A mother’s day to remember

Scrolling through some of my pictures from the past I came up on a wonderful event that Goose surprised me with: a day at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (MFA) for Mother’s Day. What’s the big hubbub? Well, the special exhibit they were showing at the time was that of (Dale) Chihuly. With over 200 collections world wide, I was so very lucky to be able to see one of his major travelling exhibitions (thank you from the bottom of my heart Goose! It was awesome!)

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It was another ‘mystery adventure’ only this time the mystery was on me!

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The colors, the forms, the exhibit as a whole was an overload of the senses. Glass blown in all shapes sizes… some that dangled from the ceiling while others were floor to ceiling in height. This particular display (shown above) was actually a small portion of the exhibit which was in the ceiling above us, so I was looking up at these plates of glass-shells of sorts.

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The party hat lemon left all other lemons envious.

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The delicate carvings, while still maintaining the enormous size, cannot be described adequately and must be seen with your own eyes.

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A giant monster from your glass garden awaits to wrap you in its tentacles and eat you alive!

If you ever have the opportunity to see his work, you simply must go. Pictures and words do not do any of it justice. Just say yes, who knows where it will take you!

The thought of Ireland haunts me

I was inspired today by Lisa at Sunshine Travels and the daily post, to write about that one place I would love to go before it is too late. That place for me is Ireland. I can’t explain why. All of these years when the name ‘Ireland’ gets mentioned there is a sadness in my heart, a deep sadness inside that feels like… like I miss home and I can’t go back.

I envision it to be a very simple romantic place. The mist along the hundred-shades-of-green rolling hills, the smell of peat that lingers in your mind like your favorite men’s cologne, being surrounded by ghosts of a thousand years past, singing sad songs while having a pint in the local pub, and of course… the far off wail of the forlorn pipes….that is how I see Ireland. Maybe I have just seen too many movies…maybe it will not live up to my dreams, but there is only one way to find out.

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(image: NationalGeographic.com)

Reposted in answer to the daily prompt: Tourist Trap, What’s your dream tourist destination — either a place you’ve been and loved, or a place you’d love to visit? What about it speaks to you?

The thought of Ireland haunts me

I was inspired today by Lisa at Sunshine Travels and the daily post, to write about that one place I would love to go before it is too late. That place for me is Ireland. I can’t explain why. All of these years when the name ‘Ireland’ gets mentioned there is a sadness in my heart, a deep sadness inside that feels like… like I miss home and I can’t go back.

I envision it to be a very simple romantic place. The mist along the hundred-shades-of-green rolling hills, the smell of peat that lingers in your mind like your favorite men’s cologne, being surrounded by ghosts of a thousand years past, singing sad songs while having a pint in the local pub, and of course… the far off wail of the forlorn pipes….that is how I see Ireland. Maybe I have just seen too many movies…maybe it will not live up to my dreams, but there is only one way to find out.

ireland

(image: NationalGeographic.com)

Reposted in answer to the daily prompt: Tourist Trap, What’s your dream tourist destination — either a place you’ve been and loved, or a place you’d love to visit? What about it speaks to you?

My next cup of tea

I would like to order my next cup of tea, bottomless please.

A never ending perfect cup; neither too hot nor too cold, neither too sweet nor too bitter, with the slightest taste of honey that makes me lick my lips wanting that last droplet. The kind of tea that, when you close your eyes, you have been transported to another place and time and seems to last forever…

Maybe it is in the past, but maybe it is in the future, each sip is always different. Which do you taste first, the bitter? The mistakes made that you have tried to put behind you? Some are safely locked away while others give a glimpse to let you know they are lurking and waiting for the exact moment to ruin your complacency on any given day.

Sometimes the bitter is just missing someone you will never see again. You have safely compartmentalized in that velvet box, way way back, so far deep down, and then for no reason at all, BAM the tears start to fall-you don’t want to forget (you will never forget) but you also don’t want to remember…

Does the heat from the tea flowing from palate to stomach to thaw you inside and out? Remember the freezing cold days well below zero, shoveling, brushing off the car before the sun rises, or the chill you felt that made your hair stand up for no reason – just a perfect cup of tea can cure them all.

Maybe it is the sweet? The times where you made the right choice, saw the smile on someone else that was because of you, the simplest happiest moment just because… because you heard the perfect song, smelled the perfect flower with the perfect scent, heard the birds sing and laughed at what they may be saying…is it a song? a private joke? or stood in awe at the size and power of Mother Nature and what she can produce…the ocean waves, the bounty of snowfall, for that matter the beauty of each snowflake and its delicacy.

Yes that endless cup of tea has so much to offer; now I need to know just where to buy one.

Lady Godiva or Joan of Arc

The act of being completely naked in front of strangers; the fear dreams (or call it a nightmare) are made of. When the show Fear Factor was hot (years ago), walking down a small strip of street or just standing for a few minutes naked would have been my failure and losing the money (although meeting Joe Rogan would have been pretty cool).

Now? Well now I have grown into my skin and although I would be most uncomfortable, my inner strength from years past would allow me to not only voluntarily ride horseback through town, as Lady Godiva did, but not cower or try to cover up in the process (you want to take a look, God bless you and I hope you don’t go blind…).

Being naked, for most, is the utmost form of vulnerability; there is nowhere to hide… all of your blemishes, love handles, scars of many lives past are there in the open for all to see and for some admire, while others, only judge. A very difficult feeling to embrace and turn into a strength but I think I am finally there.

How do I compare Lady Godiva to Joan of Arc for my costume? Both were such strong females in their own way, doing what they knew was right… not what was easy. I try very hard to live by this and tell my daughter as well. The right way is typically the harder way. It challenges you to dig deep and make the decision to define who you are as a person– not so much to others, but to yourself.

Two different costumes with the same core message; one wears nothing while the other wears a suit of armor; both take the inner strength, fortitude, and on some level, bravery that I think I can now pull off.

Masks Off – the Daily Post

We’re less than a week away from Halloween! If you had to design a costume that channeled your true, innermost self, what would that costume look like? Would you dare to wear it?

Embrace the beautiful you

The qualities I most admire in women are confidence and kindness.Oscar de la Renta

With the passing of one of fashion’s biggest icons, Oscar de la Renta was quoted on the radio this am saying he used color and fashion to make women the most beautiful he could. Ah, the days of when men adored women, cherished them, just simply admire their beauty no matter what size, but just because they were beautiful and confident.

For hundreds of years painters and sculptures have taken the female form and held it up high for all to gaze upon and see how exquisite the shape of her face, the softness of her curves, the delicate falling of hair, a creature so complex yet so breath taking – yes women, this is you!

Unfortunately somewhere along the line in these last 75 years, some uptight women found that being revered equated to being ‘objectified’, and for a man, giving a simple compliment could result in laser beams shooting out of her eyes and setting him aflame only for her to give him the dust-buster and dump him into the trash.

Does a flower close its petals in protest not to stare at its shades, hues, and delicate nature? On the contrary, it seems to embrace its beauty even more, stand a little straighter, flow in the breeze a little easier, hold its dew a little longer… knowing it has made the admirer happy in their heart… for just simply being.