double-take when I glimpsed this "man" in a tree:

Feeling a bit hungry, I was tempted by this shop, where ice cream is formed into the shape of flower petals atop a tasty cone:

Thinking that a glass of wine would be just the thing to follow my Christmas ice cream cone, I returned to l'Etincelle, the cafe I passed earlier that is on Rue de Rivoli near the Hotel de Ville. The glass of Bordeaux I enjoyed there warmed me after my chilly walk.

The people-watching was just as fabulous as the wine. A man at the next table who bears a faint resemblance to John Lennon fondly strokes the face of his companion, a woman with hair dyed dark red. A little girl with a large blow-up pink elephant sits a few tables away. Two dogs lie at their owner's feet, looking hopeful that some crumbs will fall their way. After devouring another few chapters of "Bird by Bird," the Anne LaMott book I'm reading, I enjoyed a short walk through the Parisian twilight before catching a cab back to my hotel to rest and freshen up for dinner:

Christmas Day in Paris (Part 1): Notre Dame and the Toboggans

2005-12-25T10:10:00.000-06:00

I awoke Christmas morning feeling so refreshed that I was sure it was mid-afternoon. To my relief and surprise, it was only 9:00 a.m. This woman was walking her dog on the sidewalk below, yelling at him the entire time they passed by my window:

I showered and had breakfast consisting of an omelette, French bread and strong coffee downstairs in the hotel bar. Lingering over the paper in my upholstered booth near the windows, I experienced my first wave of loneliness on this trip, realizing that I was spending Christmas totally alone for the first time in my life. Suddenly, I felt less alone. I noticed the walls of the bar were painted the same washed yellow/orange color as my stairwell at home. My fingers were twirling my hair absently in the same way Dad always said my aunt did as a young girl. The older couple at the corner booth sounded just like my Grammie and her friend Art as they talked over the day's events.

After breakfast, I searched the internet for something special to do, then headed out into the sunshine that had broken through the clouds. It was if I had wrapped myself in these bits of history woven together, which made the sunlit foreign land into which I emerged feel like home.

These photos convey the feeling of the block on which my hotel, the Hotel du Quai Voltaire, is found. A very busy street runs between the hotel and the Seine, and there are several interesting shops and courtyards:

As Notre Dame drew nearer and I passed the Latin Quarter, there were more and more people out walking as well:

The plaza in front of Notre Dame was quite the scene:

People posed for photos with birds, and unknowingly did so with dogs:

Inside the church, the crowds were overwhelming, so I stayed away from the "tourist area" and instead sat down for mass, taking these photos first so as not to disturb the ceremony:

Although I am not a religious person, I adore participating in a Mass delivered in French. Something about the combination of the familiar cadences (known to me--a Methodist--due to my Catholic school upbringing) and the unfamiliar language appeals to me. I sat near a guy who seemed really nice and his mother--they shared their extra program with me. From it, I learned that the night before, the Archbishop presided over the Christmas Eve Midnight Mass. The music, the architecture of this lovely cathedral, the sheer number of folks taking in its beauty, all of these made me think that there must be some mysterious power that permits all of these things to exist . . . but perhaps it is simply the power of the people who care enough to create these things.

After Mass, I headed toward the Hotel de Ville, where hordes of people were hanging out.

They had set up a tiny toboggan run that the kids were loving:

Well, most of them, anyway:

To avoid a frighteningly long post, I'm going to wrap this one up and begin another!

Christmas Eve in Paris (Part 2): Notre Dame and Beyond

2005-12-24T17:00:00.000-06:00

I left St. Sulpice and headed toward the Saint-Michel area, turning first for one last look at the church:

This small sculpture of a woman was hanging from a tree along my path, and I thought it was beautiful:

I reached the Saint-Michel metro and decided to pop into the Saint Andre cafe for a glass of wine, but not before snapping this photo:

I noticed while watching the crowds pass that the French do not wear the "Christmas sweater" that is so common in the southern U.S. The only nod to the season I have seen reflected in clothing is one girl's Santa hat. But from my perch on a reedy chair, I see a man ride by on his bike, smiling so happily that I want to ask him where he's going. I see an American guy in the bar, who appears to be meeting his girlfriend's French mother. He keeps gazing at his girlfriend's hand while she pushes a glass toward him. I also see a man and woman on the street, huddling together to see how his photo of her, posed in her long lavender coat against a Christmas tree, has turned out.

Feeling refreshed, I head toward Notre Dame cathedral, reached by crossing a bridge from the Left Bank (Rive Gauche) to the Ile-de-Paris. I looked back at the Seine while crossing to the island:

And then caught my breath as I glimpsed Notre Dame in the dusk light:

Drawing closer, I saw that the brightly colored square was a sign with information about the updates to the cathedral, which looks fabulous:

I admired the roof of the nearby Hotel de Ville, along with the curving lines of a street light:

As you can see, there was quite a crowd here--I did not realize it then, but the Archbishop would be conducting Midnight mass at Notre Dame:

The cathedral was beautifully decorated outside for the Christmas holiday (I saved my visit inside for another day):

A statue of Charlemagne sits outside--he looked impressive against the setting sun:

The setting sun did beautiful things to the winter Paris sky that night:

I walked along the Seine, thinking I would find a drink at the Ritz Hotel, then dinner nearby, and watched the tour boats pass by:

This apartment appeared truly lovely to me, with its wood-beamed and painted ceiling, flower boxes and bread on the balcony:

Some of the bridges along the Seine are particularly charming:

A few shops were open for last-minute shoppers:

I believe this photo, while not entirely focused, shows the view of the Left Bank and Eiffel Tower quite beautifully:

I turned north from the Seine, searching for the street that would slant northwest toward the Ritz, and saw this well-lit church (yes, the photos are blurred, but I still like them!):

The Rue de Rivoli was brightly lit by these hanging Christmas lanterns:

Even this metro stop was decorated for the holidays, with an artistic touch:

At this point, my feet were tired and I was exhausted (due largely to jet lag), and very much looking forward to curling up on a chair in the Ritz Hotel bar with a warm drink. However, much to my disappointment, when I finally located the hotel, I did not find there the warm hospitality I have found at other Ritz hotels. Rather, the hostess turned me away, saying they were too booked, even though there were many empty tables and I told her I just wanted to enjoy one quick drink before heading out for dinner. I was too tired even to eat dinner, so I found a taxi and returned to my hotel, where I sank gratefully into a very deep sleep for the next 12 hours.

More later on Christmas Day in Paris . . .

Christmas Eve in Paris (Part 1): St. Germaine-des-Pres

2005-12-24T00:26:00.000-06:00

The neighborhood directly south of my hotel is called Saint Germaine--it is located between the arrondisements that contain the Eiffel Tower (to the west) and the Latin Quarter (to the east), with the Seine found directly north of the neighborhood. I had not explored this area before, but loved it due to its relatively non-tourist nature, charm, local people, beautiful architecture, good restaurants, interesting shops and lively atmosphere. Here are some of the sights I saw in the neighborhood on Christmas Eve:

Starving, I found Le Cafe de Flore, one of the oldest restaurants in Paris (this is a nighttime picture taken on the last night of my visit, when it was too cold to set up the tripod):

The Cafe was supposedly frequented by Picasso, Simone de Beauvoir and Jim Morrison, among others, and is highly competitive with its next-door neighbor, Les Deux Magots Cafe. I initially chose a seat at a sidewalk table (the heaters worked beautifully), but soon realized that the interior would provide a more inviting place to eat, due in part to the surliness of the waiter, who had no desire to monitor someone outside who ordered anything other than coffee. The doorman directed me upstairs to the non-smoking section, reached via a nice staircase:

I found the area to my liking and settled comfortably into the beige leather banquette. While this photo was taken on my last night, after the upstairs had cleared out, during my Christmas Eve lunch, the upstairs was bustling with last-minute holiday shoppers taking a rest):

The menu was fascinating and just reading it was a lovely experience:

For my meal, I tried the "Welsh Rarebit" and a lovely white wine, the Pouilly Fume Ladoucette. (The linked image is the closest thing I could find to the Rarebit I experienced, except that mine did not have a visible slice of bread in it--it had a thin layer of breading at the bottom and sides of the round, flat dish, and was filled with delicious cheddar cheese). I tried to brush up on my French by eavesdropping a bit on the natives, then set out to investigate the neighborhood.

I explored two churches in this area, the first of which was called St. Germain-des-Pres, built in 1163. According to Rick Steves, this church is the remainder of a "once-sprawling and influential monastery." Here is a photo of the outside of the church, and its Christmas tree:

The interior was beautiful, with the colorful interior found in many churches of its era:

As with all of the old churches, an area called the "nave" surrounds the central worship area. It contains a series of little carved-out rooms, each with its own statue(s) or artwork, generally fronted with candles and chairs or kneelers so that one can pray in front of the inanimate object of one's choice. Here is one example:

I also saw a little old lady walking through the church, stopping to cross herself and say a prayer at various stations within the nave. She appeared more superstitious than prayerful, however, when she stopped and touched the toe of this statue (I was too slow with the camera to snap her photo as well):

I gave my tripod a workout in this church, and I think the results turned out quite nicely:

I left the St. Germaine church and snaked my way down a narrow passageway to another church, St. Sulpice:

This is what I saw outside the church:

Again relying on the venerable Rick Steves, St. Sulpice is supposedly modeled on St. Paul's church in London, and is known for the art of Delacroix, its organ concerts and a mention in The Da Vinci Code. Walking through the nave, I saw this art:

And this boy (I loved the colors around him, but had a hard time photographing him crisply):

And this creche, with lights:

The center of the church was beautiful as well:

Outside, it was a gorgeous day and people were soaking it in, by sitting:

and skating:

and shopping:

and scooter-riding:

There was even a car carousel outside, as the City of Paris scattered several of them about for the holidays:

I thought this little girl on the carousel was exceptionally charming:

After this, I wandered off to the areas around St. Michel and Notre Dame, and I'll write more about that shortly!

Paris Day One: Flight, Arrival in Paris, Hotel (so far)

2005-12-23T17:30:00.000-06:00

On the eve of Christmas Eve, I arrived at DFW Airport for a direct flight to Paris. I survived a near-cavity search experience with security, in which I was placed in a "puffing" machine that blew air at me until they were satisfied I possessed no weapons, and in which each item and piece of my clothing in my bags (yes, even underthings!) was lifted up in the air in front of those coming through security and lightly brushed with a little piece of lint-catching cloth. Thankfully, our country was made safer by this process, so I'm sure it was worth the high level of embarassment to me at having the entire contents of my suitcase displayed to the public. After being released to go to my gate, I was able to look around and check out DFW's new terminal D, which is used primarily for international flights:

We were soon invited to board. I noticed that the people who fly to Paris for a Christmas Eve arrival seem to have a certain je ne sais quois that one does not see on the average domestic flight . . . but perhaps I was seeing things through the rose-colored glasses of a person en route to Paris. Speaking of those glasses, I was hopeful that a handsome French man, or an American man interesting enough to fly to France alone at Christmas, might sit next to me. But I soon saw that that was not to be.

Instead, the other seats in my row and those in the row in front of me were soon filled by a family of five that included three kids under the age of six. I was fortunate enough to be seated behind the father, the only one in the group who enjoyed reclining his seat as far as it would go. He and his wife opted to place the two "older" kids in the row with me, while they attended to the extremely quiet, not-yet-talking, younger child who sat between the two of them. Trying to look on the bright side, I thought I could practice my French with the children on my row. But that was not meant to be: within twenty minutes of takeoff, the kids had become so unruly that the mother replaced her son in the back seat, leaving no one for the little girl to misbehave with on my row. Before this occurred, however, there was adventure, in that the kids pushed the flight attendant's call button, leaving me to look panicked when the annoyed attendant told me I needed to take control of the kids to keep them from doing such things, until I could gather the words to say, "They are not mine!"

Here's a brief chronology of the remainder of the arrival process:

6:55 p.m. Little French Girl says, "Je fait le Scooby Doo," and then does.

7:20 p.m. Little French Girl eats 3 bags of pretzels, then licks the salt from them off her tray table.

3:50 a.m. (I'm now on Paris time) Little French Girl reads the book "Cherche Amis" quietly and our little flying community is now calm, settling in for sleep.

4:20 a.m. I awake to find the Little French Girl's feet resting on me as she sleeps with her head in her mother's lap.

5:50 a.m. I awake to find the Little French Girl's head resting on my arm as she sleeps with her feet in her mother's lap.

9:30 a.m. Everyone begins to stir, and a surprising fresh-tasting breakfast of a croissant, blueberry yogurt and orange juice is served.

10:30 a.m. We land and, after making sure I have all of my belongings, I exit the plane quickly and speed through immigration/customs. I ask to have my passport actually stamped, and the officer acts as if doing so will sap his last bit of strength, but does it anyway. Oh, the sacrifices!

10:40 a.m. I realize as I emerge into the mass of humanity that is the arrivals area at Charles de Gaulle airport that the Nordstrom's saleswoman gave me the wrong coat. I tried on two and chose one, but she accidentally placed the other one in my bag. Argh. I then broke the first rule of foreign travel--exchanging currency at the airport (the fees are always less favorable there, but I needed cab fare and had not changed my money for euros in Dallas).

11:00 a.m. During the cab ride to the hotel, I notice how many ads are affixed to historic buildings, that graffiti in Paris seems to often be left on chimneys and that the sky is more blue than I would have expected at this time of year. We soon reached the central city, where I admired the straightness of each street, framed by the delicate and imposing buildings.

11:30 a.m. Upon reaching the hotel, I committed my first "bad American" faux pas of the trip--I failed to tip the cab driver. This was not intentional: I had forgotten to brush up on my French tipping rules, remembering only that tipping is not expected in Franch. But my guide book says that tipping cab drivers is one of the few exceptions to that rule. I feel terrible!

11:40 a.m. The check-in process was speedy and the desk attendant very nice at the Hotel Quai Voltaire. I excitedly rode in the tiny elevator to the top (5th, but actually 6th) floor:

Here's why my floor was actually the 6th, though it was called the fifth (zero is ground level):

When I first saw my room, I had forgotten about the size differential in Paris hotels (rooms are almost always--except in the most expensive places--significantly smaller than those in the U.S.), so I was a bit taken aback. But I soon grew to love my little jewel box of a room and its lovely view:

What you see standing up on the dressing table is a very nice Christmas card, signed personally by the hotel staff. In front of it is a tiny box of delicious chocolates that they left for me.

Yep, that's the Louvre Museum, just on the other side of the Seine. Beautiful, isn't it? I knew I had done the right thing in coming to Paris when I gazed at this sight through the open window and felt the cool air on my face while being warmed from below by the room's tiny radiator. I took a few minutes to relax and freshen up, then emerged from the hotel under a bright blue Paris sky to enjoy Christmas Eve, which I will write about when I return:

Chronology of a Day From Up High in a Mystery City

2005-12-10T08:28:00.000-06:00

Boonville, Missouri

2005-11-03T20:13:00.000-06:00

If you have never been to this central Missouri town, located about 20 miles west of Columbia, Missouri, you should pay it a visit! I was lucky enough to be there in October, a fabulous time to see lovely changing leaves. I also spent time there with longtime family friends, which made it even more special!

Without further ado, the pictures . . .

Before heading to Boonville, I took these photos from my hotel balcony in St. Louis:

Then I drove the two hours to Boonville, where I would visit a family I have known my entire life. The parents of the family--now grandparents--were good friends of my own parents. Their sons were all just a bit older than me and feel like family. Now two of the boys have their own children, and I spent a lot of time with them and, of course, my trusty camera!

First, here are some sights around the town of Boonville:

The old train depot.

Feeding fish outside the Isle of Capri gambling boat, with my friend Dylan.

A downtown advertising mural.

Snapshots of downtown Boonville. The last of these places, "Jim's," was the site of our Saturday night outing. It is a true dive bar, offering everything one could want in a bar: shuffleboard, pool, a dance floor and fresh popcorn. And a place where people go all out with their halloween costumes! (Those photos to be added later)

Spending time with the family was the best! Here are Karen and her grandson, Dylan:

And my parents' friends and all three of their grandchildren:

The rock on which they are seated is a new addition to the front yard, one of which Jack, who hauled it there, is extremely proud!

"Black dog." Jack is very fond of talking about how great Black Dog is, and he's right. She is very loyal. She rides everywhere with him in his truck, emerging from the truck with him when she is allowed, and patiently sitting in the truck when she is not. Black Dog is even known to have escaped the clutches of a novice dog beauty parlor worker, when she feared that Jack was leaving her behind . . . this resulted in a wet and soapy dog running across the street, with a wet beautician not far behind!

Behind Black Dog is the red front door of our friends' house. It has been that color as long as I can remember. Just one of those little things that really takes you back in your memory!

Abby.

Campbell.

Dylan.

We played in the back yard:

And there was much swinging:

And twirling, while playing "blind man's bluff":

And scratching of dogs:

When the dogs were not waiting with a cow:

I laughed as hard as I remember laughing in a long time when this supposedly relaxed dog:

suddenly leaped toward our spinning "blind man" Dylan, barking furiously, and scared all of us in the process. Abby and I laughed until we cried.

Then there was more goofing around:

And Campbell decided she, too, was ready to pose for a picture:

Before she went to work:

The next day, Dylan and I set off on a photo-taking expedition, where we found the downtown scenes photographed above, as well as these:

An old bridge.

Prehistoric places.

Dylan, with the Missouri River, at "Lookout Point."

The artistic effort of an 8 year old who likes photographing bottoms:

Gorgeous river:

Ladies with dogs:

Dylan in action:

Chatting between friends:

Gorgeous trees:

Dylan in a thoughtful pose:

Leaves like a rainbow:

Contemplation among the leaves:

And more swinging:

I vividly remember these baseball fields. We watched the boys play there every summer when we visited this family. Being near them took me back in time 25 years, to when I was 11.

Even so, I don't remember ever seeing the sky and leaves look quite like this:

In my last few hours before heading to the airport, I "hung out" with the family's father and young Dylan at the "shop"--the family business:

This is "White Dog," whom I very much wanted to bring home with me. Here, she wrestles playfully with her grandmother, Black Dog:

Jack with the "chick bike" he wants me to ride:

Dylan with a family friend, who I have also known since I was a little girl:

and Dylan with his beloved dad, Mark:

The last place I expected to be in October . . .

2005-10-23T21:53:00.000-05:00

Last Sunday, I found myself in a place I never expected to be in October--watching a World Series in Chicago with a bar full of devoted fans! This would have been a once-in-a-lifetime event, had the Series and the bar been on the north side of town. Instead, it was on the south side, in a place called "Bridgeport," and the team involved was the White Sox rather than my beloved Cubs. Much to my surprise, I had a fabulous time despite the fact that the wrong Chicago baseball team was involved (though on reflection, my "Best. Sports night. Ever" title for the post on my other blog may have been a bit overstated--see the end of this post for that explanation).

Enough said. It was a rollicking good time, as these photos will show!

First, I took the L to the 35th/Sox stop. There was a drizzling rain, but that did not stop me and my beloved camera from taking care of business. Here is what we saw upon emerging from the L:

Don't these guys look like classic White Sox fans? I made my way toward Sox Park (I refuse to call it by the corporate name), thinking that perhaps free tickets would accidentally fall into my lap. That did not occur, but I did see lots of cops:

I found myself at the main entrance to the park and liked this light fixture:

From there, I could also see those salt-of-the-earth, blue collar Sox fans:

I picked my way between raindrops for several blocks, heading westward, until I arrived at this place, which came highly recommended:

The guy directing traffic asked me if I would make him famous as a result of his photograph--I told him I would do my best! He mentioned something about a Bridgeport paper, I think, but I told him I would work on the Times if I could. :) We both laughed heartily. I really knew I was in the right place when I saw this establishment across the street:

I inadvertently revealed that I was a first-time visitor when I tried to walk in the front door of Schaller's, which apparently is kept closed (I think I read that it's a relatively new front door, installed after a recent car crash into the front wall of the bar). So I found my way to the side entrance and loved what I saw, which was a great old bar with old-time ceiling tiles and lots of interesting things to see:

I was somewhat dismayed to see how crowded the place was, with no seats available even though it was a few hours before game time. Before long, though, I figured out that much of the crowd had stopped on their way to the game and would be leaving soon. I made friends with an older (my parents' age) couple sitting at the bar and they kindly left me with my choice of seats when they departed. Many of their friends stopped by for a chat before they left; one was a very gregarious fellow who introduced himself with hugs all around, despite being informed by his friends that they had only just met me. That's just the kind of place Schaller's is. Oh, and the wife confirmed for me that the Chardonnay offered there was drinkable--a real bargain at $3 a glass (poured from its own little wine bottle).

So I found myself with a primo seat at the bar (meaning a seat with a great view of both the door and the television), where I sat next to Bob, whose "ladyfriend" lives in Bridgeport but had not yet arrived at the bar:

Next to Bob sat Pat, and next to Pat was another man I chatted with frequently throughout the night, but to whom I was never formally introduced:

You should also meet Billy, one of the few bar staff who is not related to the owner:

Billy is, however, friends with a few of the owner's grandkids. More on him later. \But you should note the "R.I.P." signs behind Billy, which show the trail of teams the White Sox have left in their wake in this post season.

While we're talking about the bar's decor, here is a shot of the wall behind the end of the bar nearest the side door:

I think this gives you a good flavor of what the place is like. You should also meet these guys, who were among my favorites in the place:

If they are not true fans, I don't know who is. While we waited for the game to begin, I met these revelers who were on their way to the park:

They were very jolly and one was kind enough to purchase a lovely Sox Bling Bracelet for me from another bar customer who makes them. Here she is with her product:

and here is my feeble attempt to take an arty shot of my bracelet, which resulted only in me having a hand that looked huge!

The boys left for the game and I turned my attention to having a bite to eat before I would (hopefully) be too excited to think about food. What else would I order at Schaller's but a hot beef sandwich with mashed potatoes and gravy? A taste treat for only about $5; the perfect thing in cool and rainy weather! When I finished eating, I met this group, which was standing behind me envying my meal:

Meet Eric, Tom (father), Tom (son) and Tom's girlfriend Lisa. They had just arrived from the Bears game (the Bears won) and only a very basic sense of pride stopped Eric from eating my leftovers, which were plentiful. We joked with Bob about how he would look in Lisa's pink parka:

This just shows how quickly one makes friends at Schaller's. So, Lou Rawls sang the National Anthem:

and the game began, and everyone was excited:

During lulls in the game (of which there were a fair number in the early going), there was a bit of frolicking, with Mr. Schaller (the owner) coming around for a visit:

and a father/son portrait of Tom and Tom:

and chatting with the friendly Pat and Bob:

and visits by celebrities like Ozzie Guillen:

and Barbara, Bob's "ladyfriend":

This "lull" was a span of 4 innings in which the Sox posted 0's each time and were losing, 4-2, to the Astros. But that all changed in the bottom of the 7th inning, when "Paulie" Konerko came up to bat. I'll let you guess from this pictures whether that went well for the Sox:

Yep, Paulie did well, hitting a grand slam that moved the Sox into the lead, 6-4. And there was elation all around, as these pictures show.

After that, things settled down for a bit:

But you could feel an excitement in the air, reflected partly by the presence of the media (from CLTV, I think) just waiting to see how fans would react to whatever happened in the game:

There were some tense moments when the Astros tied the game by scoring 2 runs in the top of the 9th inning:

But you know what? That tension quickly dissipated, when the least likely person of all, Scott Podsednik, hit a walk-off home run to bring the Sox a 7-6 victory! There was bedlam in the bar:

Then came the rituals:

Parading the mannequin (or is it a puppet?).

Sharing one's amazement with friends by cell phone.

Clapping in sheer appreciation.

Even the replays of Pods' homer brought great delight:

Jay made sure the beer fridge remained well-stocked:

And people started coming over from the park:

With them came the dans-ing:

And there was happiness all around!

Before I go, I want you to know Billy and Jay (Schaller), my two new Cubs-loving friends, with whom I joined in solidarity as we realized, all at the same time I think, that while we were happy for the Sox, seeing them win a World Series game made us only hungrier to share that experience with our own team:

You see, someone told me during the course of the evening that Jay is a Cubs fan (much to his father's chagrin); I'm not sure how he and Billy figured out that I am one as well, because I kept fairly quiet about that throughout the night. But at some point, Billy shyly and briefly pulled up his shirt sleeve to show me his Cubs tatoo, and Jay slipped me a complimentary wine refill. After that, I knew that we were united in our resolve to have this experience with our team sometime in our lifetimes.

Oh, I almost forgot to add: the soul-jarring aspect of this experience, which I referenced in my other post. Let me preface this by saying that I have met many nice people who are fellow Cubs fans . . . Billy and Jay (see above) are two examples of this. The folks I have encountered "electronically" via Bleed Cubbie Blue are another example. But I realized while watching this game with these Sox fans that I have never had so much fun while milling about in Wrigleyville after a Cubs game. In fact, I have sometimes found myself there after a game I' ve attended by myself (with me having mainly married friends who have kids and live in the burbs of Chicagoland, and a family that could not care less about baseball, it can be difficult to find company for games), and I have on a few of those occasions taken a dive into the Wrigley bar scene. But it has never been like the feeling at Schaller's. I realize playoff baseball is different, but still . . .
Perhaps I'm just missing the place where the "real" Cubs fans hang out. I hope that's the case. Because for a little while on Sunday, I was feeling like a person born into the wrong family. And I can't change teams, because I do love my Cubs and always will.

Chicago in October . . . Diner, Art Institute and Museum of Contemporary Art

2005-10-22T20:59:00.000-05:00

My Saturday began with a fine reuben at this wonderful diner:

Within these clean white walls, one can sit at a classic lunch counter and chat with the waitress whose son works there as well. She calls you 'hon and means it and also offers timely and (most importantly) friendly and comforting service.

Later in the afternoon, I visited the Art Institute of Chicago. I initially chose to visit because there were two photography exhibits that interested me. Neither were easily photographed, but I took many other pictures.

First I visited the garden on the southern side of the Art Institute. It is one of my favorite places to spend time in the city and I had never before seen it with fall colors like this:

As you can see, I enjoy photographing this curvy sculpture in various poses:

Seeing (or rather feeling) that raindrops were imminent, I turned the corner and made my way to the museum. There I found this lion, a Sox fan apparently, guarding the entrance:

Inside I headed straight for the "Paris: Photographs From A Time That Was" exhibit that ends next week. I loved the black and white photos by the likes of Eugene Atget, Brassaic, Henri Cartier-Bresson, Robert Doisneau, Andre Kertasz, Jacques Henri Lartigue. How lovely!

In the next room I found the other photography exhibit I was there to see, called, "A View with a Room: Abelardo Morell's Camera Obscura Photographs." Here is the Art Institute's explanation of how these wonderful photographs were created:

The principle of the camera obscura (Latin for dark room) has been known since antiquity: that light passing through a small aperture in a darkened chamber will project, upside-down, the image of the outside world. The basis for all photography, the camera obscura can be a darkened room or a small, hand-held box camera. The simplicity of this natural phenomenon makes it no less wondrous. As Leonardo da Vinci wrote of it, "Who would believe that so small a space could contain the image of all the universe? O mighty process!"

Since 1991, Abelardo Morell has been photographing spaces transformed by this process. He converts a common room into a camera by darkening the windows and placing a small hole in one of them; the scene outside of the room's windows is then projected across the interior. The resulting juxtapositions can be as strange as they are delightful: upside-down houses hover above a toy-strewn floor; the Empire State Building reclines languidly across a bedspread in midtown Manhattan; the buildings of Havana, Cuba, Morell's birthplace, dance across family pictures hanging on the wall. A View with a Room brings together 25 of the best images from MorellÂs camera obscura series for an experience that is magical and revelatory.

I highly recommend that you click on this link so that you, too, can share in the wonder of his creativity and technical skill. If you are too lazy for that (shame on you!), here is one of my favorites:

In the room next to these photography exhibits was an interesting display of architectural renderings of "sacred spaces." This was one of my favorite finds there:

I then rested for a bit on a bench near the museum's entrance. While sitting there, I took this photograph of the skylight:

I also listened to a father and son exult over how much ground they had covered in a short time, as compared to their slower (female) family members who were ooh-ing and ah-ing over every piece of Impressionist art. The father jokingly bragged, after I chimed in, that he had covered the entire Louvre in a mere four hours.

I tried to visit my old friend the Chagall window, but sadly, it was temporarily removed for safety purposes during the impending museum addition project. So I climbed the stairs to the painting galleries and photographed this sculpture of a man fighting a lion . . . I appreciated the feeling of courage that it bolstered in me:

I then realized it is much more fun and interesting to snap pictures of pieces of art than to try to capture the entire work of art in a mere photo. Here are my efforts in that regard:

I have seen these paintings so many times that visiting them feels like time spent with old friends. I also made some new friends, first in the ancient pottery section (at least that's what I call it!):

I adore the clean lines of classic modern furniture:

And the funkier lines of this other furniture:

Can you guess what this is?

I headed out, first admiring this collision of old and new:

and headed off in the direction of the lion:

On Sunday, not quite being full of art yet, I made my first-ever visit to the Museum of Contemporary Art. The stroll up Michigan Avenue was wonderful, despite the threat of rain and the chill of the air. There were people everywhere, but not too much so, and there was the promise of an entire Sunday of doing exactly what I wished, followed by Game 2 of a World Series that the White Sox led 1-0.

So I found myself walking in the spaces between rain drops, then climbing the grand staircase of the Museum of Contemporary Art. Before entering the museum, I turned and took in the cool, fresh air while looking out over the park that faces the museum. Over its trees you can see the old Watertower that looks over Michigan Avenue. Glorious!

Inside there was a major exhibit involving Dan Flavin's work, specifically, his light installations. I thought the term sounded pretentious and silly (see Carrie's beau Alexsandr Petrovsky from "Sex and the City" for this concept). That is, until I experienced the exhibit. One of the first pieces that really stirred me was this one:

(This was taken at a different museum, and not by me, but photos of exhibits are not allowed in the MCA). Anyway, it is hard to explain the attraction of this exhibit, which really consists of nothing but fluorescent tubes of light in various colors. After the green fence piece, I saw a few others that I loved; they each evoked a surprising level of emotion. Anyway, I will stop trying to explain and merely state that I liked it so much that I want very much to visit the Dan Flavin Art Institute in Bridgehampton.

Because I could not photograph the exhibits, I turned to the architecture found in places other than the galleries, which provided nice photographic material, as you will see. The stairs, lit from the side, with stair treads beautifully backlit by the faint fluorescent light of the Flavin exhibit:

Marching lights:

A beautiful upward view:

And the fish pond one passes on the way out (notice how the shape mirrors that of the sky light):

What a wonderful weekend of museum visiting! Please see my other blog for the story of my baseball watching! ;P

First Monday Trade Days in Canton: A Slice of East Texas Life

2005-10-01T16:36:00.000-05:00

Today I woke up expecting to revel in my first weekend at home in five weeks, as my last 4 weekends have been spent in Northern California, Nashville and Chicago (twice). I reacquainted myself with the dogs, looked around and realized I have a lot to do around the house before a certain visitor comes to town next weekend.

Then I put the top down on the car, picked up coffee and breakfast and hit the road for Canton, a town about an hour east of Dallas. On the first weekend of every month, Canton hosts the "First Monday Trade Days," a gigantic flea market. I wasn't so much interested in shopping today as I was in soaking in the people and the atmosphere and snapping some photos. The weather was beautiful (if a bit warm for the first day of October) and the ride flew by quickly.

I noticed a new trend on this visit--groups of women shopping together while wearing matching t-shirts, like this one:

("What happens in Canton stays in Canton.")

I pity the child who will be forced to wear this outfit:

Although most of the people one encounters in Canton are friendly, it is important to know before you go that you will not find a Democratic National Convention there anytime soon, as these photos demonstrate:

Lots of people bring their dogs . . . I would bring mine, but they are too active to visit Canton:

There is a certain type of booth in Canton that I find repulsive, but for which I am grateful, because it sucks in shoppers who have no interest in the kinds of things I like to see, leaving more room for me to roam around:

Fairies threw up in this booth.

Someone ate every color of cotton candy and then threw up in this booth.

This display, however, was so cool it nearly inspired me to buy a guitar just so I could learn to play it:

I photographed this booth because it had the same name I used in high school French class:

And I liked this booth, with its typewriter-key jewelry:

The proprietor of the typewriter-key place told me she lives outside Beaumont and was evacuated due to Hurricane Rita. She hasn't been home yet and has been staying in Tyler, Texas, so she is temporarily out of extra typewriter keys.

As always, there was also quality eavesdropping in Canton. Two exchanges in particular amused me:

Exchange Number One--At a display of tacky plastic patterned sunglasses:

Woman #1: I love these black and white checkered ones. They will go with all my black and white clothes!

Woman #2: Just because they "go" doesn't mean they're good.

Exchange Number Two--Walking past a confectioner's stand:

Wife: What's over there?

Husband: Fudge. Keep walkin'.

These things appealed to the girly side of me:

The proprietor of this last booth, with its beautiful Martha-Stewart like plate cabinet, was particularly suspicious of my photography. However, she would not address it directly, instead asking me in a mean voice, "Is there something I could help you with?" My attempt to charm her by saying in my most friendly of voices that I love the color she chose to paint this cabinet fell on deaf ears, and I think she's the one who turned me in to Canton Authorities, prompting a loudspeaker announcement about photography being prohibited without a booth owner's permission. By that time, however, I had all the pictures I wanted anyway.

When I wasn't taking illegal photographs, I saw other things that appealed to the whimsical side of me:

I'm a sucker for a cute and jam-packed picnic basket (or suitcase, as the case may be)!

These things I found somewhat disturbing:

What did I buy? A small gift for a special someone, and this lovely lamp:

A fabulous day, all in a brief span of time that permitted me to arrive home in time for the Cubs' 3 pm game!

Skipping California briefly to write about a great visit to Chicago.

2005-09-15T22:01:00.000-05:00

You know you are traveling quite frequently when you cannot keep up with your travel blogging! So, I'm skipping briefly over the rest of my CA trip (coming soon!) to write about my trip of last weekend, in which I visited my near-hometown of Chicago.

I flew to Chicago Thursday afternoon, just in time to attend the first of four games in a Cubs/Cards series. The flight went by quickly; I worked nearly the entire time and was seated next to a friendly software salesman who was wholly undeterred by the fact that I was listening to my iPod. He reminisced about the grand old days that were SMU in the 70's while drinking furtively from small airline-sized liquor bottles he had brought along with him in a plastic baggie. He then scammed a free beer from the flight attendant, first claiming his cash was in his bag in the overhead compartment and then, after she was nice enough to hand him his bag, claiming that he had only a dollar on him. Sounded unlikely to me, especially given that he was on a business trip, but the flight attendant either bought it or didn't care, and he happily chased his airline whiskey with an Amstel light.

I zipped through the airport, happy that for once I was able to avoid checking a bag, and collected my nice dark red rental Hyundai. I wish I could say I zipped toward downtown, but "inched" would be a more apt description. However, the handy signs telling you how many minutes until downtown based on current traffic are awesome and made the trip downtown not bad at all.

My hotel was easy to locate. I darted in and out in order to head out to the game. A smiling security guard downstairs directed me to the exit nearest the L station, and I made my way to the train that would take me to Wrigley Field, walking in a light rain and feeling like Annie (Susan Sarandon's character) in Bull Durham. (If you don't know what this means, turn off your computer immediately, obtain a copy of this movie and watch it before you even think about returning--it is a great movie, and one of the best baseball movies ever).

The L train ride to Wrigley was lively, with both rush hour and game traffic packing the cars before they even left downtown. I sat next to an art student who gratefully grabbed an available seat after riding for several stops while clutching his portfolio, then spent the rest of the trip flexing his hand to get rid of the clutching-induced soreness. Many young Cubs fans were on the train; they began craning their necks to see Wrigley Park when the train emerged from the subway to the elevated tracks. Their reaction when they saw it was priceless; their eyes lit up and someone said to them, "It's the most wonderful place in the world." We all emerged at Addison and poured into the park just in time to hear the singing of the national anthem. I don't attend many night games, but the park and skyline sure do look nice with the lights (although I prefer a day game any time):

I made my way to my upper-deck seat, encountering along the way a shamelessly flirty beer salesman who could only have thought that he was charming enough to elicit a nice tip. The wind was blowing so strongly that it knocked half the head right off my beer before I even reached my seat. I found myself sitting next to a devoted Cubs fan and his grandson; the telltale sign was the man's radio earpiece, through which he was listening to the WGN game broadcast. I loved hearing the pearls of wisdom the man shared with his grandson during the game on topics ranging from how to play baseball to the importance of leaving time unscheduled to just be a kid. The one thing I know for sure if I ever have a child is that he/she will have memories of the ballpark and those kinds of conversations with me. The Cubs band (I'm not sure what their official name would be) came around between innings, delighting everyone with their musical stylings:

And the rain came down lightly through most of the game:

The seventh inning stretch was fun as always:

The grandfather and grandson enjoyed it, too:

In the bottom of the ninth inning, with the Cubs down by 5 runs and 2 outs, the rain began coming down really hard:

This led to a 3 Stooges-like medley of errors by the Cards players due to the rain, which included a dropped pop foul ball (by the catcher) and a missed ground out opportunity by the Cards shortstop, resulting in the Cubs loading the bases. Soon the rain was coming down too hard and a rain delay was called, with the grounds crew rolling out the tarp:

Given the late hour, the fact that it was a weeknight and the 5-run difference in the score, many people left during the rain delay:

However, about 80 faithful fans (including myself) hung out, explored the park and chatted with each other while waiting for the rain delay to end. It felt like a huge slumber party and it was great having so much space and the ability to wander at will . . . the ushers didn't give anyone a hard time during the break--they were all chatting, too. In addition to talking to my row-mates (one of whom wore a Boston Red Sox cap) and others in the park, I amused myself by taking photos, none of which were very good:

After about an hour, the game was called, unfairly, in my view. This resulted in a Cards win, 6-1. At least the Cards did not get to celebrate their statistical "clinch" of the division tonight.

I returned to the hotel and found that a nice glass of pinot noir was just the thing to help me warm up my rain-soaked self. There was a nice guy sitting next to me at the bar . . . before long, I had learned much of his life story, although he initially did not seem like the chatty type. I was impressed by him because he had bounced back from the unexpected death of his wife (they were my same age) to raise their 3 kids on his own and recently married a woman he met in his sailing club.

As we talked, I also thought about how interesting the little microcosm of folks sitting around a hotel bar can be. This particular bar is a semi-circle, so you can see the others at it more easily than at a linear bar. There were the standard business people, but also a woman with a fake-sounding Southern accent who was there meeting her daughter, who is apparently in school in Chicago. I wondered if the daughter knows how much her mom likes to flirt at hotel bars.

After conducting some quick business on Friday morning, I was set to attend another Cubs game and was able to snag nice seats online at the last minute. The weather was significantly better than the day before, with beautiful blue skies alternating with dramatic ones:

Everyone at the game was happy to be there:

While the view from my seats was awesome,

the behind-home plate view did subject me to the most yuppified of the Cubs fans--those who inherit corporate seats and have enough money that they do not appreciate them at all. This meant I sat next to guys on each side who were only there for 3 innings each; on one side, the guy almost seemed to be attempting to caricature the Bad Cubs fan by wearing Gucci loafers, showing off a roll of cash and talking with his friends the entire time while sitting completely turned away from the field. Disgusting!

This kid in a row in front of me lived for the moment, analyzing his cotton candy carefully before devouring it:

I took some other pictures of him and his family that didn't turn out well . . . his Dad brought all three sons to the game and they looked very cute sitting all in a row. In addition to all of this cuteness in front of me, the Cubs won the game!

Which made sitting with the pretentious fair-weather fans worthwhile. After the game, I discovered a lovely alternative to the over-crowded, smoky Wrigleyville bar scene--the "reading the paper while drinking coffee scene":

More later . . . too tired to write anymore . . . . .

I'm back! I almost forgot to mention that, while kicking back and watching this game, I took a chance and sent a message inviting a guy I barely knew to meet me out whileI was in town. Now before you lecture me, please know that I knew enough about him to feel it was safe to meet out in a public place. Besides, he had piqued my curiosity and I could not resist the opportunity to find out more about him. So, that night we got together for music and later coffee, and we had a wonderful time.

The next day, I headed out to the suburbs to visit with family and friends. It was great to see them and catch up and laugh and relax and I loved goofing around with their kiddos and playing travel scrabble and driving through the farmlands in the dark in search of ice cream and everything else we did together. As if that was not enough, my friend Beth and I ended our time together with the discovery of a fabulous new store that resolves all that is bad about the clothes shopping experience, making it both pleasant and productive.

Tearing myself away from the mall like any good Midwestern girl would, I scrambled back to the city Sunday morning. I arrived at Wrigley Field just in time to retrieve the tickets from the will-call window, catch the third inning of the Cubs game and meet up with my Friday night friend, a Sox fan (yes--a gasp! is appropriate here) for the game. He survived the harrowing yuppie experience and the result for the Cubs was a good one--another win over the hated Cards:

After this euphoric experience, we headed for the dog beach at Montrose, where he coached me to better photo-taking via the closeup:

Much to my surprise, no one punched me for coming close and taking their picture, so I took more of them:

And then we took a few snaps of each other:

shortly before ending an interesting day, and a special weekend.

Cheers to Time with Old Friends

2005-09-02T17:51:00.000-05:00

Mike and I drove out to Livermore to visit our friends Yaravi and Eric and their growing brood:

Mike and I went to college with Yarv and Eric; Yarv lived in across the hall from me in our freshman year dorm, the now-leveled Laura Kuykendall ("L.K.") Hall. Yarv and I shared many college adventures, including keeping our spring break condo from being condemned by the health department and taking a solo and ill-advised walk through Matamoras together and living to tell about it. She is now the mother of three sweet, smart and fun children (number 3 was still in utero at the time of my visit, but has since made his appearance in the world) and also a doctor (currently on a child-raising break). Yarv makes being a mother of young kids look so easy that you want to try it for yourself, just because it appears so fun and effortless. I had not seen Yarv and her husband in a long time, probably since 1994 or so, when they happened to be in Austin, and had not yet met their kiddos.

As soon as Mike and I stepped in the door of their beautiful house (having survived a walk past their ever-ferocious dog Blackberry), we were immediately drawn into a whirlwind of frenzied activity, in between which we caught up on old times. The kiddos alternately acted shy and showed off their amazing abilities, which include, among other things, dancing, spinning, tumbling, playing with multiple toys at once and walking around with things on their heads like this:

Elizabeth in a restful moment:

We chatted for quite a while and then took off in search of sushi, which would be my birthday meal:

The gang tried to steer me toward a Mexican food establishment, in hopes that I would be subjected to an embarrassing birthday group sing-song, but I successfully steered them away from that concept by reminding them that I have access to pretty good Mexican food in Texas. So, sushi it was. We ate at a fabulous place whose name I cannot remember now (but I think it may have been this one), where the entrance area was as comfortable as the waiting area of a nail salon, with a little couch and coffee table and magazines. We were ushered into a small room with rice paper screens for walls and doors—perfect for a loud group like ours that included active kids, too. Over dinner, we debated the name of Yarv and Eric’s third child, who was due to arrive any day; Eric rejected all of our suggestions, even the ones that were not meant as a joke! The sushi was excellent and so was the Japanese ice cream that followed.

Apparently not having eaten enough, we retired to their house for an excellent homemade birthday cake, courtesy of Yarv and Elizabeth! I continue to be amazed by how it feels as if not a day has passed when talking with old friends like these. We stayed up late talking about everything old and new, like only friends who have known each other since they were still teenagers can do, then Mike bade us farewell, as he was leaving in the morning for an L.A. visit with his sister and nephew.

We rose pretty early in the morning, thanks in part to Wilson's freakishly earlybird personality, and ate breakfast together while continuing to catch up on life. I was fortunate enough to be visiting on the day of Elizabeth's dance class, which flew by as Yarv and I watched. Aren't these the cutest dancers you have ever seen?!?!

We returned home, picked up Eric and Wilson after their morning of wagon travel and donuts, and found a fabulous lunch at one of Livermore's local wineries. The place was beautiful, featuring a wooden front porch, a shady and graveled back patio with tables and even a bacci ball court so that the kids could keep things interesting. The restaurant's food was wonderful; I especially enjoyed the roasted garlic and fresh-baked bread.

Shortly after this feast, I tore myself away from my old friends to hit the road again, but was excited as I looked forward to seeing another old friend in El Dorado Hills, which is just east of Sacramento. On the way there, I saw some interesting things like this truck full of oranges:

and this message for the Shrub (AKA Bush the Younger):

and a very flat horizon:

A few hours later, I was thrilled to greet my friend Laura. We met as summer law clerks for the same firm. Laura, being much smarter than I am, almost immediately realized that law firm life was not for her and bailed on the clerkship, while still finishing law school near the top of her class and passing the bar exam. She has since then gone on to, among other things, read exponentially more books than are contained in your average Borders book store and simultaneously raise three cool kids, all of whom I was excited to see on this trip as well (hubby Bill was out of town on business). The kiddos are practically grown-ups, with head-spinningly busy social schedules, and I was stunned into admiring silence by Laura's ability to handle all that that involved while carrying on an in-depth catching up conversation with me. Sadly, I was so engrossed in catching up with her and following with amazement the plethora of activities in which the kids and their many neighborhood friends were engaged that I completely forgot to use my trusty camera to take some photos of them in the midst of these activities. So you will have to take my word for it that they are a very handsome family with fabulous hair! :) They also live in a pretty and comfortable house with a glorious view of the rolling hills and grasses.

Being too sleepy to go on now, I will stop for now and write next about my first visit ever to the wine country . . .

A Woey Loy Goey Birthday

2005-09-02T07:16:00.000-05:00

After a few years of purposefully solitary activity on my birthday, I had forgotten how nice it is to spend the day with friends. On this day, my friend Mike was nice enough to fetch me at my hotel in San Francisco, even hanging out with me while I finished up a project I had to send off before hitting the road.

After that was finished, we hit the Chinatown area. First, we saw a park where ladies were playing cards:

Strangely, there was a sign near it that prohibits loitering, although the park was filled with benches that seem to invite--you guessed it--loitering:

I loved seeing the bright and colorful storefronts like these:

Mike, being Mike, delighted in the fact that Chinatown has its own Citibank branch:

Because Mike attended grad school in Wisconsin, I found it amusing to photograph him next to a barrel of Wisconsin cheese:

I also found these hat hooks amusing . . . they seemed to be waiting for the restaurant workers to return to them:

We scoured Chinatown for just the right place for a birthday lunch, and when I saw this sign, I knew it was the place:

Inside, there was a lunch counter, though we opted for a table:

Mike was disappointed that there was no dim sum cart (I have never seen one before), but I didn't miss it because the food was excellent and I enjoyed the feeling of being in Mel's Diner crossed with a Chinese restaurant. The food wasn't bad either, as evidenced by the fact that we polished off this much of it:

We walked off our excellent lunch by exploring a bit more of Chinatown, ultimately walking to the end for a peep at the adjacent Italian neighborhood:

Reluctantly, we moved along, leaving the festive Chinatown neighborhood for other destinations:

On the way, I admired this art deco building:

Mike was dead set on showing me Lombard Street, and on the way we took in some fabulous views--I particularly liked this one, as you can see:

Lombard Street itself was beautiful, both the road, with its bricks, flowers and bushes, and the houses along the way:

We headed over to Coit Tower, which Mike would offer a great vantage point from which to see the city:

I was amused by this pink van covered in magnetic letters:

Coit Tower was just what I had hoped for, offering splendid views:

I thought this tree was really cool:

And this bush as well:

The inside of the tower, reached after passing this statute in the circle drive.

offered lovely painted murals--can you tell which one contains a live person?

We returned outside, to see more wonderful views:

Then we were off to Fisherman's Wharf, where we spied Alcatraz and other interesting things like this:

This snack stand appealed to me:

As did the musician playing near it:

We spent a while watching seals:

This one was my favorite:

I could have watched them wiggle around all day--it was certainly a more interesting sight than the penguins I had to watch for 12 hours as a project in my college Animal Behavior class:

We moved on to see some human entertainment:

and boats:

and yet another view:

and a fruit stand:

and a family swaying for their adventure video:

We spied another musician, this one playing very melodic tunes:

Then we were off again, speeding toward the Bay Bridge, which would take us to Livermore to visit some dear friends from college . . . and I will write about that, and my great birthday evening, in my next installment!

SF Trip Installment One: I left my heart in San Francisco . . .

2005-09-01T21:24:00.000-05:00

Ah, what a splendid trip! Uneventful flight to San Fran, which sped by remarkably quickly. Found my rental car (a silver Sebring convertible, with which to enjoy open skies and much cooler weather) after negotiating the interminably long walk/airport train/walk that is SFO. I was so pleased with the car that I photographed it to document the beginning of our journey together:

Thanks to great directions from the friendly Alamo exit gate guy, I sped off toward downtown San Fran and soon found myself facing Golden Gate Park. I snaked my way east, in search of the restaurant called Zazie that was my lunch destination. My search took me through the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood; I made a mental note to return for a longer look around, as it seems to be right up my alley (no pun intended). Here's a picture from Haight:

I was pleased to find free, albeit severely angled (downhill) parking close to the restaurant. Zazie was a charming and awninged French place, complete with a French "ouvert" and ferme" sign:

The place was small, with exposed brick walls, wooden tables and chairs as well as booth seating (I did not try the outdoor patio, but it would be a nice place to while away an afternoon) and a loft office reached by a slender and curling iron staircase. I settled in comfortably and was warmly greeted by a nice waitress. My breakfast consisted of a large and excellent bowl of cafe latte, paired with a lovely omelette that contained warm sausage and the freshest of tomatoes. The potatoes accompanying my omelette were convincingly "garlic roasted," as the browned garlic pieces were actually served with the potatoes. Feeling sated, I paid the bill (also learning from a note that accompanied the bill that the waitress was giving all of her tips to the week to benefit victims of Hurricane Katrina) and ventured back into the world, but not before greeting a friendly dog tethered to a tree outside:

I explored the Cole Valley neighborhood for a short while, appreciating its architecture:

En route to my hotel, I learned that photographing while navigating SF's hilly terrain is not for the weak of heart:

On arriving at the hotel, Petite Auberge, I waited for a while for a valet to take my car. When none appeared, I headed inside and found a very nice desk clerk. She was preoccupied, however, with the fact that their 70+ year old handyman, Louis, appeared to have gone missing. I felt like Nancy Drew stumbling into a new book's premise--"The Mystery of the Missing French Hotel Handyman." Sadly, I was not able to help her solve this mystery, as she already had someone else on the case. So she set me up with this cute room, where I placed my bags and relaxed for a bit:

After relaxing by my I-couldn't-enjoy-this-in-Texas fireplace, I reluctantly tore myself away for a visit at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. On the way, I saw that the gate to Chinatown was just a few blocks from my hotel, as was this very imposing church:

I also saw this bumper sticker, something not found in Texas:

And a sign recognizing the Giants' Moises Alou, who is no longer found in Texas or (sadly) Wrigley Field:

More to be written later . . . tired, jet-lagged, sick and must go to sleep!

SF Trip Installment Two: Modern Art, A View and California Cuisine

2005-09-01T21:19:00.000-05:00

So, when I last posted, I was walking to the SF MOMA, and seeing some interesting sights along the way, including these:

I learned that the SF MOMA is open late on Thursday nights, a wonderful thing, with reduced entry fees after a certain time, an even more wonderful thing. The crowd milling about the place began to pick up later and was quite diverse, if a bit on the young (20-something) side. Photography is not allowed in the SF MOMA galleries, so I contented myself with photographing the architecture and various non-art or -architecture related things in the atrium (which was permitted):

The art was nice, too. I focused on the photography exhibit, which was Taking Place: Photographs from the Prentice and Paul Sack Collection. The exhibit featured both wonderful photographs and information on the evolution of photographic processes, confirming what I already suspected, which is that I enjoy the fruits of the photographic process and could take or leave any learning about the technical aspects of photography. After a run through the photography exhibit (saving the remainder of the museum for another day), I headed out for the Buena Vista Gardens, which were just across the street.

But first, I stopped to take this shot of the SF MOMA:

I also took some interesting (to me) shots of this sculpture at the Gardens:

It reminded me a bit of a shark.

I could not resist this nun photo:

or the surrounding contrasting buildings and MLK Memorial:

Then I headed over to the San Francisco Art Institute, which is located on such a steep street that I was nervous just driving up to it! Thankfully, the parking is at a right angle to the curb, so it felt a bit less dangerous than heading downhill or uphill. One enters the Institute through a beautiful courtyard:

After passing through the courtyard, one finds student hieroglyphics, a great view near the bike rack and a man and his dog below:

There was a bit of fog, but it wasn't too chilly . . . just the right weather for a light wrap:

There is even a higher patio, reached by climbing a narrow and steep metal set of stairs. If you can brave the stairs, there are even better views to be found, especially at sunset:

I reluctantly tore myself away from the beautiful sunset, in order to tuck myself into my car for the drive to Berkeley, where I would dine at Chez Panisse:

(Photo from the Chez Panisse web site).

Those who know me will see great significance in the fact that I so anticipated this dining experience that I was one hour early to the place, leaving me time to try a French sour drink at the bar next door. (Hint: I am almost never early, and seriously, never one entire hour early for anything!) Here is what I wrote about my Chez Panisse experience in correspondence to a new-but-already-dear friend:

Chez Panisse was wonderful! For my salad, I enjoyed greens with warm goat cheese. The entree was duck
made 2 ways with mashed potatoes, which took me back in my memories to a meal I experienced in Rocamadour,
France (the hostess of my chambre d'hote prepared duck from a duck that she raised). Dessert was a small
scoop of vanilla ice cream with espresso drizzled over it . . . the perfect ending to an excellent meal. My
waiter was fabulous . . . knowledgeable and with just the right touch of attention/flirtation and leaving me
alone with my own thoughts.

While I almost always read while eating (unless with friends, of course), last night I simply enjoyed my
meal, taking in all of its details, and watching the other guests in the restaurant. I tried to reflect on
how I feel about my first 35 years and what I want from the coming years, but I found I was too tired
(mentally) for that last night. So I simply took in the scene around me and saved the reflection for
another day.

. . .

When I think of Chez Panisse, I think of an old world kind of place, where skilled people take pride in preparing simple,
delicious, healthful and socially responsible food for those who appreciate it. I noticed last night that
there was a serious lack of "trendy" kinds of people there . . . rather, the guests, who were young and
old, hip-looking and traditional, all seemed just to be enjoying the meal and their dinner companions.
Wine is chosen there because it pairs well with and complements the food . . . no "guzzling" just for the
sake of drinking.

After this delightful dining experience, I slowly drove "home" over the Bay Bridge, savoring the look of the night-lit city and looking forward to the next day and, with it, my 36th year.

Helping neighbors and friends on the Gulf Coast.

2005-08-31T16:22:00.000-05:00

When I travel, I feel that all I meet are neighbors and friends, no matter how near or far they may live. I have been lucky enough to visit the beautiful, warm and timeless city of New Orleans several times; Mississippi and the other Gulf Coast areas hit by Katrina were on my travel "wish list." Regardless of whether we have met them or visited their home towns, all who live in these places are our neighbors and friends, and we need to help them:

Please go to the Red Cross site and do what you can.

New posts below!

2005-08-27T16:29:00.000-05:00

I have been trying to catch up on writing about trips for which I have not yet posted pictures. Some of these stretch back to last year! You can find updated entries for April, May, August and September 2004. I travelled to Italy in April and May of last year, had a wonderful August trip to Santa Fe for my pre-birthday, then visited friends at their East Texas lakehouse for Labor Day weekend.

Fabulous Pics from the Wrigley Field Scoreboard!

2005-08-08T22:48:00.000-05:00

I can't claim to have taken these photos . . . they actually come from a WGN cameraman. But I think they present a wonderful and unique view from the Wrigley Field scoreboard. Enjoy the photos!

Wonderful Weekend in Missouri!

2005-07-25T20:34:00.000-05:00

I just returned from one of the best 2-day weekends I've had in a long time. The idea of this trip sprouted when I took it into my head to see the Cubs play the Cardinals at Busch Stadium in St. Louis. It is the last year for that stadium, and they are already building its replacement next door, which is somewhat insulting to my romantic notion that the soon-to-be-former stadium sits sadly next door during this swan song year, watching fans flirt with the cuter and hipper incarnation right in front of her eyes.

When ESPN pushed Sunday's game back to 7pm from its originally-slated afternoon slot, I decided to visit longtime family friends in Boonville, Missouri (just west of Columbia) in between games. The Cooper family is, simply put, my childhood memory sunk into a family living in a remote place. The parents of the family were my parents' best friends and we typically visited them every summer. Their 3 sons gave me the big family I wanted but did not have, and I loved them like brothers. I have such fond memories of all of our doings together, including sleeping in the back of a station wagon in our pajamas while our parents watched a drive-in movie, boating at Lake of the Ozarks (when I enjoyed my first peanut butter and banana sandwich), attending the boys' baseball tournaments and motorcycle races, catching concerts with them at the Missouri State Fair, etc. I haven't seen them in a long time . . . I think the last time was when I attended the oldest son's wedding, and he now has a daughter in the third grade. So I was excited to see them!

But first, I flew into St. Louis on Saturday morning. On the way, I wrote this:

I am “most myself” when I travel. There is no feeling quite like the one I experience just as I begin a new trip, whether I am waiting for the plane to take off or putting the top down on the car just before beginning a road trip. I adore the anticipation of what I will see and hear and smell, and eat and drink. I daydream about the conversations I will have with strangers I meet along the way, some natives of the place I’m visiting and some wanderers like myself. My trusty and beloved D70 camera (aka “Puccini”) will be at my side, helping me make art from life. And I will try to make a bit of time each day to write about what I’ve experienced, piecing the details together from the little black notebook in which I jot things I don’t want to forget.

At this very moment, I am savoring the excitement of seeing St. Louis, where I’m planning to see my beloved Cubs play their most hated rival, the Cardinals. I won’t have as much time to see the city as I would like, due to a little side trip I’m squeezing in so that I can see friends who live near Columbia. But I researched the city’s offerings last night and have a few places in mind that I plan to visit before today’s game. On my list are:

(1) City Museum, which promises, “a magical world forged of recycled, recovered and reshaped treasures” and “some of the most captivating interactive art” that “unleashes the fascinated, childlike spirit stored within every explorer who passes through its doors”;

(2) Laumeier Sculpture Park (self-explanatory);

(3) Cathedral Basilica of St. Louis, a lovely-looking place near Forest Park; and

(4) a Gateway Arch riverboat tour on the Mississippi River.

Frankly, I’m not sure how exciting the last of these options will be, but today’s forecast for St. Louis includes VERY hot temperatures, so my thinking was that this might be a cool way to spend an hour before baking in Busch Stadium. Which reminds me, I forgot to bring sunscreen . . . another thing to purchase, along with a small power cord for my laptop.

I have also researched St. Louis restaurants, finding many interesting options on the web site called, “The Lowlife Guide to St. Louis: Cheap, Unique Restaurants and Bars.” It appears that the two local delicacies I should try to find are “toasted ravioli” and St. Louis-style pizza (there is also mention of “brain sandwiches,” but I’m having a hard time working up the courage to eat that, until I find a better explanation of what is in it). This web site claims that St. Louis introduced the world to hot dogs, ice cream and iced tea at the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair. I have a hard time believing this outrageous-sounding claim, but I guess you never know . . . although this causes me to wonder if we still have a world’s fair, as I haven’t heard of one in recent history.

Airport observation: there is nothing in the world sexier than a well-built man with beautiful shoulders who loves books so much that he is reading while standing in the boarding area.

********************************************************************************

That sounds like a lot to accomplish during what would be approximately 4 spare hours not spent watching baseball and visiting friends, right? Well, it was! Especially because I aimed straight for a pedicure upon landing . . . something I ran out of time to do before heading out of town, but which was desperately needed. The experience was wonderfully relaxing--much needed--but when I finished, I was starving and had just enough time to eat lunch before heading to the Stadium. So, I crossed exactly NONE of the above items off my list! Instead, I drove toward downtown St. Louis in my amazing ride, a Hertz car that was only a few dollars more than my standard mid-size, but that much to my surprise, offered a sunroof, spacious leather seats and XO radio that could be controlled from the steering wheel! I liked it so much that I photographed it:

And then I found lunch here, at Delmonico's soul food joint:

The place was wonderful, very one-of-a-kind. I wish I had not felt too intimidated to photograph the interior of the place, but it was hung thickly with photographs of Martin Luther King and others, and various foil decorations, including lettering, and some old-looking leather diner booths. The food was home cooking at its best, with baked chicken so tender that it literally fell from the bone. I chose green beans and fried potatoes to go with it, as well as corn bread that was the only off-note (slightly dry). The lady at the cash register was dismayed and somewhat sickened by my choice of unsweetened tea--she only likes the sweet stuff. I was tempted by the delicious-looking cobbler options, but held back. I read the local African-American community newspaper while eating. It was extremely well written, not even adding "for a local paper," and held my interest completely.

I reluctantly tore myself away from the air conditioning, returning to the 103-degree heat. On my way downtown to the stadium, I saw some interesting sights, like this very broken-down area:

and this police-escorted bike ride (not quite the ride to the Champs-Elysees of the Tour de France):

I easily found close parking (for only $6!) and followed the crowds to the game. On the way, I saw Cubs fans and a fountain:

I also saw the famous arch:

There was a long line for entry to the game, even though it was an hour before game time. This lucky gentleman was giving away free cheese before the game:

(Not what I had in mind for such a steamy hot day, but everyone else seemed to love it!)

Busch is a nice place, even if the concourses make you feel like you are on a steam table when it is so hot and humid outside. This view shows the scene:

and the requisite closer-up view with the Arch:

I thought it was a good omen that my seat was just below the "Chicago" flag, representing the Cubs:

and the hotel where I would spend the following night:

and a grouping of red chairs, because I love chairs:

The national anthem was nicely sung by a young girl from Indiana with a fabulous voice:

I loved my seat, which allowed me to see Derrek Lee and my other beloved Cubs up close:

There was a funny D Lee incident during the game. A loudmouthed drunk guy near me, probably not even old enough to drink legally, was nattering on about how D Lee had struck out in this year's All Star Game. His obnoxious comments were stopped dead in their tracks, however, when smack in the middle of his rant, Derek Lee hit a 2-run homer that broke the tie and gave the Cubs a lead they would never relinquish. We enjoyed the newfound peace and quiet in Row 1 of Section 243 for at least a few minutes after that.

The game was an exciting one, with a final score of 6-5. The Cards nearly came from behind to win it in the bottom of the 9th inning, but the Cubs ended the game (and the Cards' hopes) with a double play when shortstop Neifi! Perez caught Albert Pujols' line drive, then doubled a runner off second base. Neifi! was to play an important role in the next day's game as well, but I did not know this yet. On this day, it was enough that the Cubs won and would not be swept by the hated Cards:

Happy with the win, I headed West on I-70 to Boonville. On the way, I saw this sign, which made me laugh:

In how many places can find one a street named in the Southern tradition of the double-name?

Sadly, I have no pictures of my time with the Cooper family. I was having so much fun that I did not even think to bring the camera out! I stayed up late Saturday catching up with the parents, and then visited with the boys for most of Sunday, even delaying my return to St. Louis to spend more time with them.

There were a few shadows. The absence of the youngest son (just a year older than me), who died in a car accident when we were in our early 20's, was something I felt keenly at times during my visit. Also, the mom now uses a wheelchair as a result of her M.S., something that I could tell frustrates and saddens her. However, she is so adept at getting around and accomplishing things despite her physical limitations that I barely noticed these limitations at all. I have always thought her to be smart and a role model, but I find her new accomplishments especially inspirational.

One highlight of the visit was meeting the boys' kids--the oldest of the Cooper sons has 2 daughters, both of whom are adorable and nice. The middle son is a single dad and has one boy, who is impossibly bright, cute and energetic. He can chat with the best of them and is so engaging that, strangely, I miss him after having spent only a day with him. At his request (insistence), we conducted a walkie talkie experiment in which he sauntered down the street while talking to me to see how far the signal between the talkies would carry. It was no easy task, as he wanted to carry on a running conversation via talkie, with me answering his every comment, if only to acknowledge receipt.

Despite the addition of the kiddos since my last visit years ago, it felt like old times. I felt a little shy and didn't say much . . . I just enjoyed relaxing and listening to the guys talk about the things they talk about every day. In fact, one of their friends commented several times that I would go back to Dallas and talk about the bizzarre crowd I hung out with in Boonville with their "truck talk" and all, but the truth is that I have always loved their crowd and their talk and nothing has changed in that regard. The Cooper family is easy to spend time with and they fold you in and make you never want to leave. That I voluntarily missed the first few innings of Sunday night's Cubs game so that I could spend more time with the family is a testament to this fact, as I NEVER miss part of a Cubs game! I want to figure out another time to visit them soon.

I reluctantly tore myself away for the 2-hour drive to St. Louis, driven to do so only by the 6:35 a.m. departure time for my flight the next morning, which if I had spent the night in Boonville as Mark suggested, would have entailed getting up at 3:00 am. I listened to the Cubs game on my car radio along the way and was dismayed when Mark Prior, my favorite Cubs pitcher, gave up 3 solo home runs in the first inning. This is unprecedented for him. I contemplated going to my hotel for an early sleep, but we Cubs fans DO NOT GIVE UP WHEN THE CHIPS ARE DOWN.

So, I arrived at Busch and learned that latecomers like me are punished by being forced to walk all the way around the park to find the lone entrance kept open for stragglers. On the bright side, my walk gave me the opportunity to see this view of the old stadium next to the new stadium:

Busch Stadium looks pretty when lit up for a night game:

It was even more beautiful in my eyes in light of the fact that the Cub were catching up, cutting the Cards' lead to 3-2 just after my arrival. Cubs catcher Henry Blanco was on fire, raising his batting average from the .160s or .170s to over .210 by the end of the game. He also had 2 key RBIs, the first two runs the Cubs scored that kept them in the game. Shortly after my arrival, Aramis Ramirez hit a 2-run homer that put the Cubs out in front 4-3:

This was only possible because Prior completely shut down the Cards after his shaky first inning. My seats were not as close for this game, but I sat near some fun Cubs fans, so that made it all right. As with all Cubs games, this one was a nail-biter, as the Cards tied up the score 4-4 in the bottom of the 9th inning. But all was to be well, because Neifi! Perez came to the plate in the top of the 10th with the bases loaded and hit a grand slam, which proved to be the game-winner:

We Cub fans were JUBLIANT, with such celebrations as I have not seen in a long time happening in the stands. The Cubs were happy, too:

I joined the throng and headed back to my hotel, where many of us celebrated the victory together. I then retreated to my room for a quick sleep before my flight. But first, I took an arty slow-mo pic of the Arch with the lights of passing traffic:

Then I took another, which included an unplanned overlay of the interior of my room:

It was a fabulous trip, with the final stamp of good karma, in that: (1) I was able to make it to the airport without running out of gas, despite being on "E" the whole time; and (2) the nice Hertz rep with whom I chatted about baseball cut my gas refill charges nearly in half out of pure sympathy for my stupidity in not refilling the car before returning it. I had such a fun-filled time that I never even bought the power cord for the laptop (or, sadly, the much-needed sunscreen). I can't wait to go back!

July 4th Festivities!

2005-07-04T23:36:00.000-05:00

This post is a bit belated, but I did not want to let the summer pass without posting my July 4th photos! I will later adjust the date of the post so that it is time-appropriate, but I'm leaving it here (in August) for now so that folks can easily see it.

I spent my day in the Lakewood area of Dallas, which has a suprisingly small-town feel for being in one of the largest cities in the United States. The day began with a party my friends invited me to, followed by a parade. The theme of the parade was "That's Entertainment!" Thus, you will see a number of musical acts represented below, including Elvis, the Blues Brothers and the lesser-known but no less musical "Jazz Sisters." As one might expect, the day ended with fabulous fireworks, viewed from the Lakewood Library and catered by my friends' kids and their little friends, who ran a lemonade and cake stand that was quite popular.

Without further ado, here are the pics, which tell the story of the day very nicely on their own:

The Perfect Saturday.

2005-06-18T15:48:00.000-05:00

My Saturday started, as has every other day in N.Y.C., with breakfast at my favorite Café La Palette. This time I sat at an outdoor table so I could enjoy the beautiful warm summer weather:

This photo shows the lovely door detail of my beloved place, as well as the blueness of the sky:

I then took a stroll northward, toward Washington Square Park. On the way I saw this interesting sight:

Yes, that is a gigantic chunk of meat, apparently being used for gyros and such. Several of us stood on the sidewalk gawking at the spectacle, but the guy working with this magnificent roll of meat was completely nonplussed.

I continued on to the park, where I caught up with a friend and then watched the dogs, including this cute spotted one:

When I am out of town, I love visiting dog parks because it helps me deal with missing my own dogs so much! Things really livened up at the park when this brown fluffy dog arrived:

He literally tore around the park at a full gallop, with all of the other dogs tearing after him as if he was the Pied Piper of dogs. They circled around and around, stopping for no one in their path, and having a rollicking good time! His exuberant spirit was contagious . . . I laughed out loud and others in the park did, too. This dog made my day, and it wasn’t even lunch time yet!

I then made my way to the subway, where I would catch a train to the Bronx for the second Cubs/Yankees game. I stopped on the way to watch some basketball:

I loved the energy with which everyone was playing!

The crowd was really into the game, too:

I then caught my now-favorite train to the Bronx, the one that leaves from near Washington Square Park and snakes up the west side of Manhattan. We shared a subway train with this cotton candy vendor:

He was on his way home to the Bronx from a morning of work at Coney Island (THAT is a long train ride), and managed to sell some of his treats on the train. There was something surreal about sitting right next to his cloud of cotton candy.

There was something I liked about this family heading into Yankee Stadium:

Maybe it was that they seemed both excited and color coordinated.

It was another beautiful day for baseball!

I loved my seats for this game, which were high, but between home plate and the pitcher’s mound, with a great view. One of my favorite parts of the pre-game events is when the day’s starting pitcher, catcher and the pitching coach walk in from the bullpen:

I also enjoyed having a good view of the Cubs’ dugout:

Here is a photo of the flag bearers during the National Anthem:

I don’t know why, but I tear up for the National Anthem every single time, without fail. We were also treated to a flyover today:

It was cool to see the military guys balancing at the very tip top of the white metal lace surrounding the Stadium . . . it appeared that they called to tell the planes when it was time to do the flyover.

The “first pitch” ceremony for this game was special, too, with the surviving children of parents who died in 9/11 each throwing out a ball:

You may have noticed that I have not said much about the actual game. Well, that’s because the Cubs lost, 8-1, with the only run they scored coming on a Jason Dubois solo home run. Sad day for the Cubs, but a nice day for baseball fans like me, who enjoy the baseball experience, win or lose.

I made a break for the subway and returned quite easily to Soho. Made a quick dash for my hotel, where I freshened up and then met my friend Jay for my first Ukrainian meal ever, at Veselka’s:

He took responsibility for ordering and did very well, as we soon found ourselves sipping wonderful hot borscht (who would have thought beet soup would be so satisfying on a summer night?) and exploring the wonderful world of a variety of pierogis and stuffed cabbage. MMMMM. Freddy the Mayor of Chelsea (Jay’s French bulldog) liked it too, as he had many admirers who stopped to pet him at his perch next to our outdoor table.

After that fine meal, a walk was in order, so we strolled over to Veniero’s, the maker of Jay’s favorite cannoli in New York:

Veniero's is a very old place, but has adapted to the modern era, even having wireless internet and their very own web site! The place was a madhouse, with all of the outdoor tables filled. We opted to order at the pastry counter, which was so busy late on a Saturday night that one has to take a number! Tiny bite-sized cannolis procured (chocolate for Jay, vanilla for me), we continued on our walk.

It wasn’t easy to find a quality café with an outdoor table open on this lovely night, so we walked and walked and walked. This brought my first lesson about living in New York: one must put comfort before vanity, as my beloved and fashionable heels did not feel as beloved after a long walk through the East Village. We cut through what I believe was Union Square Park. I don’t have a photo of it, as I was too cool to bring my camera out to dinner. But we had a lovely chat with two women we met in the park, both of whom admired Freddy and were walking a cute dog of their very own. I was amazed when we had a fairly lengthy chat with them, as if we had always known them. Jay chalks this up to the solidarity found among dog owners.

We continued on our walk and found a nice place to land, the name of which I cannot remember for the life of me. I want to say it was something green, like “Olive,” but not quite. [UPDATE: It was called "Uovo," and is found at 11th and Avenue B. Thanks go to "Bar Man," who visited the place on August 27th and wrote about it on his web site, 1000 Bars.] We sat on wobbly chairs and ate some nice roasted nuts . . . the wine selection was nice, too. We met the owner; he said he had just opened the place recently. I hope it does well, as it had all the makings of a quality neighborhood place. So ends the tale of my last night in New York!

Friday: French Cafe, Old Friend, Fresh MOMA, Funny Street Scene!

2005-06-17T17:55:00.000-05:00

I woke up Friday morning and barely had time to stretch before hearing the ring of my hotel room's telephone. I was confused because surely anyone who knew to find me at this hotel also has my cell phone number. So my curiosity got the better of me and I scrambled for the phone, to find my friend Joan at the other end! As it turns out, her co-worker, whom I had randomly met the night before, had reported our chance meeting. The co-worker had actually remembered where I was staying, because she had actually eaten dinner in my hotel's restaurant before joining the group of us out for the night. Joan and I excitedly chatted, unable to believe our good fortune at being reconnected in such a bizarre way. We made plans to meet for lunch, because I had plans that night and Joan was leaving for vacation the next morning.

I then strolled through a few Soho blocks to the place where I would carry out one of my favorite New York rituals: reading the newspaper over a large cafe latte at my favorite French cafe. I love this place and retain my close relationship with it, despite having been first introduced to it by someone who ultimately broke my heart. Perhaps that gives him too much credit . . . let's just say that he seriously dented it. While I occasionally enjoy sitting outside at the green tables and chairs shown in this photo, the weather must be exactly right for me to do that--not too warm or cold, with a blue sky and not enough wind to ruffle my newspaper. Today was not such a day, so I sat indoors at my favorite table near the window. I read the New York Times and planned out my day, which would include lunch with Joan in midtown, a visit to MOMA (my first since the extensive remodeling), a stroll and maybe some shopping in midtown and then a train ride to the Bronx, where I would see the first in a three-game series between my beloved Cubs and the Yankees. I was so happy with this place and the feeling it gives me that I even photographed my cafe latte and my paper:

I reluctantly tore myself away from the caffeine and the atmosphere of the cafe to hustle through Soho in search of an uptown train that would let me out at 53rd and Lexington (no easy find from where I was!). I found it just in time to be a few minutes late for my lunch meeting with Joan. We had a fabulous catching-up session, as each of us have had a quite eventful time of it during the last few years. Of course, lunch was too short and we made plans to get together again soon the next time I am in New York.

I then scooted away to MOMA, where I was disappointed to find that several exhibits I had waited in anticipation to see--a temporary exhibit, the photography section, etc.--were closed. Even the sculpture-filled courtyard I remember so fondly was not open for visitors:

I made do with what I could see, photographing these artful things that caught my fancy:

I especially enjoyed the special exhibit of Lee Friedlander's work:

He is a photographer with a knack for finding interesting angles and subjects.

It was too nice of a day to be inside for very long, so I soon returned to the sparkling blue sky that was Manhattan that day. There I found some wonderful street art like this:

and this:

I took a long walk down Fifth Avenue, stopping for a moment to admire the Tiffany's store, which always brings back fond memories of one of my favorite movies, Breakfast at Tiffany's:

I then dipped into the pool of humanity known as the area just south of Central Park, near the Plaza Hotel, and made my way to the Park. I stopped to see what these guys were watching so intently:

It was these excellent spinners and break dancers:

Everyone watched expectantly while this guy set up a stunt:

Then he wowed us all by jumping over the kids, and doing a flip in the process:

The wonderful weather made it a busy day in the Park, especially for the vendors:

I enjoyed my walk up the East Side, just before catching the subway to the Bronx for the night's game.

Yankee Stadium is no Wrigley Field, but it sure does look pretty from the subway platform:

I had a bit of good fortune when I happened to enter Yankee Stadium right by the entrance to Monument Park, where they were letting in the last group of game-goers for a tour:

Monument park includes a number on the wall and storyboard for each player whose number has been retired:

There is also an actual monument for each player, such as the Babe:

Another nice aspect of Monument Park was being able to see the Cubs up close while they warmed up for the game in center field:

The plethora of Cubs fans who were present made me feel right at home:

I was even there early enough to see batting practice, which I always enjoy:

It was strange to see Mark Prior helping with batting practice instead of warming up:

This picture does a good job of showing the visitors' bullpen area, which is right behind the wall with all of the numbers in Monument Park. That little dark blue roof behind the 64 and 23 is the "porch" where the pitchers can sit on a bench (and I think can see the television broadcast of the game), but many of the Cubs pitchers chose to sit on the wall with the numbers until it was time to warm up, as a picture I will post from another game will show.

My seat was not quite as good, but not bad either. I was able to see the Yankee grounds crew dance to YMCA:

And to take my traditional chair photo:

And to capture this beautiful view of the surrounding neighborhood, as well as a scoreboard that did not yet reflect a Cubs loss (the game had not yet begun):

Carlos Zambrano pitched for the Cubs, giving us our best chance for a win. He left with the lead, but the bullpen couldn't hold the lead and we lost, 9-6. At least the sunset was beautiful:

It was surprisingly easy to make it onto the downtown train . . . I discovered the orange line that snakes down the West Side, dropping me in my favorite neighborhood, right near my hotel! Before calling it a night, I strolled over to Washington Square Park to see what was happening there. There were chess players galore, and lots of people with dogs and friends. A "Well-Lit Chess Pieces" art project added a new and fun twist to the Park, making it look more upscale than usual.

I then witnessed an interesting event that seemed to have been pulled straight from a Seinfeld episode involving George Costanza in a parking dispute. Here is the scene I happened upon:

The woman in the red shirt (hereinafter "Red Shirt Lady") was driving the car on the left--a somewhat beat up American car. Apparently, just as she was backing into this parking space, a girl driving the Mercedes on the right darted through a yellow or red light (this was a much-debated point) and stuck the nose of her German car into the very parking space for which Red Shirt Lady was aiming. As one might imagine, Red Shirt Lady was none too happy about this state of affairs. I had a front-row seat for these events, with a man who claimed to be the Artist of Washington Square as my companion. He had an extensive collection of his own art for sale just across the street from this scene. His display included a laminated board of letters addressed to him from various famous folk, such as a letter from the former Mayor Giuliani thanking him for his ideas on how to improve the city, etc. The artist was delighted by the action at his corner, saying that in all his years in the City, he had never seen anything like it. The "action" consisted of a very heated discussion between Red Shirt Lady and Mercedes Driver regarding who would lay claim to the disputed space, with RSL strutting up and down and saying she wasn't responsible for what would happen if she did not get the space (which, by the way, was not a legal parking space). Just as we thought the players might come to blows, with the growing crowd of onlookers listening as a police siren slowly whooped its way nearer to us, Mercedes Driver pulled away and Red Shirt Lady slid her car into the spot. We figure the Mercedes Driver was not willing to risk the harm that RSL would inevitably have done to her car in her absence. We hoped to see the reaction of Red Shirt Lady if she received a parking ticket while absent from the car, but she quickly returned before receiving the write-up.

You can't have everything, as they say. But you can have a glimpse into humanity at any given moment in New York, if you just keep your eyes open for it. So ended my first full day in NYC, and I turned in for much-needed sleep!

New York: A Small Town?

2005-06-16T23:59:00.000-05:00

With plans to meet my new friend, I hustled back to my hotel to freshen up, and felt like a new person. I even splurged with a cab ride to the very close by Bitter End:

There I met lots of new friends, as well as the "old friend"/investment banker from Cafe Figaro, who had invited me. We heard the musical stylings of Austin Willacy:

Austin's music struck a great balance between being rocking and soothing. He was also very friendly after the show, a charming quality in a sexy musician. When the music ended, our group moved next door to the Peculier Pub, another charming hole in the wall kind of place, also with cheap beer!:

I enjoyed chatting with the folks I was with, including one Yankee fan with whom I had a spirited discussion of the upcoming Cubs/Yankees series and the season each of our teams is having. One person in our group was a nanny from Russion who had a fascinating story of her arrival in America, which sadly entailed her leaving her own children behind. Everyone in the group was nice and had an interesting story to tell. It felt great to be meeting new people again, something that only very rarely happens where I live.

One of these people had just moved to NYC from Boston, where she was a bank examiner. I took a shot in the dark and mentioned that I had a college friend worked as a bank examiner in Boston eight years ago. Unbelievably, this woman said, "Joan Bryant? She just moved here from Austin--I work with her!" What are the chances of that?!?! Joan was once one of my closest friends, but we drifted away over the last several years . . . I think it happened because I let my feelings be hurt over something stupid. I had considered getting back in touch with her a number of times, but didn't know what I would say.

So when this woman said she knew Joan, I was somewhat stunned and did not even think to get Joan's number before I ran off to meet Jay for a drink at this neat old speakeasy:

(This isn't Jay--it's a picture I found on the internet). Here is a review of Chumley's that sums it up pretty well:

The walls of this onetime Village speakeasy are cluttered with dog-eared photos of famous writers and the jackets of their most influential tomes. Stop in and check out the distressed-wood décor before 6pm or after midnight, and it's not hard to imagine Hemingway and Fitzgerald bickering in a back corner over a few too many whiskeys; during prime drinking time, however, the crowd is more J. Crew than T. S. Eliot, making the place feel like a fraternity reunion. But you've got to check it out at least once. It's saturated with history, the drinks are cheap, the food's pretty decent and, in winter, there's a working fireplace.

—David Amsden. Thankfully, we arrived after the frat boy crowd had departed, leaving only regulars and a nice wait staff that permitted me to lift Freddy onto the bench next to me. There is something comforting about stroking a downy-soft dog while sipping a wholesome brewed beer.

Suddenly, we were hungry. The Chumley's kitchen was closed, but one of the nice things about New York is that you can find any kind of food at any time of day or night. We wanted something healthy and headed to Jane:

There we nibbled on a lovely Cobb salad, feeding bits of meat and bacon to Freddy, who lurked below the table in the most charming way possible. After a short stroll, we called it a night, with me feeling as if I had had the perfect New York day.

Thursday Morning: New York, New York!

2005-06-16T17:22:00.001-05:00

I have never been good at waiting patiently for my time in New York, so I left Boston bright and early, at 6:50 a.m. Those who know me are aware that I do not often see that side of 7 a.m. I had a brief adventure at the post office, where I arrived very early to mail home the antique item I purchased on my journey north of Boston. There I ran into one of the nicest postal employees ever, a woman who sat right down on the floor with me to fashion a perfect funny-shaped box for my funny-shaped item, made from ripped-up priority mail boxes and an entire roll of packing tape. The project took up about 15 minutes of her after-work time, drew laughs and jokes from a number of her co-workers, and won her my undying appreciation, as she refused to take any tip from me.

My patient cab driver then dropped me off at South Station. To keep myself awake, I drank coffee from McDonald's, watched people and took pictures:

I have a special thing for trains, so much so that I photographed my lovely train compartment:

My love affair with the train began in Europe. I cannot ride a train now without thinking about past trips on trains, all of which have been wonderful. I sat in a car that permitted use of cell phones, which meant that most of the people were business-oriented, tapping away on laptops. I had my laptop, but spent my time taking in the scenery and dreaming of what I would do with my time in New York.

The scenery between Boston and Manhattan was intriguing, and constituted my first-ever view of Rhode Island and Connecticut The misty weather made the view especially atmospheric. I loved the boats and marshes:

Before I knew it, we were pulling into New York. The Manhattan skyline took my breath away, as did the energy of the city when I emerged from Penn Station and briskly caught a taxi to my new favorite hotel in NYC, 60 Thompson. I settled into my tranquil room, but didn't stop much longer than to admire and photograph it:

Did you see the lovely fresh orchid on the bedside table? Did you SEE it? I loved it!

Having made a plan with my friend Jay, I set out for Two Boots pizza, where I picked up the slice of New York pizza I have missed. I then met up with Jay and Freddy:

(This picture does neither of them justice). We shared coffee in a classic New York sidewalk cafe experience at the Empire Diner:

We then strolled in and out of high-end shops and galleries in Chelsea. This is one work by our favorite artist among those we saw, Gregory Crewdson:

Freddy was a show-stopper, wandering into offices galore and charming all he encountered. Women drop to their knees to worship him! Gallery managers run to find a dish of water for him! Shop owners selling thousand dollar bags and shoes let him wander freely! This led me to dub Freddy the Mayor of Chelsea.

Finished with our shopping and gallery-hopping, we then popped over to the West Chelsea dog park, which is populated by some very spunky pups! Jay showed off his beautiful studio. I headed back downtown to Soho, where I nestled into a nice sidewalk cafe table at Le Figaro Cafe:

At the table next to me was a girl visiting NYC from Europe. She wrote postcards, and I wrote notes about my travels. The waiter teased us about our writing. He was the nicest waiter I would meet at this cafe (on a later visit, I encountered his evil twin). It felt great to watch the clouds moving and the people scurrying and to know that before, long, I will be living here, too. I photographed the last bit of blue sky before the rain poured down--the line at the top is the cafe's awning:

I stayed at my sidewalk perch until the rain began blowing, making it a bit soggy where I was sitting. I stepped inside the bar, lest I be blown away in a Dorothy-like fashion. There I met a man with whom I had a nice chat. He invited me to join him and his friends in hearing a band that night. I agreed, and this turned out to be a fateful decision, as I will explain . . .

Last Day in Boston: A Walk, History and Meals in the North End.

2005-06-15T12:42:00.000-05:00

My last day in the city began, as all good days should, at my now-favorite Modern Pastry shop, with cannoli and a huge café latte.

Afterward, I visited the very nicely done Holocaust Memorial:

These are the numbers that were burned into people killed in the Holocaust:

Then I took the T southward, to U Mass, where I caught a shuttle bus to the JFK Museum:

This museum is beautifully done, situated right next to the bay:

The museum hit the perfect balance of simplicity and being informative, starting with Kennedy’s selection in the primary:

and continuing with his victory over Nixon, with this map bringing back memories of a certain election in 2000, and thoughts about how to make the map look like this again:

I enjoyed seeing pictures from Jacquelyn Kennedy’s past:

For me, one of the most moving aspects of the museum was seeing the military veterans . . . a number of them were there, helping each other get around:

I have always loved this photo of JFK with Bobby . . . one of the vets liked it, too:

I even found one of the old veteran men standing in deep thought while looking at this display of Jacquelyn Kennedy’s baby things:

This room near the end of the museum tour was simply done, and predictably sad, with bare walls and a loop of Walter Cronkite's moving report of the President's death. The room opened into this more comforting space, with some of the tributes to JFK found around the world:

As if in an attempt to cheer a person up after that sadness, the enclosed rooms open into a large and airy space with this view of the bay:

With this inspiring quote to take with you, particularly appropriate in the current political climate:

Tucking another long and interesting ride on the Boston T under my belt, I arrived at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, feeling grateful not to have been rained on:

Ms. Gardner must have been an interesting person. Visitors named “Isabel” may enter without paying admission. Also, Ms. Gardner willed that the displays must never be altered. This has resulted in the display of empty frames on the wall in one room, from which the original paintings were stolen in 1990 in one of the largest museum heists ever.

This courtyard was my favorite part of the museum, with its nooks all around, gorgeous flowers and ancient Egyptian sculpture inside . . . it reminded me of the Alhambra in Spain:

I beat the rain and fulfilled my mission to see the Public Garden, which was not quite what I expected, but still atmospheric in the misty weather. I loved the pond:

and this bird on the bridge:

and this string of swan boats:

My day ended with the most lovely Italian dinner at a hole in the wall in the North End (no, NOT Modern Pastry, as I could by this time distinguish cannoli from canneloni) . . . I had the special and adored it. Not quite ready to call it a day, I stepped into a local bar for a drink, and met an interesting man named either Larry or Robby (he introduced himself as the latter, but I could have sworn the hostess called him by the former). He was quite a gentleman, giving me the last stool in the place. We had a nice chat about his artwork he was carrying with him, his jobs and even a bit of political talk. It is always nice to find someone with whom you can have a casual chat over a drink.

All Kinds of Places of Worship

2005-06-14T23:58:00.000-05:00

When I last wrote, I was spending time with the Christian Scientists. (What kind of opening sentence in a book would that make?!?) In keeping with the church theme, I explored two churches before heading to my preferred place of worship, any beautiful and storied major league baseball park.

The first church I visited was a small one just across from the Copley T stop (I forget the name). There I remembered how I really need to travel with a tripod, as I took photos like this:

I especially liked this detail found over the doors to the sanctuary:

I then headed over to the better-known Trinity church, which has this lovely tortoise and hare out front, as it is a key part of the Boston Marathon Route (perhaps the ending place?):

One of the cool aspects of this church, situated right across from the Boston Public Library, is that you can photograph the old and the new together (thanks to Philip Greenspun's Boston Photography Guide for that tip!):

Inside, I found these family-named footstools quirky and charming:

And continued my love affair with photographing the high-up pulpit:

And the suspended cross:

Having had my fill of churches, and for some reason not being in the right mood to explore the Boston Public Library, as I had planned, I hopped on the T like a Boston native and headed over to Fenway Park for that evening’s Red Sox/Reds game.

I began with my traditional stroll just behind home plate:

And had the pleasant surprise of being able to obtain the autograph of an old Sox player—which will make a nice gift for the friend with whom I lost my Cubs/Sox/World Series bet:

This man was very nice and friendly and didn’t even care that I am a Cub fan:

While waiting for this autograph, I perused the historical photos displayed in Autograph Alley (a nice Fenway Feature all by itself!):

A true throng was awaiting the start of the game while stuffing themselves with sausages and such:

In honor of the Army’s anniversary and/or Flag Day, the Red Sox were busy helping the Army sign up more kids to die in Iraq so that Bush can look good (or not like a failure) in the history books—I apparently missed the part of the presentation in which we mention how many people have been harmed by this war for which Bush changes the stated rationale on a near-daily basis:

Actually, I was annoyed by this presentation for the above-stated reasons, but that feeling subsided later. Seated near me was a guy in Army fatigues, apparently freshly back from duty. During the game, a balloon popped nearby. Most of us seemed not to even blink when that happened, but this guy jumped and was clearly shaken by the sound. My heart softened as I realized that he had probably had no choice but to go there, but will bear the consequences long after the person who sent him there is out of office. *Okay, this unpaid political rant will now end.

Even if it lacks the grace of Wrigley Field with its ivy, Fenway really is a nice park, with an intimate feeling and no shortage of history:

I made a new friend during the game, a kid who asked me for a pen with which to keep his scorecard:

I joked that he must remember to return the pen, because it was the only one I had with me on vacation, and thought he had forgotten to do so when he and his Dad and brothers left just before the end of the game. Much to my amusement, the pen was handed back to me through a wall of people standing in the row in front of me (I couldn’t even see the kid), with the kid apparently just assuming that I was watching and would see the pen poking through. For some reason, that kid just made me laugh.

The Red Sox won, and all was well in the world. My T ride home wasn’t even too crowded!

Day Four: Sushi, and Church Doings

2005-06-14T14:59:00.000-05:00

It seems that my days increasing later as my vacation continued . . . whether because I had some loose ends to tie up at work in the mornings or because I simply slept in. So, after dragging myself back into the albatross that is known as the Boston public transportation system, I found myself at a sushi place I had learned about called Gyuhama:

It was good, but not great, probably the only Boston meal I would do differently if I could. I did enjoy the “Rock and Roll” sushi roll, which included jalapenos. That isn’t an easy find!

I agonized during lunch about what to do with my day, and finally settled on trying to squeeze in tours of both the Christian Science World Headquarters and Fenway Park (there’s a combo for you!). But I found the Christian Science HQ so interesting that I blew off the Fenway Park tour and explored the entire HQ and accompanying museum. I especially liked the Hall of Ideas, with a fountain in which quotes swirl around:

And then flow onto the floor and up the wall:

I also enjoyed the Mapparium, a 3-D colored glass globe in which you can stand:

After emerging from the Mapparium, I ducked into what was the nicest semi-public restroom I have ever seen:

In case you’re wondering how I snapped this photo, that is a funny story all by itself. I was stalling as I washed my hands, waiting for a lady to leave because I was too embarrassed to photograph a bathroom in front of her. She was taking a really long time and I nearly gave up. But then, she took out a camera and snapped a photo. I laughed and told her I had been waiting for her to leave so I could do the same thing; she laughed and said she thought I would never leave! Turns out that she is an art teacher and loved the mosaic work; she wanted a photo so she could show it to her students. She lamented the lack of light and I suggested that she try this shot near the window, which turned out well:

Another woman entered the restroom while we were both taking pictures, and we just laughed and laughed.

The Quest Gallery, the Christian Scientists’ pseudo-museum, was also very interesting:

There were many interactive displays, in which you could hear “regular folk” and also Val Kilmer talk about their spirituality:

Perhaps my favorite part of the place was this view of the Christian Science Monitor newsroom, accompanied by a great interactive display that gave an excellent tutorial concerning all that goes on in a day in the life of a newspaper:

I stayed there for a long time, but had to leave when the gallery closed. I'm closing down shop on this entry for the moment, but will return tomorrow to write about the rest of my day four!

Back from the Dead and an Interesting Cab Ride

2005-06-13T22:14:00.000-05:00

So, as I reached the base of the Tower at the Mt. Auburn Cemetery, I began to wonder how I would ever walk all the way back to the entrance gate, because the temperature was becoming increasingly warm and I was feeling awfully overheated. Much to my surprise and delight, at that very moment, a truck pulled up right in front of me, and in it was a man I shall forever call the “Cemetery Sheriff.” In reality, I think he was in charge of security or maintenance or something. I am not a shy traveler, and after he inquired as to whether all was well, I asked if he would mind driving me back to the main gate after I took a quick look around from the Tower. He readily agreed to help me out. So I scrambled to the top, took the quick photo you saw posted in my last entry, and then hurried down to the truck.

The man and I had a most interesting conversation during our short ride together. Turns out, they had just announced that the Michael Jackson jury had reached a verdict, and he was eagerly awaiting the news. We each opined on what the 7-day deliberation period could mean (I guessed, “not guilty”), and he was proud to have predicted the deliberation period accurately. He then shared the tale of his own prior jury service, which surprised me mainly because although it occurred years ago, the man remembered the facts of the case (a real estate fraud scheme) in extraordinary detail. Our visit was pleasant and he kindly dropped me off near the water fountain, when I assume he then resumed his wait for the verdict.

I easily caught a bus back to the Harvard campus and was amused during the trip to see that our driver knew everyone on the route! Thinking of nothing other than replenishing my energy level, I headed directly for the Starbucks that was just off Harvard Square. I realize that this flies in the face of my “no chain food/drink establishments” mantra, but (a) I am addicted to their coffee; and (b) despite being a chain, Starbucks somehow manages to soak up the spirit of its surroundings, and this one was no different. I sank into a nice leather chair near tall windows overlooking the street (this Starbucks is inside the “Garage”, an above-street level group of shops), sipped my tall cup of ice water (interspersed with sips of latte), listened to my Ipod and tucked into the book I’ve been reading, which is called, “Be Happy at Work: 100 Women Who Love Their Jobs, and Why.”

My restful time posing as a student was cut short by a power outage that required the premature closing of the Starbucks. So I returned to Harvard Square and lounged on the grass for a while, apparently looking friendly, as I was called into service to photograph a tourist with her own camera. From my perch beneath a tree, I saw an Oliver from Love Story look-a-like (meaning he matched my mental image) . . . how beautiful was he! And he paced about so moodily . . . it was wonderful.

I felt too mussed from my hiking afternoon in the heat to investigate the Cambridge hot spots, so I procured dinner from an old Harvard stand-by--Beckley’s. Much to my amusement, the burger I selected, with my beloved blue cheese as an accent, was called “the Viagra.” I’m not sure why, but probably that is for the best. While waiting for the burger to be prepared, I checked out the fabulous Harvard Book Store. It is an excellent place and I could have stayed there for hours.

But alas, I had a burger to retrieve. I took just a short hike to the cab stand and caught a ride back to my hotel. The driver seemed sullen at first, perhaps disappointed that I wasn’t in need of a longer ride. He reminded me of the handsome Italian guy from the movie “The Station Agent” (Bobby Cannavale?). At first, I was sure the grumpy driver was intentionally driving in such as way as to throw my camera bag to the floorboards. His cab radio started squawking . . . with a new dispatcher starting a shift. But what’s this? The dispatcher began to regale us with an incessant whine about the future of the cab business and how it will be over if guys don’t start responding to his calls. This went on for a few minutes, with me growing increasingly uncomfortable with/incredulous at what I was hearing. Still, the cab was total silence, other than the sound of the griping dispatcher. All of a sudden, the driver tried to sneak a look at me, apparently to see if I was listening to/hearing his dispatcher’s diatribe. I caught his eye, and he saw that I was listening with interest; we then both burst out laughing, which totally changes the vibe in the car to that of people who have bonded in a difficult situation. He started telling me all about the guy, who is the owner of the cab company . . . the dispatcher sounds like a modern-day Louie DePalma (Danny DeVito) from “Taxi,” complete with a glass window between him and the drivers, and the mean-spirited approach to go with it. The dispatcher droned on and on, sounding like a whiny baby in the body of a man. My driver made me laugh because he bragged about how he is the only one who stands up to the owner, then when he called the dispatcher to announce his location, he spoke like a quiet, respectful kid. I hid my amusement and the driver and I chatted all the way to my hotel, interrupted only by his proclamations regarding the greatness of Pink Floyd (an upcoming concert was announced on the radio). What a classic experience.

More later on Day Four!

Day Three: Experience life as a Hah-vahd student.

2005-06-13T14:20:00.000-05:00

I had planned to spend my Monday at Provincetown, but found that the previous day’s hike to the ocean had fulfilled my immediate need for beach time. Instead, I found myself craving a visit to Cambridge, where I would live out my long-denied fantasy of life as an Ivy League student (foiled by my own lack of confidence in high school and a high school guidance counselor whose sights did not extend beyond Midwestern Catholic schools). Anyway, my day began with a long walk in 90+ degree humid weather, ending with the thought: “I’m on vacation—why should I suffer in this heated hell?” I was lucky enough to snag a cab near MIT that someone else had called, but never retrieved.

I emerged from the cab near Harvard Square and, after checking a map to regain my bearings, stepped down the stairs into Casablanca, the lunch spot about which I had read:

Casablanca is a semi-Moroccan place that has been a part of the Harvard community’s dining landscape for years. I read about how the place had to close down during a theatre renovation, then reopened in a slightly remodeled form. From my newcomer’s perspective, it seemed not to have skipped a beat. The wine was delightful (I could get used to having a nice glass of white mid-day, instead of in the evening!) and the chickpea crepes were tasty. It was nice to find that what might have been a dark below-ground setting was actually brightened significantly by a room-length skylight through which I could see the sky and the building next door.

This meal’s eavesdropping (the dinner companion of the lone diner) centered on two pairs of folks. The one nearest to me seemed to be a father/daughter duo, with the daughter enthusiastically explaining to her father the joys of the IPOD. The other pair seemed to be a long-retired male faculty member and a woman who may have worked with him before his retirement. He eagerly and quietly devoured her tales of departmental politics and goings-on.

Because the atmosphere was so wonderful in the restaurant and energy level was temporarily dampened by the nice wine, it was with a bit of reluctance that I reemerged into the heavy outside air. I meandered over to the vaunted Harvard Square, where I admired the lawn, the buildings and the lively atmosphere of a place filled with people, both young and old, even after the school year had ended. Here are some of the things I saw there:

Twenty-something guy with pipe (it’s small in the photo, but I’m not making it up!), apparently reveling in the feeling of being a part of the Ivy League World.

Building donated by Al Gore’s family?

One of the many buildings under construction, as if they had just waited until the moment the last final exam was completed, then launched into action.

Seeking coolness, I ducked into the Fogg Museum, one of Harvard’s many repositories for art (because once you have the higher education thing down, why not build several stellar art collections):

It is one thing to have great art, and another entirely to display it in a simple, yet gorgeous setting like this:

I tried to develop my photography skills sans flash, sometimes succeeding:

and sometimes not so much:

A bit blurry, but still cool, I think.

These were among the other wonderful things I found:

Very, very old column tops (that’s exactly what the curator’s posted comments said—I swear!

Interesting-looking room with a hanging cross.

I love the colors and lines of this one.

Statutes by a master and his acolyte.

And a Picasso, for good measure!

Reluctantly departing this wonderful space, I reentered the outdoor Harvard world:

To aid my return to the heat, I popped into an ice cream shop about which I had read. Their homemade offerings were diverse, and I chose a mix of French Vanilla and Marmalade. Quite lovely, it was! I also enjoyed hearing the counter girl recall how, earlier that day, she had created a lemonade mix of a drink about which the customer had raved . . . funny how little moments like having made someone so happy with something simple really stick with you.

I then caught a cab to the Mt. Auburn Cemetery, a lovely cemetery (of course) that was supposed to have gorgeous gardens as well. The cab driver was awfully perplexed, both about where the entrance was and why I would want to go there. As we drove through the winding roads in an effort to find the main entrance (I wasn’t plunging in without a map, mind you!), he said, “I don’t like spending time in cemeteries . . . it makes me think too much.” We finally located the main gate and, impressively detailed map in hand, I was off.

I found acres of deep beauty to explore. The pastoral setting of the cemetery, its lush gardens, its ponds, all with an overlay of imagination-triggering history, was wonderful. These pictures speak for themselves, I think:

Mary Baker Eddy (founder of Christian Science) liked nice things.

That is a devoted baseball fan!

A faithful friend.

Restful water’s edge.

The one grave I was sad to have missed was that of Oliver Wendell Holmes. I did not see him on the list when I chose the areas I wanted to visit and, by the time I realized he was there, it was ridiculously hot and I just didn’t have it in me to trek back to that remote corner. This remains one of the few regrets from my vacation.

I hiked to the top of the Tower hill in this cemetery . . . a brutal climb but worth it for the view, which was great even on this overcast day:

I have to continue with my Saturday, and this entry has reached epic length, so you will have to wait until my next entry to hear about how I was rescued from this Tower hill!

Day Two: Start with the Italians, then head for the water.

2005-06-12T23:58:00.000-05:00

My day began in the North End, where I located the ever-to-be-fondly-remembered Modern Pastry shop:

Hand-talking Italian men lingered over coffee, discussing the evils of the bottled water fad. As is my wont, I eavesdropped on them . . . while devouring my first-ever cannoli (with a lovely crisp but fresh shell loaded with the most decadent sweet ricotta filling ever) and a nice big café latte. I listened in while two strangers, a modern and intellectual-seeming 30-ish woman and a crusty middle-aged fisherman, bonded over their cannolis. He even tolerated reasonably well the instance in which she said, after he asked the young counter-girl if she would be wearing a bikini at the beach, "She isn't there to be ogled by the likes of you!" The fisherman defended himself mildly, then tucked back into his cannoli. Such is the magic power of those cannolis! Another exchange I overheard was this:

Fisherman: “Is Billy back in town?”

Baker: “No . . . not yet. Have you seen him?”

Fisherman: “I saw him the day she threw him out.”

Strangely, this was to become a theme of my vacation, in which I overheard multiple tales of women throwing men out of the house. Another occurred on Manhattan's D Train to the Bronx, which I was riding en route to a Cubs/Yankees game. Two guys about my age were standing right next to me, having this discussion as if they were totally alone. The blonder of the guys told a sad tale in which his wife had left him a note telling him to gather his things and leave. He seemed all at once surprised and not surprised about this turn of events. The cause of the situation was somewhat unclear (at least to me), but his friend did offer him a spare room for a few weeks. My curiosity was piqued after hearing these stories, leaving me to ponder whether this is a modern trend or a reflection of the places in which I lingered (and eavesdropped) during the trip.

Before heading out to catch my northbound train, I took a quick snap of this charming illustration hanging on the shop wall, of an artist painting a still life of a canolli:

(If you're wondering, it says, "Roberto . . . Il Pintore di Cannoli.") This perfectly captures the feeling one has at Modern Pastry, of being in the presence of a great achievement in the form of a delectable pastry.

Contentedly full of cannoli, and with a boxed gift of the taste treat in hand, I settled in for a relaxing train ride heading north from Boston, where I had the pleasure of meeting up with a friend in Beverly, MA, for an afternoon of fun. We drove up the coast to Glouchester, and found this cute downtown area that includes this diner straight out of a bygone era:

We were disappointed to find the intended lunch place closed, but happened upon (with the help of a couple we encountered, who were similarly disappointed to find the restaurant closed) this lovely lunch place called Alchemy. There we drank wine and ate a fabulous lobster pie:

Sadly, I was unable to eavesdrop at this place because no one one sitting nearby. But our conversation was interesting enough in and of itself to keep me entertained. Antiquing was of course a part of the plan, and while doing that, we observed this budding artist:

A threatening rain made beach plans not seem like a good idea, so we substituted a hike near this pond:

which led us to this gorgeous view of a meadow overlooking the rocky approach to the Atlantic Ocean:

My day ended, as many days do, with watching the Cubs game—again with the impressively knowledgeable Sox fans, but this time at an interesting Boston brewery with a fine product.

The baseball obsession continues . . .

2005-06-11T23:59:00.000-05:00

I felt as if I was in a third-world country because it took me an hour to get to my next destination. I had to take a bus, then a subway train, then a not insignificant walk, some of it uphill while crossing a bridge. At the subway train, only two cars came for the 100 or so folks standing around, so many of us had to wait for the next train. Once it arrived, we were crammed together like sardines, including many sweaty and shirtless folks who were in town for the weekend’s Gay Pride festivities. By the time I reached this destination, I was certainly sweaty, but not shirtless (whew!):

I bellied up to a bar (the Cask and Flagon’s lovely old bar, formerly frequented by the Amazing Ted Williams

to watch my Cubs beat the Boston Red Sox. I must say that the Red Sox fans are delightful! They are unfailingly friendly, even when their team is losing. They are knowledgeable about baseball—not just regarding their team, but regarding other teams, too! And they know the pain of being a Cubs fan, having suffered their own indignities for many decades (in my NYC entries, I will explain why I think their suffering may have been even greater than the Cubs fans’ suffering, given that it involved YANKEE fans—who are the scourge of the earth).

After watching the Cubs notch their victory, I explored the outside of Fenway Park, an intimate and thoroughly charming place, including this clue to the pre-seats on the Green Monster Era:

with cool neighborhood signs as well:

My investigation of Fenway complete, I strolled through the Back Bay neighborhood, exploring Newbury Street. What a lovely Saturday night! The crowds were eagerly eating and drinking at sidewalk café tables, apparently thrilled with the warm summer weather. Not yet feeling social, I ducked into a shop for a pedicure and completed my walk at the Public Gardens. I then called it a night at what I thought was an impressively late hour, given my late Friday night and early Saturday flight!

En route to Boston

2005-06-11T15:00:00.000-05:00

I'll start from the beginning of my awesome week-long vacation, with little bits and pieces I wrote while on the road, supplemented by my photographic stylings:

This is good. I’m on the plane for my vacation and I already feel the need to write. Writing for myself has now become a regular part of my day. I feel incomplete if I haven’t spent at least a bit of my day jotting down my thoughts. If only I felt that way about working out! Soon, soon, I say.

My plane to Boston took off just 30 minutes ago, and already I have already experienced a few of the bizarre incidents that are a hallmark of all of my travel activities. On the bright side, I met a Red Sox fan at my coffee shop this morning whose enthusiasm for Boston and baseball made me look forward to my trip even more. On the darker side, I left my ATM card in the cash machine after making my vacation fund withdrawal. I blame this mistake on the fact that I slept only 3 hours due to a mountainous pile of work that prevented me from leaving the office or packing until after Midnight. Of course, I only realized this after arriving at the gate as late as one possibly could arrive because I tiredly missed an exit and had to take the long way to the airport, evading a random and impressive (if one was not in a hurry) traffic backup on the way.

Now, back to the in-flight move, “The Wedding Date.”

Day One: How did I end up in remotest India? Arrived at Boston’s airport, and was pleased with the breezy cab ride into town. That is, until the requisite exit from the tunnel was closed and we spend 30 minutes traveling 1 mile over a bridge. Had I known how close we were to my hotel, I would have stepped out and schlepped the rest of the way. I did like my cabbie, though, which always makes the trip go faster. So, arrived at the hotel and quickly snapped a photo of the room before heading out:

More on the "remotest India" remark in a moment . . .

Time to blog my Memorial Day trip to Chicago!

2005-06-03T15:44:00.000-05:00

I will use a photo essay to tell the story of this quick but lovely trip:

As has become my routine, my trip to Chicago began with a ride on the "L" to Wrigley Field, via the Addison stop on the Red Line:

I arrived at the game early because I love a good walk around Wrigley Field, fairest park in all of Major League Baseball Land:

During my leisurely stroll and the scene-soaking in that accompanies it, I admired the handiwork of the grounds crew:

One of the things I realized on this trip is that I may be the only 35-year old single woman who enjoys going by myself to Cubs games in cities in which I do not live. Would I prefer it if my friends and family enjoyed the games enough to go as well? Sure. But with so many friends with young kiddos and so few folks interested in devoting themselves to an entire game (let alone three entire games), along with the travel to and from such games, I would never make it to see the Cubs if I waited for people to want to go. So instead, as always, I made new friends at the game. (Yet another thing that makes Wrigley the 8th wonder of the world is the friendliness of its visitors).

We later explored the Wrigleyville bar scene to celebrate the Cubs' win (and to drown our sorrows concerning what we feared was a very serious injury to Cubs pitcher Mark Prior)!

On Saturday, I made more friends at the game, and the Cubs won again!

I navigated the very-congested I-88 Superhighway and headed straight to Aurora after the game. There I visited my friend Beth and her family, caught up with her parents over dinner, found a new source for good Cubs tickets and photographed her kids and their new puppy, Maisie!

Sunday took me back to Chicago for another game, which the Cubs won (again!):

This lone fan was apparently reluctant to leave the park after the Cubs' sweep of the Rockies!

The drummers on Waveland Avenue celebrated:

I retrieved my car from my new favorite Wrigley Field parking spot--the Faith Tabernacle Church parking lot on Halsted--and headed downtown to visit Millenium Park, where I saw . . .

Chess players:

Lots of onlookers at the faces:

Bored teens:

Squirting water:

And a fascinated, cute-as-a-button small boy:

Curious visitors to Cloud Gate, also known as "the bean", which is being refinished:

The beautiful Ghery-created band shell:

A sea of red chairs:

Interesting piece of band shell:

The park has the softest grass I have ever felt:

A wonderful expanse of lavendar before tall city buildings:

The Ghery-designed curvy silver bridge:

With a lovely lake view as a reward for the walk to the other side:

A trek to a favorite place, with a stop at the Wrigley Building en route:

My destination:

And a beautiful last twilit look at downtown Chicago:

2005-05-19T23:30:00.000-05:00

"There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. If you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost. The world will not have it.

It is not your business to determine how good it is; nor how valuable it is; nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.

You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You merely have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate *you*. Keep the channel open.

No artist is pleased . . .
There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction; a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others." Martha Graham
Martha: The Life and Work of Martha Graham

In spring, a young woman's fancy

2005-05-01T22:26:00.000-05:00

lightly turns to thoughts of her beloved baseball team, the Chicago Cubs. As evidence of the strength of her devotion, she travels great distances to see her team, even braving the mugginess that is Houston in spring. The series (which the Cubs lost, 2 games to 1) left her speechless, so she will let the photos tell the tale . . .

Friday Night Sky:

And friends, too:

Sunday Afternoon, One Place of Worship Next to Another:

Services Begin: The National Anthem

Long-Time Fan, Hoping for a Comeback:

Loving Dallas . . . an increasingly rare experience.

2005-04-10T00:34:00.000-05:00

This weekend, I didn't travel far . . . I just spent time in and around my home in Dallas, Texas. I visited the Dallas Farmer's Market, one of my favorite things to do because they have . . .

Cool plants:

Corn husks juxtaposed against a city skyline:

Vegetable sellers who are quite serious:

and colorful trucks!

I also want to write about my house, because I love it so and spent some time this weekend sprucing it up.

I love that every time I come home, two of the sweetest dogs in the world greet me. Sometimes, they peer at me from my second-story porch, poking their noses between the spindles of the porch railing, eagerly anticipating my arrival with noises that sound something like, "She's here! It's about time!." At other times, I can hear them on the other side of the tall wooden gate to the back yard; if I look carefully, I can catch a glimpse of my pups in the little crack between the gate and the fence. Regardless of where my dogs are waiting for me, I always call out to them with, "Hi, sweeties!" It's my way of letting them know I am home. Only sometimes do I think about how it would be nice to repeat the greeting for a man who is waiting for me when I enter my home.

Once I have stepped inside, I revel in the smooth feeling of my wood floor on my bare feet. I love the magically relaxed feeling of my porch. Sometimes I keep flowers alive:

Sometimes I witness spectacular sunsets:

At other times, I see that my dog Kip shares my politics:

Or see Orley and Kip showing off their new collars:

2005-04-03T15:25:00.000-05:00

A hill country tree poem

2005-04-03T14:22:00.000-05:00

Trailer in transition

2005-04-03T13:30:00.000-05:00

Fredericksburg mourns the Pope's death

2005-04-03T13:21:00.000-05:00

Under the Fredericksburg sun

2005-04-02T15:25:00.000-06:00

Songs and beer fill a Luckenbach Saturday

2005-04-02T12:19:00.000-06:00

Pastoral setting in Glen Rose, Texas

A Whirlwind Visit to Minneapolis-St. Paul

2005-03-26T10:58:00.000-06:00

Only a business trip could cause a person to visit this cold, cold place in March, before spring has set in. Downtown Minneapolis feels a bit desolate, like a place that has tried to be cool and hip, but know one knows it yet. There is a gathering of some off-the-beaten-path religious group at my hotel. At first, it seemed as if all attendees have come from Nigeria; I later saw other attendees who came from other places as well. One who walked along with me for a bit seemed to be from Eastern Europe . . . she reminded me of the character that was Andy Kaufman's girlfriend on Taxi.

Anyway . . . back to Minneapolis. The most spice I found in the place was at Big E's, a Cajun/soul food cafe just south of downtown. Interesting mixed crowd among the 5 or so tables. Great food that felt like New Orleans. Fascinating mix of pictures of African-American heroes and others on the walls. Decent music. Excellent fruity lemonade. Strange black car-oil like substance on my etoufee, but I took it on faith and ate it anyway. Boy, have I come a long way from my midwestern fish-sticks-are-exotic (not to mention the only fish we eat) upbringing.

My other favorite place in the Minneapolis area was Patrick's French Bakery and Cafe in Edina . . . a pleasant surprise in the midst of generic suburbia. At Patrick's, I had a wonderful cafe latte and chocolate croissant that tasted exactly like France. Nice atmosphere, with wooden tables and chairs scattered between pastel walls, on a black and white floor. The pastries looked and smelled delectable!

I especially loved relaxing in the cafe after my whirlwind baby-gift-buying expedition at the mall. I did find a gift for myself, too, in the form of these sexy/cool black pumps (German-made, hmm) with black suede squares that hold your foot to the shoe. Love them!

Saturday brought a brief exploration of the Minneapolis Institute of the Arts, a quirky but full-of-interesting-tidbits museum. The highlight was a fabulous exhibit by the Minneapolis-born photographer Alec Soth. His pictures are stunning and gave me a new goal to shoot for. The lowlight was the room that could have been filled with art, but instead were filled with rolling carts piled high with unidentifiable stuff. The museum is beautifully set on an open space just outside downtown, in what seems to be a lovely neighborhood good for exploring.

The penultimate leg of my visit entailed following a lengthy horizontal path from the museum through some truly gritty areas of the city, across the Mississippi River and up Summit Avenue. Summit is a street laden with huge and interesting-looking homes, many of which may have been lifted straight out of Denmark. The street leads you past a massive cathedral and then up to the front steps of the state capital building. The gold leaf on the capital is a bit heavily applied for my tastes, but the building draws the eye, that's for sure. The cathedral is the closest thing to a European church that I have seen in the U.S. . . . . quite stunning and almost like a miniature version of St. Peter's in Rome.

My final stopping point in the Minnepolis-St. Paul area was for lunch at the lovely St. Paul Hotel's "Grill." There I enjoyed the best chicken pot pie I have ever eaten, along with a lovely glass of pinot noir that cost more than the pot pie, but complemented it beautifully and was worth every penny. The Grill is known as a power lunch spot during the week, but was a bit more sleepy late on a Saturday afternoon. My dining companions included a woman celebrating her 70th birthday (lunching with a friend), a woman in from L.A. just for one day for a wedding and an older man dining alone, among others. Our view was special, with an old castle-like building across the street and people streaming into the arts center for an afternoon concert.

I give Minneapolis-St. Paul a thumbs up. Plenty of places to explore, and with the weather warmer, the River would be a lovely place to while away the time. The cities even have curvy and hilly streets and other scope for the imagination.

Christmas in Santa Fe . . . a new tradition?

2004-12-30T12:04:00.000-06:00

I had never visited Santa Fe in the winter before. Typically, I arrive in early- to mid-summer, while the opera season is still in full swing. The weather then is lovely and temperate and well-suited for art gallery strolls and lolling in the sun and off-road travels through the many wooded parks. But this time, we visited at Christmas, kicking off the trip with a transcendental Ten Thousand Waves spa experience. Amazed to remain conscious after that experience, we spent our first evening at a wonderful French bistro with excellent wine and dessert, among other things. The Compound was the site of our second Santa Fe Christmas dinner, a lovely place as always and very restful after a day wandering the O'Keeffe gallery and Canyon Road.

All in all, Santa Fe is a wonderful place to spend the Christmas holiday, even when the snow is not plentiful, as these photos show . . .

Chapel of the San Loretto, near our hotel:

Man at great lunch place--he reminded me of my father, more in his demeanor than in his appearance:

People lining up for snacks in the town square:

Wonderful textiles for sale by American Indians:

And a gorgeous winter sky en route from Santa Fe to Albuquerque:

A weekend in North Carolina!

2004-10-14T20:58:00.000-05:00

Quick scribblings before I forget (to be updated later) . . .

Nice tiny airport in Charlotte, NC

Friendly Kenneth, the Hertz counter guy . . . . . . . . . v e r y s l o w . . . but he did encourage me to rent a convertible!

Stepping out to the rental car curb: pretty fountain with a pink Komen ribbon at the top (who put that there???--it's quite tall!)

Gorgeous sunset that actually made Hertz bus windows look like a painting (no small feat).

Nice breezy drive to my friend's house--adorable dog ("Rascal") who totally loves me!

Scrumptious lobster ravioli with wine for dinner . . .

off to sleep now--more later!

Later:

fun night out in Greenville, SC, after a day of meetings ...

romantic-feeling downtown pedestrian bridge over waterfall

Next day:

after more meetings, a glorious drive through the mountains to Asheville, NC, which feels like a quaint European town on this Saturday morning

feeling quite decadent while relaxing over coffee and a NY Times ...

on to a delightfully random bookstore, complete with a salesman totally excited because he has stumbled upon a used encyclopedia set

and the rest of the weekend/early next week, about which I choose not to write!

East Texas Labor Day 2004

2004-09-03T14:43:00.000-05:00

I've had the bug for posting all travel photos I have on CD and ran across these from last year's Labor Day. I visited friends at their then-new East Texas lake house. It was so beautiful out there and very relaxing!

The friends relaxing on the wonderful deck, with their dog:

A local dog who stopped in for a visit:

Evening view of the neighbors' bonfire:

Cutest dog--I wanted to name him "Chuychanga":

Gorgeous water:

Excellent hammock, where my friend brought me gin and tonics while I perused design magazines:

Sunset on the lake:

Interesting transportation juxtaposition, which we saw at the place where we ate a "last morning" breakfast:

Beautiful view across from entrance to the lake:

Pre-Birthday Trip to Santa Fe 2004

2004-08-27T14:51:00.000-05:00

While preparing for this year's birthday trip to San Francisco, I cannot help but remember last year's wonderful birthday trip, which took me to Santa Fe. As I recall, last year's trip also occurred fairly spontaneously, when my work schedule cleared up enough to permit a quick getaway. So I headed off to Santa Fe for what I hoped would be a relaxing and rejuvenating time.

I began by driving directly from the Albuquerque airport to Ten Thousand Waves, a wonderful spa just outside the city. I didn't photograph it, but here is a picture I found on the web:

The spa is found on a hill (or small mountain) and one feels more relaxed just by breathing the clean-smelling air (a magical kind of air found throughout the countryside in New Mexico) and seeing the spare but beautiful Asian design of the place (photo from their web site):

Everything about this place is soothing, from the Asian decor to the trickling waterfalls everywhere, to the cool lemon water available to drink, to the fireplaces available for those who want warmth, to the citrusy shampoo and bath gel available for pre-treatment showers in the comfortable changing room. My first treatment of the day was a wonderful Thai massage:

(This isn't me, but is another picture from their web site that is meant to show how a Thai massage works.) I loved the airy pagoda in which my massage took place, which had breezes blowing through the open windows and permitted a view of the blue sky and surrounding trees. My massage therapist was Jane, a very cool painter and masseuse. The massage involves no oils and feels like a combination of assisted yoga and massage that involves the therapist using her hands, body weight and even sometimes her feet to push and pull you around. I was a bit nervous at first because I didn't know what to expect, but she did a good job of explaining what was happening while at the same time working quietly enough to permit me to dream of being in Japan. Afterward, I felt stretched like a cat and at least 2 inches taller. Then I was treated to a body wrap, which was soothing and warm and permitted me to stare at hanging flowers against the clear blue sky while feeling as if I was back in the womb.

As many visitors to Ten Thousand Waves do, I then relaxed in one of the many outdoor tubs, which at that time were free for use by anyone visiting for a spa treatment (it appears to me from their web site as if there may now be a separate charge for sitting in a tub):

I chose one of the women's tubs (no dog was present--the above pic is another from the spa's web site), which was an interesting experience in itself. Bathing suits are optional at the tubs, and I realized that the "comfort with public nakedness" culture of Santa Fe is really closer to that of Europe than that generally found in the U.S. (or at least the parts of the U.S. in which I have lived--the Midwest and Texas). One girl felt so comfortable that she sprawled on the deck reading a book, in a pose that one typically doesn't see another holding while naked. I quickly adjusted to the culture shock and relaxed in the tub, feeling the magic worked by the bubbles and the fresh air and the luxury of thinking about nothing in particular.

Reluctantly, I tore myself away to check into my hotel, the La Fonda. I love the La Fonda because it is reasonably priced, has funky room decor (every room is unique) and is located just off the central town square. My room was similar to this one, only with one bed instead of two (pic from the La Fonda web site):

I settled in and was off for dinner near the top of Canyon Road, where I dined at the Compound Restaurant, which instantly became a new favorite of mine (pic from their web site):

I adored its cool white stucco walls, simple interior and fabulous food.

Speaking of the food, I chose a nice salad (with bleu cheese), duck and the to-die-for melted chocolate cake dessert. There I also discovered a new favorite wine called Le Cigare Volant, from the Bonny Doon Vineyard in California. One could not want better service than is found at the Compound . . . the staff there is kind and informative.

The next morning, I was up early for a stroll around town, which began with breakfast at Cafe Pasqual's, which is one of my favorite places in Santa Fe. Pasqual's is an excellent breakfast destination, although they are open for other meals, too:

I chose to sit at the communal dining table, a massive wooden table in the middle of the restaurant, at which strangers tend to sit and chat about their travels. You can see the table in this picture from the restaurant's web site:

I ate one of my most beloved of their offerings, the chorizo burrito, then stumbled out to walk off my breakfast. Here is one of my favorite windows in Santa Fe:

And this is one of my favorite restaurant patios, although I didn't stop there for a bite to eat this time:

I also stumbled upon an outdoor chess tournament, the Santa Fe Chess Open:

This was the first outdoor chess tournament I had seen, and it has players of all ages and types:

(Note the Plato book at the side of the chess player in the last photo . . . that certainly piqued my curiosity!) I also did a little shopping at Doodlets:

They have a variety of charming and wacky offerings there, and I especially loved this display:

At Doodlets, I purchased this toy for my dog:

Speaking of politics, I saw many interesting bumper stickers during my stroll that made me feel as if I was more among "my people" here than I ever will be in Dallas, Texas:

The patio cafe for the Georia O'Keeffee Museum was hopping:

As was the square, where lots of tourists and natives may be found:

I sat in the square on one of the nice benches for a while, writing in my journal about the trip, then returned to the La Fonda to dress for my night at the Santa Fe Opera. Their opera house is wonderful, situated high on a hill just north of town. People are known to "tailgate" before the opera while enjoying the setting sun. I had never done that before, but thought this was the perfect time to start. So I stopped at the local grocery store and purchased some crackers, pate and salmon for a snack (I had procured a nice bottle of wine earlier from the local wine shop, where a very nice salesman gave me tips).

In the parking lot of the opera, I enjoyed my snack while overhearing what I believe were the first discussions of marriage between a young couple I had mistakenly pegged as being on their first date. I am nothing if not a talented eavesdropper! There was also an older couple, who pulled a small card table out of their trunk, then sat down to what appeared to be an entire home-cooked meal that they devoured from bowls just like those they use at home. And, in what I imagine also mirrored their dining experience at home, they did not speak a single word during the meal. Then we all had the good fortune to witness this gorgeous sunset:

As if that was not entertainment enough, we were then treated to a wonderful production of Simon Boccanegra, starring Patricia Racette, in this architecturally amazing opera house (photo from the Santa Fe Opera's web site):

One of my favorite aspects of this opera house, in addition to the high quality productions and the fresh air, is that there is a ledge with water rippling it it just between the front row and the orchestra pit, which reflects the sky and the performance. It is beautiful and soothing, like all of Santa Fe.

On my last day in town, I took a quick walk up Canyon Road, site of high-priced art or, viewed another way, free art galleries with interesting things to see. I cut my art walk short, however, in order to drive to Albuquerque to assist a group called America Coming Together with canvassing in advance of the 2004 Presidential election. This was my first experience with canvassing and I loved it, even in spite of a very hot late summer day in Albuquerque. The extremely smart and friendly (also progressive) staff offered us great equipment to assist us in finding the houses on our list and knowing a bit about who we would be seeing. My canvassing partner was a neat guy from Austin, Texas--he is the CFO for a company there. He was experienced in the art of canvassing and made it easy. I enjoyed meeting people and talking with them about the upcoming election, hearing about their concerns and wishes for their ideal candidate and sometimes even learning for whom they would vote. Most folks were ultimately happy to talk with us (even if reluctant at first) and provided us with helpful information. Back at the ACT offices, it was interesting to see some of the less-friendly communications received from the public at large, from the shaky handwriting of an old man telling ACT to "eat a shit sandwich" to a Hispanic woman offended that her ACT literature was written in Spanish, to Bush-loving folk calling ACT a Communist organization. I wished I had spent more time helping ACT, but enjoyed the time I did work with them and vowed to volunteer more before November.

So ended my lovely trip, with a hasty drive to the Albuquerque airport before flying back to Dallas.

Rome, by all means, Rome. I will cherish my visit here in memory as long as I live.

2004-05-01T00:12:00.000-05:00

I was in Europe and had just broken up with someone. Although I loved the trip as a whole, I was still feeling blue about the breakup and other changes in my life . . . I was worried I would not find a way to enjoy the loveliness that is Rome, but vowed that I would make my last day there a wonderful one. So, I emerged from the schlumpy jeans I had donned for the train ride from Florence, showered, slipped into my flirty black dress, velvety wrap, beautiful shoes and some makeup, and emerged into the gorgeousness that is Rome on a spring day, looking different enough to cause the hotel desk clerk to do a complete double take!

I began my day with a quick dip into an internet cafe, where I thought I would find sustenance in the form of a nice email from a friend at home (and, I will admit, where I was hoping to find an apologetic note from the now ex-, with whom I had had an argument the previous evening). I did find the supportive email from a friend, although not the apologetic communicae for which I had hoped. I also met an adorable and tall Dutch guy who was seated at the neighboring computer and seeking a distraction during his business trip. He invited me to coffee, accompanied me to the small and exclusive museum for which I had tickets, strolled with me through the gardens near the museum, then the city and shared dinner with me at a lovely neighborhood bistro near the Spanish Steps. We ended our evening with a drink shared at a small place near the train station. It was a perfect day, splendid for many reasons.

I love the memory of this day most because it reminds me that my spirit will always find what it needs when it is most needed, and that just when things appear the most bleak, a wonderful and unexpected surprise can drop into one's life. This day was also beautiful to me for its in-the-moment nature . . . I had no expectation of ever seeing this guy again, but to bond in such a way for one lovely day in such an unexpected way was a precious gift that I will always remember.

Journey to Castellina di Chianti

2004-04-28T10:01:00.000-05:00

I am in lovely Castellina di Chianti now, having also woken up early (7:30 am, a half-hour before my adjusted wake-up call!) and caught the early train to Florence. (On the way, I finished Dario's book about his tour experiences, which I even read for a bit after we hung up last night . . . have emailed him re a tour for me and am hoping to hear from him today! I am even willing to change my Florence plans if necessary, as I think that a tour of this area with a true local would be unforgettable.)

From Firenze, I connected to a train to CdC--actually, as CdC does not have its very own train station, landed in the nearest Dia-forsaken (see, "Sex and the City" CAN be educational!) place with only one bus a day, which was not to depart for CdC until 2pm (it was then Noon and hot as could be). Was feeling slightly desperate (not to mention sweaty) when I happened upon the kindest inn operator ever . . . he called a (more accurately, "the") cab for me, as I had another 10 kilometers to go to this town, and invited me to share his air conditioning while I waited. I could have hugged him, he was SO nice. Next, I nearly lost my life in the taxi due to high speeds, narrow roads and tight curves, but I guess there are worse ways to go than gazing out at beautiful vineyards in Tuscany. :)

Upon arriving safely in CdC (to my great surprise), I found that my room at the Palazzo Squarcialupi is embarrassingly spacious and decadent . . . as it turns out, this is the one that is 140 Euros, while yesterday's was a bargain at 80 Euros (a fact I learned at checkout). This room's view is also beautiful and there is a garden with cushioned deck chairs below that I may have to experience before my departure.

The room itself is huge, with stucco walls, wood beams on the ceiling, a huge writing desk at which one could certainly write a book if one wanted to do such a thing, a sitting area with 2 (2!) small couches, an earth-sized bed and a very fancy marble bathroom.

I have already explored most of the town and eaten at the best restaurant so far of my visit . . . the tomatoes in my mozzarella and tomato salad were so perfectly red and luscious that I almost had tears in my eyes upon seeing and tasting them. Is that the sign of a food explorer gone over the edge? I adored my waiter, whom I permitted to choose my entire meal for me except the salad . . . he did not let me down, as the chianti (a San Leonardio?) was lovely and the ravioli with local truffles exquisite. We are now fast friends and I think I may even return there for dinner. (postscript: now I cannot recall the name of this place . . . it was off a square on a street above the main street through town, and I believe it may have had "black" and/or "rooster" in its name)

On my walk, I was charmed by this old man and woman:

I set out to find Etruscan tombs and saw some beautiful scenery along the way:

Regarding the tombs, they are set in a mound of earth--these are the various entrances I passed:

And a detail of the many layers that make up this structure:

On my way back to town, I saw some German bikers:

And a truffle hunter:

(This is one of my favorite photos . . . I loved the solitary and determined truffle hunter).

I stopped for a while in a small cafe/bar, which served all manner of treats and drinks. I relaxed, wrote in my journal, read for a bit and dreamed for a bit. I understood not a single word being spoken around me, but I did not feel alone because I was spending time with people who value relaxation and friendly words and contentment.

After a while, I started toward my hotel, picking up some wine, bread and cheese for a small dinner along the way. I also procured a painting (to be mailed to my home) that will hang in my bedroom, to remind me of this wonderful place. The artist depicted a Tuscan farm, with tall, thin Cypress trees guarding it from the wide surrounds of a golden-colored field. The painting is framed with a 3-inch deep piece of raw wood, but a thin and elegant gold leave frame adds a bit of shine between the warm scene of the land and the rough expanse of wood frame surrounding it. I love it.

This woman amused me as she peeked out her window:

And then I stepped into the cool hallways of my hotel, found my way to the back patio overlooking the landscape and tucked in with a warm drink until it became too cool to stay outside. I reluctantly came inside and had a nice chat with some women visiting from the U.S. before returning to my beloved room for dinner and a good read.

Couldn't have asked for a better day . . .

Scribblings from Cortona

2004-04-27T10:00:00.000-05:00

I am in lovely Cortona today . . . it felt significantly less friendly than Orvieto until I had lunch, which was delightful (see below). My arrival involved the as-yet not experienced on this trip "Lisa moment" in which I boarded a bus from the train station to the hotel (trying for once to be frugal and save the cost of a taxi), only to learn that my very fat suitcase would not fit through the narrow aisle. I learned new things about the strength one acquires in an emergency situation as I had to lift the thing over a few seats so that an old lady could leave the bus. Then I had to de-board myself in order to procure a ticket from the newspaper stand! All of this was under the watchful yet unsympathetic eye of a curmudgeonly bus driver. Ugh.

On the bright side, I arrived safely and found my hotel, the Hotel San Luca:

The hotel room is exquisite, or at least the view is . . . a sweeping view of the valley below from a balcony onto which wood framed glass doors open. It is breathtaking!

I also love my room, which is like a little jewel box and even has a built-in wooden armoire that reminds me of a ship for some reason (I'm not sure why, as I have never taken a cruise).

Also, the hotel has a lovely patio downstairs with a similarly splendid view, from which I plan to watch the sunset with a glass (or two) of wine.

Anyway, lunch was at a place near the local theatre (in which this internet place, strangely enough, is located, along with a pool hall), and I had nice German and American lunch companions, one of whom had a small dog in a carrier that reminded me of my law school roommate's dog. (One thing to know about me on lengthier trips is that I go through extreme missing of my own dogs, which translates into me trying to pet nearly every dog that I see). For the first time, I tried a local white wine (it seemed appropriate, given the warm and sunny weather), which was excellent. This was accompanied by a nice tomato/mozzarella salad and thin pasta noodles with bits of duck woven in (you may be detecting a theme here . . . ) I also saw the largest pepper grinder ever . . . it must have been 3 feet long--yes, it's true!

Additionally, a waitress there had the most jarring yet infectious laugh I have ever heard! Here she is:

Now I am off to some museums, although I am really in the mood to while away the day in a comfortable chair, gazing out at the view and soaking up the sun. (I now am well on my way to being a tanned blonde from Tejas!). So I will probably keep the museum visits fairly brief.

Museum entrance:

View from small courtyard across from museum:

Entrance to a nunnery I stumbled upon:

Which had interesting art:

And a courtyard:

And beautiful walkways:

I strolled around town and had the good fortune to see beautiful sights, even with the rain:

Road to my hotel:

Sunset:

The next morning:

Will have to update you later on my yesterday, which was spent in lovely Orvieto . . . a wonderful place!

But first, one of my favorite photos:

Arrivederci!