I was chatting with the cheerful salesperson at the garden center the other day, while perusing the planters.
My default is blue, deep cobalt blue. I was hovering in the blue section, but eyeing the beautiful greens and purples. She said to me, "you can never go wrong with blue in the garden, all flowers look good in blue containers." I agree. In the hot haze of summer blue is cool and refreshing to look at, and to be around in general. Here in the midwest, the hot humid days are settling in with the fireflies and the crickets at night. Yesterday in particular was a 3 shower, bad hair day. I went to a local food festival with some family and friends. As we walked and talked and drank and ate, I noticed that the connections people were making were different then on dry days, in an unexpected way. We walked into a crowded bar without any air-conditioning, and everyone was gathered around the bar and little tables huddled together, sweating and offering t-shirt sleeves to wipe a forehead on. We americans who covet our space get closer when it's 90 degrees with 100% humidity? Hmm. So we came up with an app idea as my daughter was fanning herself with her iPhone; a picture of an old fan whirring-just to make you think air is blowing on you. Maybe it was the Moscow Mule, but in the moment the fan thing was funny. The bottom line is that summer is summer and cliches exist for a reason. I am an Autumn/Winter lover. I get the deep summer blues and yearn for ice skating and sparkly snow, sweaters, and cozying up on the sofa with the newspaper on a Sunday afternoon in January. Blue is my favorite color in summer. What's your favorite color of the season? p.s. The fan app already exists. My daughter told me this morning.
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wanderlust: a very strong impulse or desire to travel the world I learned to travel when I was very young. My nana lived in Omaha, Nebraska. I went to visit her regularly- and boarded a plane alone when I was in second grade. In those days I was greeted by a friendly air hostess with a deck of cards, a winged pin, and a seat next to hers. My Nana Evelyn was widowed at a young age. When the children were grown, she decided to sell the family business and travel the world. She had a treasure box in her apartment filled with shiny and mysterious things she collected from Asia, South America, Europe, and many other faraway lands. I knew then I wanted to see and experience the world. Last summer I had the good fortune to travel to Spain and France with a few friends. After a wine tasting (and only a few sips of wine), I walked out and fell into a well, only about 3 feet deep. I twisted my knee, and, unfortunately, train travel became impossible with a rolling suitcase. In the train station on our way to Aix-en-Provence I decided to let go of half of the contents in my bag. By letting go I mean making a pile of clothes and setting them next to the trash can in the train station. Whatta relief! My nana always said, pack only what you need, and put tissue paper in between your clothing so it doesn't wrinkle. Clearly, she traveled back in the day when microfibers had not been invented yet, and people dressed up to fly. I am grateful, to say the least, to have learned to appreciate her ability to go beyond the boundaries of everyday life. She was a wonderful model. I miss her, but every time I set out on an adventure, I think of Nana-packing her bag, and saying, "eh, I don't need to take this, it will be a nuisance." "Traveling leaves you speechless, and turns you into a storyteller" ~Battura When I studied art history so many years ago, I was captivated by the dutch and flemish paintings – the luminous figures resting at the front of the canvas against the darkest ground. Their watery blue eyes tenderly looking over and beyond me. Now, I am much more interested in the juxtaposition of these paintings with others. I am reminded of world and national events this past week, and that it is my 26th wedding anniversary today. I begin to to notice what is different, what is the same, and how I am impacted by subtle, and not so subtle changes, like the paintings beside each other. A few years ago I saw "The Girl with the Pearl Earring" at The Frick Museum in New York. This was the first time I had seen the painting close up. She is beautiful, elegant, and I wanted to reach out and touch her face. I have been wondering for a few days why I am thinking about paintings and current events simultaneously. I am so struck by the people, and their stories, and how I want to celebrate each and every one of their triumphs, including my own – being married for 26 years takes a lot of love, and grit, and grace. The Italians have a saying, "dolce far niente," which translates to, "the sweetness of doing nothing." Doing nothing has become a task on our to-do list in the US. When we do have idle time, we seem to look at our phones. I saw something on Facebook, a photograph of a sign that said: "Who is going somewhere exciting this weekend to look at their phone?" I am guilty of a version of this, for sure. In many other cultures being is valued more than doing. Families cook together, dine together, sit at their tables into the evening and talk together. Siting on a park bench or in a cafe is the norm, rather than a luxury. As deep summer rolls in, it's a good time to unplug for a bit. Go outside and listen, look, and just be. "Dolce far niente." Here is where I sat and drank my coffee every morning in the summer when my children were little. Off the beaten path,
no internet, no cell service, and it felt like time melted away. We played cards for hours, stayed in our pajamas all day if we felt like it, and ate raspberries off of the bushes every morning. Years have passed since we spent expanses of time at the cottage, and this fall my youngest daughter is going off to college, not surprisingly, close to this place that we all love and hold so dear to us. She no longer draws pictures of turtles with crayons, but continues feel the imprint of the lazy long days, the starry nights catching fireflies, staying up too late with the grown-ups, and most of all - her connection to place and family, and growing up here. On our college tour this past winter we drove to the cottage on a very cold and snowy day in January. There are changes. New shutters, a new front door - we commented, and looked at each other. These knowing looks, intimate and full of memories, speak to the fullness and depth of our experiences here, and how we changed just by being together; then, and now.
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visual junkie, artist, psychotherapist
January 2020
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21403 Chagrin Boulevard Suite 210 Beachwood, OH 44122 |
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heidirubinabrams@gmail.com Phone: 216-402-3739 |