Monet, Monet, Monet, Monet

When Karla asks me "what are you plans for the weekend?", getting up early on Sunday is never a first choice. In fact, in our eleven years together, it's never really been in the top three (or ten). But when you're on vacation, every day is kind of a Sunday, and July 5th, being the first Sunday of the month, and in the middle of a Parisian heat wave, meant that everyone would get free admission to every museum in Paris. Hence, our plans for Sunday was a trip to the northwest of Paris, requiring an early morning train from Paris to Vernon, capped with a short bus ride to Giverny.

Giverny is an exceedingly charming rural town (population 255) resting along the right bank of the Seine River. The architecture is simple and unassuming, but also beautifully photogenic as a result of the explosion of color contributed by the flowers that are seemingly everywhere. Also, every step in Giverny is accompanied by the songs of many, many different species of birds. I honestly cannot remember ever hearing so many different bird songs throughout the day, even as the heat of the sun began to settle over the town.

Of course, many of you will remember from your art history classes that Giverny is also a name that landed in the title of many of Claude Monet's paintings, owing to the fact that his home and gardens are situated there. Having seen Monet's works in books, I assumed he went out to some field, set up his easel, and started "impressioning" what he saw. And at the end of the day, he packed up everything and headed home. I was mistaken.

Monet took years to build his garden in Giverny. The oft painted pond adorned by water lilies that covered his canvasses was also a landscaping creation on his property. Much of the works that we all know (and that many of us bought as posters and then framed to be the art in our homes when we were twenty-somethings) were created at Monet's home "office."

One thing that Karla and I both noted in going through the museum was that Monet's signature and painting style changed dramatically in the early 1900s. Nothing unusual, artists often change the way they see or hear things. But nestled in a dark room in between many other photographs was a picture of Monet in 1922 or 1923, in a hospital bed, recovering from cataract surgery. He remained prolific, although somewhat fixated on his pond late in life, but we had to wonder if some of the change in his style didn't come about because he was truly seeing things differently.

Below is a link to some of our favorite pictures from our day in Giverny.

Giverny

Landing in Paris and Waking Up in Gay Paree

Karla and I consistently end up doing two things the last weekend each June. Primarily, we celebrate our wedding anniversary. Our second "do" for the weekend is really a "didn't" because after just under twelve months of telling ourselves we need to attend the SF Gay Pride Parade, we somehow miss it due to other commitments.

In 2009, we would be celebrating our anniversary in Paris, so we made no illusions about seeing the SF spectacle.

Our plane landed at Charles DeGaulle Airport early on June 27th. Instead of being ready to hit the ground running, we were just glad that we didn't hit the ground face first. (Mon ami are those Americans so happy to be in France that they are kissing the ground? Non. They had an overnight flight.)

While waiting in the lobby for our room to be readied, my eyes focused on a quiz show on the television which seemingly only had one topic for the enitre show: Gay Culture. There was no volume, but there were subtitles in French, but I don't speak or read French, so all of the answers in my head were in Jeopardy form ala questions. (Stonewall? Oscar Wilde? Baudelaire? Whichever one was that cute one on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?)

So after one of those comotose, feel like you are falling deeper into the bed naps, Karla and I woke up bemoaning the fact that it being 5 pm, the museums would be closed, and we had wasted our first full day in Paris. We walked out of the hotel on a mission to see some sites. To our left, we saw a policeman standing in the center of a cordoned off street, and our interest was piqued.

We turned around the corner and a block away there was some sort of parade that made us bi-curious. Or is that both curious? A few steps later and we realized we had traveled 6000 miles to FINALLY attend a Gay Pride Parade.

Click the picture link below to see our seven best pix from that evening.

Gay Paree

From Sikh to Sixty in One Day

On Saturday, January 17, Karla and I had the honor and the pleasure to attend two celebrations of milestones in the lives of a friend and our extended family.

We started the day with the celebration of an Anand Karaj (Blissful Union) Ceremony (Wikipedia link with more information about this ceremony) performed in Sikh tradition. It would be a long story to explain how the Chawlas opened up their family circle to include Zeph and Karla, and eventually me, but we are blessed that they have. Last September, at his Aunt Sarita's birthday party, Vikram introduced us to Pauna. The spark was obvious.

As the drummer started and the dancing began the procession to the gurdwara (temple), Sarita told us that the immediate family had been dancing for six days. It prompted a memory for both Karla and I, back to our time in India, when the celebratory week of a wedding took place just outside of our resort.

On the steps of the gurdwara, the Chawla men exchanged garlands with Pauna's male relatives. It was a happy exchange, as the Chawlas in their traditional robes, and Pauna's family, large, muscular Bosnian men in their black suits, paired off to place garlands over each other's neck. Suddenly, one of Pauna's brothers bear hugged Dhiren (Vikram's older brother) and lifted him off the ground. Dhiren returned the favor. The joy and affection was obvious. These new brothers were glad to be joining families.

Zeph, representing the Scottish portion of the Chawla clan, came dressed in full kilt and accessories. Sanjiv, Vikram's father, greeted Zeph with a hug and "I was hoping you would wear your kilt." This is just how our family works.

The ceremony was beautiful, but I'd been fighting a bug all week, so by the end, I was wiped out and needed to get home to rest before our next event of the day.

Susan Seaburg is a friend that you start describing by saying, "she is just one of the nicest people you can imagine." So when we got the invitation to her sixtieth birthday party, it was a must-attend event. Her partner, Judy, decided why not celebrate Susan's number 6-0 with a party devoted to the 60s? After all, it was the coming-of-age time for many of the people in their circle of friends.

After my nap, Karla and I were off to find the last pieces of my costume for the evening - a faux suede vest with fringe and peace sign necklace. Karla, on the other hand, still having a sufficient amount of hippie in her, already had the individual pieces of apparel and jewelry necessary to pull off the look. However, we did have to go out and buy some rolling papers and utilized some oregano to fully achieve authenticity.

Entry to the party required each guest to fill out a name tag with their first name and favorite 60s band. Our tags stated: Karla (Big Brother and the Holding Company) and Gary (The Beatles). I shared my favorite with the guest of honor.

When the karaoke began, there weren't a lot of takers. The second brave soul started as a soprano solo that took all of us back to the era. Her rendition of Puff the Magic Dragon had many of us singing the lyrics to ourselves, but Susan joined the soloist at the microphone. The harmony of Susan's alto gave the song more of the feel I used to have when I heard Peter, Paul and Mary singing the song during JP McCarthy's Morning Show on WJR back in Detroit. After they finished, Susan explained that in the 1960s, she and this other woman sang together in the college choir - Alma College, also back in Michigan.

The karaoke was wild (one woman gave Steppenwolf a run for the money with her version of Born to be Wild), cute (two young girls singing Surfin' USA), and downright fun (me singing Tom Jones' It's Not Unusual and praying there would be no panties flying up onto the stage).

Most of all, it was a great end to a great day. Best wishes to Vikram, Pauna, and Susan. We hope you all have many, many more celebrations, and we look forward to sharing in a few of them.

A Christmas Gift That Says It's Time to Accept Failure

Brian and Jackie, Karla's brother and sister-in-law, are always interested in our next travel destination. So this year, they decided to keep a travel theme in putting together the packages that made up our Christmas gifts, and in their own way, get into the act of helping us plan our next big trip. The centerpiece of our yuletide booty was the tome 501 Must-Visit Destinations.

When I tore off the wrapping paper (and lest you think I hogged the biggest package, it was the one I was assigned by Jackie to open), after reading the title, the first thing that I saw was the Pearl Mosque (Taj Mahal) in Agra, India. Been there. Done that.

Next, Karla and I saw the pictures of Liberty Island and The Louvre, and we were feeling pretty smug. It didn't occur to us that there were five other pictures on the cover of places that we had not visited. Nor did we turn over the book to see an additional eight pictures on the reverse cover of places we had not visited. No, we saw the three and both thought, "Probably been to at least 100 or so."

The next day, we decided to check out the one-hundred-plus places that had achieved "must-see" status and that we've shared. Even if there were just under four hundred more locations, we knew we were well on our way, with our best travel years hopefully ahead of us.

The final tally of catalogued destinations that we've seen together? Thirty-seven. Our spirits (and self-satisfaction) dropped faster than the full-moon's tide in the Bay of Fundy (on the list and I've seen but Karla hasn't).

So we haven't put as much of a dent in the list of places we must see as we first thought. Next week we're going out to buy the book of 1000 Places to See Before You Die. If nothing else, we're at least hoping for a higher "destination IQ" in terms of percentages.

Lions - No; Tigers - No; Bears - Yes

I was hoping to be able to post pictures of our encounters with all three at the same time, for that inevitable reference to Oz, but a friend of ours is heading to Yellowstone this week, and I promised to have our pictures up before she went.

Hope you enjoy our Yellowstone pages.
Yellowstone - June 2007
Yellowstone Gallery
Bears

An Evening with Richard Preston

Did you ever meet someone and instantly knew he or she was a kindred soul? I had that experience at an event sponsored by the Save the Redwoods League. They hosted a talk by Richard Preston, author of The Hot Zone on the emerging threat of Ebola and other extreme viruses, and The Wild Trees about the few remaining old-growth trees and his “treks” through their canopies. I was lucky to have a chance to talk to him for several uninterrupted minutes, and had to remind myself I needed to share with other attendees.

I owe my interest in virology and infectious diseases to his work. I was very pleased to hear him tie the importance of old-growth canopy dense forests with his prior work. Few have ever thought to make the connection between the world's largest living things and the threat of some of the world's smallest organisms. As deforestation causes a loss of habitat to higher level animals, insects and other lower animals are increasingly becoming vectors for potential pandemic infections, for which we have miniscule knowledge and certainly no cure.

Mr. Preston reminds me a great deal of Indiana Jones, and like Indy, was a university professor. His first chapter of The Hot Zone reminded me a lot of the first scene of the first Indiana Jones movie, leaving you breathless after just a few short moments and keeps you on the edge of your seat.

The Wild Trees, though, touched a place in my heart; and these trees above all others resonate with a power and majesty that I cannot adequately explain. To hear him talk of places unexplored—fractalled redwood canopies-- that exist in something I love so much is like finding a magic kingdom past the back panel of an old wardrobe.

Entry by Karla
Long-time Tree Hugger

A Last Note About Our Beautiful Song

We were wrong. Or maybe we were just seeing things with our heart. Belle Canto had a way of doing that. Opening your heart up with her look of a tiger as she scratched at her post, or her purr, or when she licked your hands and face.

But in the end, she was too sick and weak to do any of those, and we knew it was time to let her go.

The final decline in her health happened all too sudden. For us. To her it must have seemed like an eternity. The vet told us that as far as it was known, the FIP probably wasn't causing her a significant level of pain. But watching her struggle across a room, because her heart had more ambition than the nerves controlling her back legs could fulfill, broke our heart. And she was such a dignified kitten, it must have horrified her.

So on a Friday afternoon before a "holiday" weekend, we said goodbye to the bundle of love that we were lucky enough to have as part of our lives. And unlucky enough to lose much, much too soon.

Belle Canto Maree - The World's Most Beautiful Kitten
August 7, 2007 to May 23, 2008
(picture taken 12/15/07)

For a few more pictures of Belle Canto click here.