closing

"A thirty year mortgage at Michael's age essentially means that he's buying a coffin. If I were buying my coffin, I would get one with thicker walls... so you couldn't hear the other dead people."

- Dwight Schrute

This morning we closed on our house!! Yippee!! Ryan and I officially have a place to live after the wedding. So excited!

Gustav, Go Away.

I shouldn't have done it. I really shouldn't have. I wasn't even thinking about it until Ryan started telling me every five minutes that we are getting married in 10 days.


10 days. 10 days! "Wait, wait," I thought, "that means that some meteorologist has predicted the weather for our big day." I tried to keep myself from looking, I mean there is nothing I can do about the weather. I need to not worry about it, not think about it. But then, on the way into work I was listening to NPR and heard all about Gustav (gosh darn it). Hurricane has been a cursed word in the Ward household since Ryan and I decided on a September wedding. In fact, the word has been altogether outlawed. And now look who decides to show up. Gustav, go away.

So, as a form of protest I am choosing to ignore Gustav altogether. What I am not ignoring is this:

81 degree high and sunny on September 6th. I sure hope you are right Weather Channel Meteologist.

Bike and ...

One of my dear college roommates took this trip with Habitat for Humanity where she biked from the East Coast clear over the Rockies to the West Coast. While I admired her courage and commitment (and she did have a fabulous time on the trip), I can't imagine putting myself through that kind of agony.

I can, however, imagine this: a casual ride through wine country with occasional tasting stops at off-the-beaten path vineyards.

Ryan and I want to head out to wine country in the next year. Who else is in? Discounts for groups of 4 or more!

Wine Spoke Blog: http://www.getawayadventures.com/wordpress/

Intrigue

In another life I want to be an art detective. First, I would get a PhD in art history, monitor the Art Loss Register and jet set to art museums and estates when works were stolen. I would then proceed to ever-so-chicly recover the stolen pieces while wearing designer pumps and Jackie-O sunglasses.


Since I am not on my way to that future, I just enjoy reading articles about art theft. Who steals art? Why? Where do they put it? I really wish I knew.


Today I stumbled on this story of a slightly different vein, but nevertheless incredibly intriguing. Get this - In May the record of the most expensive piece of work created by a living artist was shattered. Previously, the record was held by Jeff Koon's Hanging Heart which sold for $23.2 million.





But, in May a Russian billionaire paid $33.6 million for the work below titled Benefits Supervisor Sleeping. Who was the work by? Sigmund Freud's grandson, Lucien Freud.

Now here is why I am fascinated by the art world: So, apparently Lucien also painted a portrait for an eccentric rare books dealer named Bernard Breslauer. Bernard died in 2004. A curator was researching Freud and looking to create an exhibit of his works when it was discovered that Breslauer destroyed the painting because of Freud's "unsightly depiction of his double chin."

That is mind blogging. Breslauer commissioned the best realist painter in the world to do a portrait expecting that he would show a little grace on the double chin? A painting worth some $30 million destroyed by its commissioner because of the pudge. I love art.

Wedding Quote

Jim: i am dumb enough to pay $31 for dead mollusks

So, I had this idea to use mussel shells to decorate tables at the wedding reception. I was remembering summers in New England playing on the rocks at the beach and gathering mussel shells. I thought it would be an economical way to incorporate slate blue into the tablescape and so much less cliche than a bunch of white seashells. My assumptions were not exactly correct. There are no mussels in Virginia Beach and I couldn't find a single person selling them on the internet until this recent Ebay listing. The Ward family monitored the auction like hawks and then this afternoon Dad sealed the deal.

Dad has been handling the wedding planning incredibly well, but I think the $31 dead mollusks might have pushed him over the edge. Thanks Dad for dealing (and paying) for this wedding craziness. You're the best.

Simplicity

"Out of clutter find simplicity; From discord find harmony; In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity."

-Albert Einstein

Wednesdays are my favorite weeknight. The excitement of Friday night is finally on the horizon and the bummer that is Monday morning is far behind. Wednesday nights I meet my dad at the Chrysler for Jazz Night. Admission is free and a small wine bar is set up where you can grab a $4 glass of wine and enjoy the music. We try to arrive around 6:15 so we can snag a table in the court. We sit and chat and people watch and then wander through a gallery or two.

Good things always happen on Wednesday night. Several months ago we met a gentleman named Mr. Black. He was an elderly fellow, well dressed in a suit with white hair and a warm smile. He was peculiar though, he wrote down the details of our conversation in tiny print in a small notebook that he carried in his coat jacket. He explained himself later, saying that he had Alzheimer's and needed help remembering. Mr. Black told us stories of his late wife Jane who he spoke of from such a deep, joyful place. He recounted driving to visit her at college and seeing her on her dormitory balcony with a few girlfriends. She came down to greet him and he said how nice it was to see her having such fun with her friends to which she replied, "Those aren't my friends, those are my bridesmaids," implying that she was ready to get married. He still sounded giddy some 50 years later.

Life lessons are frozen in paintings, good stories are always waiting to be told and on Wednesday nights truth is perched anxious to be discovered. Last saw it in seeing a young blind man being led by his girlfriend through the museum corridors. And in a Matisse painting. You just have to look.

Dad and I were talking about the future, a topic that is an almost constant conversation at this point in time. We were going over the events of the past few months and putting into words the life movements that have taken place. Where we are now, where we were, the in between, the decisions that were made. We talked about how now feels like such a good place, but a good place that was found, not chosen. It's a joyful, busy place. But really, it is such a good place.

There is so much to be said for stopping and looking at life, finding a still frame of the everyday and really looking at it. Matisse had it right. He stopped. Stopped and looked at the bowl of apples. He saw it simply, reduced down to the basic elements and foundations, portrayed with simple, almost kindergarten-like lines. I love that he reduced things to their most elementary form and in that place found beauty. Beauty worth celebrating in a bright, bold way. I want to do more of that.

happy birthday grandma!

I remember when we lived at Larry Avenue Grandma Peg was down visiting from Pennsylvania and we worked in the garden. I was little, I don't know maybe 5 years old. Grandma gave me a long skinny shovel. It was a real one, a grown up one. It was rusty and had a worn wooden handle. I don't think I was much help planting flowers, but I remember digging up a worm and watching it wriggle and squirm as I dangled it from my shovel.

Fast forward 18 years. I've been wanting to start an herb garden for a while but really didn't have a clue what I was doing. Enter Grandma Peg. She took my struggling eggcart seedlings and transferred them to terra cotta pots. Now I'm enjoying fresh basil and the lovely scent of lavender.

Thanks Grandma for always helping me and teaching me how to do grown up things. Happy Birthday!