Thanks to Julia I received an introduction to Dr. Pozzi at Home. His place of residence is the Hammer Museum. A wonderfully intimate (small) museum that is free through the summer. Will and I took a trip over on Saturday afternoon to say hello to Dr. Pozzi and view the rest of the art installations.
Dr. Pozzi is the work of 19th century American painter John Singer Sargent, and the informality of the doctor in his brilliant red dressing gown is so intriguing, one slippered foot poking out from beneath his hem.
Photos on Flickr of the Hammer Museum, a drive by the Storybook House and a stop at Milk on the way home for refreshments.
Woke up thinking about what a great trip we had last year. A road trip that was all designed to get us to Grandma's house in Troy Montana for the 4th of July, where my family were gathering. It was a minor miricle to have us all together. With just me, my brother, mom, uncle and grandma, we are as spread apart as we've ever been. But the talk is we may be together again this Thanksgiving in South Carolina, well all but one. I don't think Uncle Jim and Elva will make the trip, but maybe????
So today my sweetie and I are celebrating the 4th of July with the Dodgers and with a belly full of Dodger Dogs, Peanuts and Ice Cream we'll stay for post game fireworks at the ball park.
The Farmer's Market that used to be down the street from my office on Wilshire is gone. I believe they moved further down the street but when I called the phone number for the association that handles organic farmer's markets in the city, I only got voicemail. I left a message and stated my inquiry for their new location, along with my name and number, but no one called me back. I really needed a good peach.
So it was decided that Saturday morning we would take a walk down to the Silverlake Farmer's Market via the back streets that connect to steeply-steep Micheltorena, and wind our way back down to Sunset. There we would bag us some goodies at the farmer's market and have breakfast at Millie's. Later in the afternoon we would haul about 40 cans of old paint from the basement, and Joe's leftover motor oil from the garage, load it into the back of Will's truck and take it to a hazardous waste disposal center in Glendale. Which is relatively close to Fish King where we can pick up some soft shelled crabs for dinner. And Foster's Freeze just happens to be on the way home and by 3:00 in the afternoon we could use some ice cream dipped in chocolate running down our chins.
So that was the plan. And all of those things we did. Right down to the last drop of dripping ice cream.
What wasn't in the plan was a yard sale in full swing at a nice little house on Maltman as we wound our way down to be deposited back on Sunset and the Farmer's Market. As we walked by the front of the house we spied some very interesting bits of glass, pottery, and figurines place mosaicly into cement interweaving between the plants and shrubs along the curb.
We began taking pictures and as we looked around some more saw baubles poked onto cactus arms and other oddities. I walked along a bank of fold up tables lining the driveway and a man passing me said "You can go into the backyard. It's very artistic." I didn't even get a clear look at him, there were so many people eyeing the treasures for sale on the tables before us. But the words found their way to my ears through the din of all the other voices swirling around, and I crooked my finger at Will and motioned to him to follow me. We entered a narrow walkway along the side of the house and through a gateway we were in the backyard.
There we found an wondrous display of art, baubles, bottles, figurines, statuary, shrines, beads, and winding paths all intertwined within huge tropical plants and palm trees with an art studio tucked away in the back corner.
We believed it must be the home of the much loved local resident of our Echo Park/Silverlake community, Alberto Hernandez. His garden was featured in the movie Quinceanera and I remember first hearing about him in a feature in the Times or the Weekly. Though photos can not do justice to the live experience of being in his garden where nearly every inch is a work of art and whimsy, I shot away. When we arrived back home Will did a quick search to confirm that it was in fact the garden and art studio of Alberto. What a special treat it was to stumble upon this yard sale and be allowed entry to the magic garden of Alberto Hernandez. More on Flickr.
I've been pretty happy with my little point and shoot cameras, and before our spring holiday to Venice and Paris, and all points in between, I did buy me a new Canon PowerShot SD900 with 10 mega pixels. But I still couldn't get all of the shots I wanted. I couldn't get the depth in my close ups and I was really limited in the zoom area, and even with 10 mega pixels I still wasn't getting the clarity I wanted. So I went and bought a Canon Rebel XT with 8 mega pixels and a standard 18-55mm lens, plus a super 75-300mm lens.
Now I'm not the most technically advanced person on the planet and I thought that this camera might have too many features for me ('cause I don't know all the lingo or my f-stops and shutter speeds), but I do know what I like and I don't think this is too much camera for me. I've been shooting everything there is to shoot around the house and I'm playing with the settings and all. And when I can take a shot of Jiggy's little black padded paw with the depth that I've been wanting to see in my shots, well lookit:
I've been captivated with photography from a very early age. And travel is a passion and where there's travel there's photos to take. So, all full of guilt for not spending where I need to (that running bathroom faucet that is just money down the drain) and instead spending on a pure want... well I haven't quite reconciled that in my brain yet.
And the more practical part of me is shaking her head and making a mental list of better ways I could have spent my money, and tisk-tisking myself for this, the visual part of me that loves order and symmetry and colors and light and spontaneity and slices of life and moments in time, she is lit up inside and can't wait to capture the next journey (or flower or cat or cloud in the sky).
I'll tell you how wonderful my husband is. On our first anniversary last year we returned to the Edendale Grill where we went to dinner on our wedding night. I remember the Fried Green Tomatoes were out of this world delish. It was also the paper anniversary and I got my Sweetie a book (which obviously qualifies).
However, not being aware of the anniversary gift content tradition my adoring husband was lacking in this department. Not that I expected anything at all. But this year when we both came to realize that our anniversary was approaching and that the content of cotton was in order, not only did I receive two gifts (a new cotton covered down comforter and a cotton blanky) but I also received from my loving husband a paper gift (that covered last year's content).
And not just paper, but the paper place mat from a cafe where we had dinner one glorious night in Paris. Le Notre Dame Cafe and our hotel are wonderfully reproduced on the paper place mats of this cafe and while admiring them Will said he was taking one with him. I didn't think he would get the paper place mat home without creasing it, but he rolled it up and somehow got it home crease-free. Now, a month later, I'd forgotten all about the place mat, but not my Sweetie. He went out and did this, for me. 
How sweet is that!?! And I think we'll find a nice place for it in the kitchen, our own little cafe.
Second Anniversary Photos here.
Rome, Italy
05/12/07
Docking late in the morning and a 45 minute coach ride to actually reach Rome didn't help. We had a plan. We covered a good amount of ground and saw most all of the things we wanted to see, but it felt rushed. I need more time.
But I did throw my coin in the fountain and that should ensure me a return trip to Rome, some day. When I don't have a ship to catch.
Photos are up.
05/10/07
Port of Call: DubrovnikPhotos on Flickr
We boarded a (replica) 17th century galley ship and sailed from Dubrovnik to the little Island of Lopud for a local fisherman's lunch. Set up on the lawn under a cool canopy of trees we were treated to a nice breeze and Corsican songs by a string quartet while we savored the delicious catch of the moment. It tasted like it was literally just plucked from the sea. Wonderful octopus salads and delicious little squids, and tuna along with fresh herbs and cheeses and breads and spreads. All that and some good Corsican wine and a blaze of azure blue seas.
While most of our party stayed on the terrace overlooking the bay, and Will and some others trekked to the other side of the little island, I stayed and walked along this short stretch of pristine shoreline of this sleepy little isle. No cars , not even golf carts. Just your feet in the sand and a bicycle or two.
And a little blue boat. 
While approaching the Isle of Burano on Wednesday 05/09/07, noted for its museum and school of lace, we noticed the severely leaning tower as our guide told us that it is inspected and is completely safe. Once docked we strolled along in wonderment at Burano, also noted for its brightly painted houses, while around every corner another amazing and picturesque house, 
we beelined it towards the leaning tower of the San Martino church.
Our guide had also told us of Golosessi, a specialty biscuit of Burano made is the shape of an "S" that are traditionally dipped in Vin Santo, a sweet wine.
" Into sweet Vin Santo wine, or thick hot chocolate they like to dip their ‘essi’ , shaped like the letter ‘S’, "
With the pastry shops everywhere along the main street it was easy finding the Golosessi, especially due to their unique shape. Not so much with the Vin Santo.
We couldn't remember the name and couldn't discern one bottle of wine from another, unlike Venice, this little island of locals aren't as quick with the English. Which is fine. I don't expect everyone in all corners of the world to speak my language. But it took us a couple of shops to find anyone either fluent or friendly enough to want to help us with the Vin. Walking out of one shop and into another we did find a very accommodating shopkeeper who knew just what we were looking for. 
We also picked up some Fritelle stuffed with chocolate and custard and in heaven ate them on the vaporetto back to the ship.
Laundry hanging out of virtually every lovely shutter-framed window, 
the entire place smelled like freshly laundered linens. An absolute delight for all the senses. I would love to spend more time on Burano. 
Later this evening and back on the ship heading out of the lagoon toward the open seas, we opened our bag of Golosessis and dipped them into the sweet wine, and it was delicious. And more goodies await us.
Returning from our trip satiated with travel (and a bad cold) it is good to be home. While all of my photos prior to Monte Carlo are stuck on a laptop until I can extract them, I'll begin with the end of our Spring Holiday, our last days in Paris before coming home.
With so many things to do and see in Paris, how do you see the main attractions while still experiencing the city of light on a personal level? Somehow I believe we accomplished just that. First of all, our Hotel de Notre Dame was perfectly situated in the 5th Arrondissement. we woke up every morning with their continental breakfast delivered to our room,
which came complete with a marvelous view of Notre Dame, illuminated at night for our pleasure.
I'm sure Will got much better photos of the gargoyles, but I managed to get close enough to snap a few of them. 
So it was that on our final day we headed to the Tour Eiffel via the Metro. And after popping into a tobacco shop for a Cuban cigar and some beverages, we rounded a corner and there it was. 
As excited as we could be we headed for the monument, stepped under it's monstrous belly, 
and cutting through the labyrinthine lines at the ticket booths, crossed the street and found a shady patch of park to have our picnic and feed the pigeons.
Once sufficiently grubbed we headed back under the Eiffel and took our place in the cue to get our tickets to the observation decks of the tower. 
The sun had spent some time this afternoon out from behind the clouds for our benefit but once we were grounded again and walking along the Parc du Champ de Mars it began raining again. We ducked under the canopy of trees that lined the park and by the time we made it to Rue Cler 
it was coming down pretty steady. We found a little shop and went inside to see if they carried umbrellas. We found two that suited us and as soon as we stepped outside and opened those umbrellas up, dang if the rain didn't just stop.
We wound our way back to the Metro and the Hotel de Notre Dame. That evening we had planned on taking the Metro to Montmartre which is situated on a hill that is supposed to have great views of Paris at night, but deciding that was too much effort (my cold had kicked in pretty good at this point) we changed the plan and went back to the Shakespeare and Co. book store
with its own du Chat Noir, 
found a little cafe for dinner, where Will enjoyed that Cuban cigar, and had a lovely walk through the cobbled streets of Paris before retiring for the night. Our last night in Paris before coming home.
I like to think I'm a traveler, not a tourist. Something that a fellow travelling companion once said drew the line very clearly between a tourist and a traveler for me. Tourist's say things like. "I'm not eating at another restaurant unless the menu is in English." Why even bother leaving the country if everywhere you go you expect it to be just like the U.S.?
A traveler once said, "If you find something is not to your liking, change your liking." Travelers immerse themselves in the unfamiliar and relish the differences. I wouldn't say anyplace is bad, just different. And I wouldn't think of potentially offending someone with some thoughtless comment about their customs, their lifestyle, their country.
When travelling you just have to roll with it. There are going to be crowds (of tourists) who areloud and obnoxious, and who don't respect the land they are visiting, who are inconsiderate of those around them, and who think they are somehow more important than everyone else on the planet. I have little tolerance for these people, but I try not to let it affect me and my enjoyment of the experience I am their to have.
I'm sure what I am about to embark upon will not disappoint. It will be a highfalutin sojourn around Italy's boot complete with a fancy schmancy boat and a Captain's Black & White Ball. Sweetie's got his black tux ready and I've got my little black dress. We'll be excursioning at all the wonderful ports o' call all along the Tres Rivieras. Book-ended with a couple of enchanting days exploring Venice and a few magical days basking in Paris, the city of lights.
Now, I have to go learn some Croatian phrases.
Thanks to Julia I received an introduction to Dr. Pozzi at Home. His place of residence is the Hammer Museum. A wonderfully intimate (small) museum that is free through the summer. Will and I took a trip over on Saturday afternoon to say hello to Dr. Pozzi and view the rest of the art installations.
Dr. Pozzi is the work of 19th century American painter John Singer Sargent, and the informality of the doctor in his brilliant red dressing gown is so intriguing, one slippered foot poking out from beneath his hem.
