It’s a good thing we checked the map before driving down to the Grand Canyon yesterday. As far as the North Rim is concerned, winter isn’t over yet; the road to that entrance doesn’t open until May 14. I will not be able to visit the Grand Canyon on this trip. I guess I’ll just need to come back. Amy recommended October when the Aspens are all yellow.
For this trip, though, we pivoted in the high school parking lot. We decided to go in the opposite direction, to Bryce Canyon. Wow, what a landscape!
We hiked a 3 mile trail down to the bottom and back out again, and we had beautiful weather for it: short sleeve temperatures, sunshine, and a cool breeze under a bright blue sky.
On the way down, I stopped every few steps to take photographs. The hoodoo rock formations were so cool. I couldn’t get over them. Plus, I am a sucker for red rocks against the blue sky. Luckily, my friend did not get annoyed with my slow progress; she warned me that she would want to stop frequently to catch her breath on the way back up.
Thor’s Hammer
We took our time. We admired twisty trees. We marveled over geology. We talked about how this used to be an ocean, and that the rock is sedimentary — literally sediment that settled to the bottom of the sea. It cemented together in the pressure of its young days and by the minerals that crystalized together to give it structure. It is soft rock that eventually comes full circle and transforms back to sand.
Amy and I made lots of friends on the trail. We chatted with other folks resting in the shade — two friends from California, a couple from Italy, a father and son from North Carolina. I snapped photos of hiking partners with their cameras. We had a gorgeous day together outside in the fresh Utah air, laughing and talking about life and our kids and the nature of rocks.
Today, we pick up our friend in Vegas. On the way we’re going to stop at a place in Nevada called Valley of Fire, which may be the best ever name for a state park. I’m hopeful we can also hit a Mexican restaurant that I’ve been craving since I last came to Amy’s over a year ago.
I’m in Utah for a week. When I first began thinking about what I’d want to do on a sabbatical, one of the first things that came to mind was to take the chance to visit my oldest and dearest friends. One lives in Utah and the other in Arizona. I’ve been friends with them since I was 12, so almost 40 years. Because everyone has kids and jobs and busy lives, we typically only see each other once a year on a weekend we specifically carve out to spend time with each other.
As I age and appreciate how precious these friendships are, it’s important to me to spend time with these women I love. So when I planned the dates for my sabbatical, I started saving my money to also plan dates to come west.
Unlike our annual girls’ weekend, where we abandon our regular lives for 3 or 4 days, I’ve dropped in on my friend Amy’s everyday life for a full week. Yesterday I rode with her to drop her 9th grade daughter at school, we grocery shopped, she fixed her smoker while I went for a run in the desert, I kept her company while she seasoned salmon and thawed chicken to smoke. In the afternoon, I rode with her to pick her daughter up from school, where I got to meet her boyfriend who came up to the car and chatted us up in the parking lot. When we got home, I ate after school cake with her so I could hear all about her friend drama and who did what at school.
The four of us ate family dinner together at the table, and then I rode along again with Amy to drop her daughter off at rehearsals. She’s in a theater company, and next week is opening night for the Les Miserables production she’s in. We sat in on rehearsals for a while and I got to meet the people in Amy and her daughter’s life. I got to see what warmups are like for a theater production, and I got to witness these amazing kids act and sing.
At the end of the day, after a trip to the craft store and the hardware store so Amy could got materials for props she crafts for the theater company, we three adults sat outside under the stars by the fire pit Amy designed, and I sipped Campfire whiskey from Utah’s High West distillery.
Right now, their house is just waking up. I get to use Amy’s Vitamix, which I’m very excited about. When I got up, though, all the lights were out and the bedrooms dark, and I didn’t want to wake them, so I blogged instead. Now I can crank this bad boy up to fortify myself with a smoothie bowl for our big day ahead. After school drop-off, Amy and I are taking a day trip south, to the north rim of the Grand Canyon. I’ve got my camera packed! And tomorrow, we head to Vegas to pick up our other friend of 40 years, who will join us through the weekend 🎉
Now that I’ve finished the hard labor in our garden, my primary obligations are complete and I don’t need to squeeze things into super short snippets of time. Instead of snapping pictures with my phone because it’s convenient and no-fuss, I feel like I can get out my real camera. It’s a little more effort to adjust the aperture and shutter speed, but that means I also take a little more care in framing a photo and paying attention to light. The photographs are more satisfying when I put that little bit of extra effort in.
We had a weekend of arts in Richmond, from the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts to a 7 o’clock showing of Loving Vincent – a film in which every single frame is hand-painted in the style of Vincent Van Gogh – at the Byrd Theatre. It was awe-inspiring. The museum and the movie made me wish I were an artist.
Photography is the closest I can get to feeling artistic. Besides writing, it is the one craft I have have even a modicum of patience to develop. I had fun with my camera on our trip to the Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden on Sunday. The flowers did all the work of being beautiful. Very little was required of me other than to frame the shot, check the light, and appreciate the colors and textures with my camera.
I made sure to stop and smell the roses. There really is no fragrance quite as lovely. Only a handful of the thorny bushes were blooming among the hundreds still in bud. I bet in a month the rose garden will be spectacular. The air will be heady with their scent. I could go back in a few weeks to experience it. I have that kind of time right now.
We got out of town this weekend. My husband booked a night in a bed and breakfast in Richmond, across the street from and owned by the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts (VMFA). It’s an actual B&B, not an Airbnb. I find myself struggling to say “B&B” without the “air” on front anymore. I’d almost forgotten these still exist, and it’s such a pleasure that they do. The innkeeper put a cheese plate in the fridge for us, which is a delight. We’re nibbling on it now as we rest our feet after getting lost in our wanderings through the museum.
I knew we were coming to Richmond, but I didn’t know about the B&B, nor did I know about the art museum. This means I also didn’t know there was a Frida Kahlo exhibit. I don’t know much about Kahlo, except that she’s instantly recognizable. She’s an icon. Portraits of her are arresting.
The exhibit was packed, which confirmed to us that we need to plan our trip to the Louvre smartly so that we don’t feel like cattle. The further into the exhibit we went, the more air and space we could find. This worked out great for me, because that’s was where the portraits I wanted to see were. The colors in the color photos! The drama in the black and whites! But really, the colors. They’re irresistible. They suck you in.
I spent a while with that final one. There’s so much to contemplate.
After the Frida exhibit, Brian and I wandered upstairs, which was much quieter. We saw the Fabergé eggs, which were as opulent as you would expect and are amazing to see in real life. They sparkle with gemstones and intricate gold filigree and are so beautiful. I also got to see a Van Gogh that for some reason moved me to tears. I don’t know why. It just made me feel, I don’t know, wonderful.
Daisies, Arles. Vincent Van Gogh
Tomorrow we’ll visit the botanical garden. I can’t wait to see what’s blooming! Maybe I’ll get ideas for my own flower beds at home.
Describe a positive thing a family member has done for you.
I’m sitting in the window seat in our hotel room in old Montreal. A dog bark echoes off the building walls. I hear the hum of delivery trucks, gritty footsteps on the cobbles below, a man’s low voice on the quiet morning street. A breeze lifts the gauzy curtains. I’ve always wanted a window seat, to read in, to write in. For the moment, I have one.
I have a milestone birthday coming up. I told my husband I didn’t want to spend it in an empty house with both kids newly gone away for college. He planned a trip away to Montreal for us, and I am so happy. I have drunk in tremendous art in our days here. Along the cobbled street outside our hotel, we’ve ducked into several small galleries. Hanging in the window of one, Espace Langlois, is a pencil sketch of a solemn-faced boy. He wears a flamboyant, drapey yellow bow tie.
The painting is arresting. I love this little boy. I love him so much. Every time we walk down that street, I tell Brian, “I want to go see my little guy.” He reminds me of both my dad and my son. He looks wise, serious, super intelligent, and witty. If I won the lottery, that painting would be the first thing I’d buy.
The painter is Louis Boudreault, and I am captivated by his art. The mandarins. The blue pigments. After my tenth or twelfth visit to the window, I finally investigated to see whose portrait I admired. It is Albert Einstein.
We walked to the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts Saturday. Once in the museum, I used the tactic I learned in Bianca Bosker’s Get the Picture to get the most out of our visit: when I walked into a gallery room, I found the one artwork that sang to me, and I stood in front of it to drink it in. I looked at it from different angles and distances. I spent time with it. I noticed five things. I paid attention to the choices the artist made. I sat with whatever responses happened inside of me; I paid attention to how it made me feel. I did not read plaques. Afterwards, I regretted that I didn’t at least photograph the descriptions so I’d know who the artists were, especially since the gift shop didn’t have postcards of any of the ones I loved. Thankfully, the internet delivered; the museum has a digital gallery so I could find my favorites and sit with them some more.
The exhibit of Flemish and Dutch art hung in galleries whose walls were painted nearly black. The darkened galleries created the perfect backdrop for the bloom of light in the paintings. Most were deep tones with a glow of warm light that shone on silk garments, forest scenes, or still lifes. Brian pointed out a still life he liked. He said he doesn’t usually care for still lifes, but he liked that one. I said, I love still lifes, they’re my favorite.
And then we walked into a whole room of them, and I gasped with pleasure. One was a scene of wreckage on a table, the aftermath of a wild party filled with seafood and meat pies. A pitcher is overturned. A lemon peel hangs from a lamp. In the background is lobster who sneaks from one level to another. It looks to me like the lobster caused the mischief. This painting delights me. The shining nautilus. The rich blue riboon.
Christian Luycks (1623-1670), Banquet Still Life with Silver and Gilt Vessels, a Nautilus Shell, Porcelain, Food and Other Items on a Draped Table, ca. 1650. Montreal Museum of Fine Arts
From the museum, which itself is a work of art with its open spaces, clean lines, and satisfyingly sturdy, rectangular handrails, we looked out and saw the mural of Leonard Cohen as part of the Montreal cityscape. I felt bathed in goodness.
Leonard Cohen, Montreal
Saturday night, we went to the Upstairs jazz club in an underground, exposed brick room. We had tickets for the Taurey Butler Trio. I leaned my head against the bricks at one point and closed my eyes to focus on the music. I’ve started meditating recently, and I emptied myself like I try to do when I meditate. The music filled the openness inside me.
I listened and was in awe that humans have created things like pianos. It struck me that everything in that room was miraculous. How wondrous that our ancient ancestor humans cared enough about creating music that they figured out how to strike strings to make sounds, and then made strings of different lengths or thicknesses to enable different sounds, and developed instruments so that they could create music with those sounds. And then spent hundreds of years refining those instruments to refine the sounds, and put all those sounds together to make music that doesn’t just touch our ears, but touches our souls. I thought about the building, the tables, the glassware, the cocktail shaker I heard, the electricity that created the light in the room, the thousands of human creations all around us. I was in awe of us as I often am, that we exist and have made all of these things.
On Sunday, we visited the Botanical Garden, where humans design beautiful spaces in harmony with nature. The tresses of a weeping willow swayed in a gentle breeze in the Chinese garden. A tiny tree hugged a boulder. Another stood strong atop its rock. We walked a winding path among conifers, and another among ponds and lilies. I stopped and smelled roses.
Weeping willow in wind, Montreal Botanical Gardentrees, boulders, roses
And I haven’t even talked about the food! Sauces and soups like velvet. Blistered peppers, fresh salads, watermelon and feta. Breads! Cheeses! Pastries! Or the cathedral, which made my eyes prick with tears when I walked inside and saw the wonder of the space.
My soul feels full. I am in awe of the excellence humanity strives for. I am deeply grateful for the beauty people create and share with the world.
We are at our final Airbnb in Costa Rica, near Tamarindo Beach. We are in a resort area that clearly caters to wealthy tourists. It’s cute and fun, with a whole food truck village (which we haven’t eaten at), and the beaches are gorgeous.
Our daughter and I spent hours at the southern end of Tamarindo Beach yesterday. Our first spot was under a tree down the beach a few meters from a guy juggling machetes. He’d stroll out from under his tree into the sun, we’d hear the metallic schling of one blade running down the other, and then he’d toss them, one, two, then three, and juggle. He’d do that for a few minutes, then catch them each out of the air, then walk back under his tree and sit in his chair he had there. He also juggled what looked to be torches, were it night and the bulbous ends were on fire. He was practicing. He was there for hours.
Our daughter was happy as a clam, laying in the sun and taking swim breaks to cool off in the Pacific Ocean. The waves were gentle, unlike the first beaches where the surf was so big it seemed it’d crush you or pin you under or tumble you or suck you out to sea. After hanging out at the beach for a while, she and I walked to Costa Juice for Pitaya (dragonfruit) bowls, which I’m now addicted to and I want to eat all the time.
12:12pm
I’m sun-screened and bug-sprayed and sitting on a lounge chair in the grotto at the house. I’m in the shade, cross-legged on the lounge chair, leaning forward to write on the end of the chair. I took a brief cool-off dip in the blue-tiled swimming pool a few minutes ago. The water was refreshing since the pool gets some shade. I’m mostly dry now, but my arm may be damp at the bottom corner of the page. It’s just our son and me here; Brian and our daughter are at the beach. I’m reading Hemingway’s Garden of Eden again. I picked up and put down several other books after State of Wonder. This was the only thing I was in the mood for.
I shopped this morning with hour daughter. We went into a tiny artisanal coffee shop off on a side street that roasted their own coffee. I told the woman I’d like to take some home, and she told me all about the coffees and how they’re grown on small farms here in Costa Rica, and roasted here, and I didn’t really care that much but she was passionate about it and sweet and clearly loved the coffees and let me smell them all, and I bought a bag of the one she said is her favorite, and I’m happy to have some coffee to take home with us.
I can feel the sweat beading on my upper lip, and my right arm glistens in the sun as a write. The pool’s fountain tinkles, and I hear a bird whistling in the neighborhood. A breeze moves the pam frond text to me, and the shadow of another sways across my page.
3:30pm
A wind has come up. I’ve moved out of the air conditioning and back out to the grotto where I can hear palm fronds swoosh and every few minutes, the low growl of thunder. Raindrops dimple the pool’s surface. Now they splash. Rain rattles on the corrugated roof above the patio table where I write. Thunder rumbles over the ocean and the sky is dark. Maybe I should pour a glass of wine. Lightning just flashed in my peripheral vision. Now a thunderclap and a hard clatter of rain. the wind is blowing spray under the roof and my pages will soon be wet. The air smells of wet stone, warm from the sun.
This is really only day 8; I apparently didn’t journal on day 7, and day 9 was actually days 9 &10 and was mostly the ordeal of cancelled flights and journaling from airports and an unexpected hotel stay, none of which I care to relive.
Butterfly Mind 