grace and serendipity...

I am humbled and blessed beyond belief. I just discovered that oh-so-very-dear, 'follow your heart' Jane Ellen has written the most sweet and kind entry on the subject of my blog. Now, you have further evidence of her wondrous heart.

This is where 'blogland' truly makes me feel that we are sitting on a couch together -- and oh, how I'd love to be sitting on a bench next to her, in the idyllic land of Jane's Journal pictured on her blog, right now.

She is such an encourager of humankind. So, by her example, let's play tag. I've borrowed the image of the heart above from Spasmically Perfect, a Wordpress blog, as is hers. Photography, poetry, thoughts du jour... a birdwatcher (doves!!!)... and, when I dig further, a 'quoter' of Christina Rosetti. Wow. You might want to check it out.

Ah...let's give thanks for grace and serendipity.

Thank you, Jane.

P.S. Jane's lists of 'Currently' this'n'that -- what she's reading, listening, watching, etc. -- are always worth checking out. I've just realized that my attempts at listing such - or at least the idea thereof, as I never keep up - undoubtedly came from my initial contacts with her website features & writings.

Vidi Aquam

From the photo files of the National Cathedral

I'm way overdue for a tome on (the great) Holy Week music at St. John's. While I'm collecting my inner musings on all that was so artfully and soulfully done by the choir, here's a poetic splashly excursion into the heart of the traditional* Vidi Aquam baptismal sprinkling anthem text, by Fr. William McNichols

Mesmerized inside -
reeling from
winds of change,
and only God knows
how many false prophets,
dreams and voices,
I saw water gushing
from a hydrant
on Houston Street,
near the church
where the Child
touches Anthony
so gently,
so gracefully.
Water flooded the streets
pouring out
like a miraculous
healing font,
and once it
touched and swirled
around my feet
there was
Peace.

While searching for a version of the traditional text for my own musical setting** a handful of years ago, I stumbled onto this inspiring, grace-filled, spirit-tingling poem. It inspired a rhapsodic piano accompaniment.

This year, the choir did a wonderful, dramatic, monastery-droning setting by Charles Hammell of the latin text. Loved it! We felt inspired to walk the aisles, as if in cloistered corridors, but we would have collided with Father C on his sprinkling route.

*I saw water flowing from the temple, from the right side, alleluia; and all those to whom that water came were saved, and they shall say: alleluia, alleluia.

**Yes, Felipe, it's still not officially finished...

Eastertide offering: York, England, 2005

Magnificent organ pipes

Expectant Choir steps

Rehearsing for Evensong

Intersection of arches

Looking up at the Yorkminster cross, suspended from the Tower,
draped in an Easter swath of resurrection cloth.
Yes, it's a side view.
For some reason, it seems to lose something when it is rotated.

B-

I'm giving myself an overall B- on my eating slowly/chewing each bite 50 times project. I do well sometimes...and am definitely feeling the benefits. But when I fix a bowl of sprouted grain cereal, pour raw milk over it, add frozen wild blueberries and then think, gee, with healthy ingredients like that, it's probably OK to chew 5-10 times! - like I did last night. Well, I had to average in an 'F' for yesterday.

On to another worthy project: BREATHING!!! Yes, it's not completely optional anymore! It's become completely evident that I hold my breath at the times when it is most important not to. This would generally apply to anything that requires concentration: writing, practicing... anything that falls under 'performing'... and even things that are fun, but intense. It's the epitome of working against oneself.

An awareness of the roots of the stressful state that ensues has been growing in me in the past year. Some months ago, I began gradually incorporating some deep yoga breathing into my life . For some reason, it didn't seem natural to simply, 'just do it'. I discovered that, for me, repeating phrases of the Jesus Prayer, entwining it into each breath, gave me a complete spiritual-breath experience. It still does. And helps immensely....when I remember to do it.

picture courtesy of Laura

hummingbirds...almost... fledged

Friday morning, a hummingbird check revealed that one of the pair had fledged. That's great -- but the remaining sibling looked forlorn. Out of the comforting nest, he was sitting on the pipe, facing the big world. I had a great view of his tiny body. Alarmingly...there was no wing buzzing.

Thank goodness mom, in her incomparable wisdom, had not only attached bugs the ceiling, barely out of reach unless one lifts off slightly, but also laid in a supply on the pipe supporting the nest. There little Buddy sat, pecking a bit at the ones close by, preening a bit. But way too quiet.

A new cashier at the Summit has gotten into birdwatching. She thinks it's sweet how much I care, but has become an avid hummer watcher herself. Yesterday, I made a handful of visits, instead of just one. On my first arrival, she said, 'One of them is gone!!!' The next, ' Some of the students have noticed what you're watching. Just think, they're so close...but hadn't realized what a miracle is happening on the other side of the glass.' By this time, she could tell I was concerned, and, when I returned for a late lunch, she tried to reassure me: 'He'll be fine', and gave me 50 cents off my teriyaki rice bowl.

That's when I started hating that it was Friday. What would happen to him? How will I know he made it out OK...will he be cold tonight without his sibling? I had never seen one outside the nest: Was something wrong? Could there be a wing equipment malfunction?

I did my last check after work. There he was. Sitting and staring. I stayed longer than my usual brief visits, hoping to see Mom swoop in and give him a pep talk. I started wondering if this might really be Mom herself, sitting, pondering motherhood, cleaning up the scene a bit.

Then - a bit of wing buzzing! Then more and more. Then, Buddy made some quick, short flights, directly under the overhang and not anywhere near the exit arches of the wall, always returning to the pipe. I finally pulled myself away, at least knowing he was gaining confidence, but wondering now about his sense of direction.

It's Saturday. I think I'll stop in at work.

Wish I could give proper credit for the photo, but sometimes there's not enough info on a Google image search.

new problems & old friends - or the other way around: trippin' around the blog block...

I've been bopping around Blogland just a bit. It's a village, a community, where my login is a free pass. Unfortunately, my first stop was my own, where I slammed against a wall: I AGAIN had trouble posting a picture -- tried a few from different sources. It's happened before: won't post or wouldn't stick. Either way, a squashed orange outline box was the sole evidence of the attempt. I did a search on an html tag imbedded in what was supposed to be a picture: 'deselect blogger image gracefully'. Huh? Is that a clue from a virus that 'gracefully' (ha!) attacks pics? Curiously, a search in blogger help didn't turn up any such phrase. At last, this morning, a pic of an orange dress stayed put. But I'm still puzzled.

I've been craving an elegantly beautiful template for my other blog and found a lovely garden-themed one on a Blogspot link. Even successfully installed it. However, it also hit a wall as I discovered that the flowering vines on the template obscured (obliterated?) any and all of the necessary maintenance and navigation buttons a blog should have...including the 'dashboard' one I needed in order to get rid of said new malfunctioning template. Interesting complication there. Luckily, I had a second tab open to the same blog...earlier version...which I then went into to re-select the original old boring template I still want to climb out of.

From there, journeying took a refreshing turn outward. When I had googled the mysterious 'deselecting' pharase, I found a link to a lovely blog which is now on my friend's list. And, yes, she had a squashed outline box at the top of the first post, right where a pic was supposed to expand it and have its being. I see she has since repaired it. A conversation on religion caught my eye here, as well as her photos.

And, speaking of religion: Lately, I've been a nearly invisible observer on some Seabury Divinity School students' bloggings. (A marvelous post by Anglicamp on the Virginia Tech tragedy was irresistible and so I left a comment). I find them a refreshing, sweet, transparent and deep group. Within this close-knit blog community, I happened upon a certain familiar name. And, when Fr. C reminded me we have an old friend going to school there, I read him more deeply and realized it is our 'C': a former piano student (I in my late 20's then, he in his late teen's) . I was a bridesmaid and reader at his wedding in Oregon (I'm honored to be doing that again for a former student -- which says mounds about her imagination and generosity as I'm 30+ years older than said bride). For now, I enjoy being incognito...but, then, with blogging...you never can be sure of that.

Delightfully, an email from Jane Ellen then arrived in my inbox. I first e-met her perhaps 4 or 5 years ago while surfing for a 'Nativitas' CD (Kansas City Chorale -- fabulous group). She had extolled the beauty of it on her janeellen.com website, but bemoaned apparent unavailability. I shared with her a successful result in my search, and she mentioned me with gratitude in her writings from the heart as doing such. She's a magnificent human being -- and a composer. Her college project 'Dancing in Deep Heaven' is based on the writing of C.S. Lewis; I wish we would include it on our concert series at St. John's. She now has a blog, which is every bit as charming as I've found her website and email updates to be. A surprise here: a bit of an out-of-character stretch as she's also part of a cricket-blogging group! Versatile, I'd say. She lives a rare and beautiful life. Any and all of her links are worth checking out. (Currently, of particular note: neil gaiman who leaves me 3 degrees separated from a professor's death.)

Currently on her blog (whose layout I covet: Is WordPress a classier product?), I was drawn to a post entitled 'old friends', where she writes about a visit from a former piano student of hers and his wife and 2 children. A sweet tribute to the expanse of time and how relationships are enriched as we traverse it together or apart. I felt the comforting proximity of not-so-many degrees of separation between piano teachers and students.

From Jane's site, I link-hopped and got a bit far from home (it's always good to drop some breadcrumbs along the way - I often cannot find quite the same way back...). I picked up some new friends and and comfortingly found a familiar link that brought me full circle: Iced Mocha, a familiar name from Miz Minka's list.

It's good to be home.

dinner music for lucy

We have new neighbors. The husband loves old houses and the accompanying challenges. The wife is 'high maintenance' project also. They have a baby (a middle-school aged son has disappeared...maybe his real father lives in a better school district. I was sort of hoping he'd be a friend to Lucy) and TWO dogs.

One of those dogs, a young German shepherd, reminds me of the husband; the other ('BJ' -- the shepherd might have a name, but the owners don't need to use it), a Jack Russell terrier, reminds me of...hmm...let's see... Previously, there was a quiet dog the size of a small horse next door. Lucy loved him, and they never barked at each other. Once, when they mutually removed a fence panel and he got into our yard, she wouldn't let him leave and he was frantic and helpless. She IS a border collie, after all.

BJ is rather a challenge. When I let Lucy out for some backyard time, he begins his fence-running routine, which is punctuated by irritating bouncings off the fence. Lucy goes berserk. She's actually worn a path along the fence tracking the little demon. Both dogs are focussed and single-minded and just won't stop. This is a big problem! Lucy, who thinks of herself as basically a house dog, needs some quality backyard alone time in her own space. In the mornings, we come back from a walk around a few neighborhood blocks and Lucy, who will pee anywhere, needs to have some 'modesty time' to do her other business when we get back. She is a border collie (did I already say that???) and if there is a job to do (dog to corral), she will forget her own needs. In the evenings, she needs quality time to do her other business which fuels the morning business: she needs to eat. I can't feed her raw chicken in the house.

So, here's the new routine: At those times I would normally bring her into our backyard, I do so. BJ & the 'good shepherd' are already out and waiting. Aural mayhem ensues. I wait to see if they'll bring in the dog(s) (I know by now they won't); I let the barking continue for a minute, announce in a matter of fact voice, 'Well, we'll try again later, Lucy' and go inside with her. Repeat two or more times and, at that point, leave Lucy out to participate in fence running and noisy doggy conversation, until they get the point and bring in the little darling. There are two main drawbacks: one, this dance takes up a huge amount of my time and it's really irritating and totally not fair and sometimes they never bring the dog in, like this morning, so Lucy is 'holding it' all day. The other problem, I hate to admit, is Lucy herself.

It's a huge understatement to say she's emotionally and mentally complex. To complicate backyard matters further, she already has mixed feelings about being outside - truly has a phobia of being left out there (unless she's doing a job...)...and me 'getting away' (reference border collie). She actually keeps track of time of day and what I'm doing. For instance, when a piano student arrives, she heads for the back door and wants to go outside. Mom is safely occupied. When the last note is played and I'm up and about, she starts barking to be let in.

So, this evening, after a lot of work to 'clear the soundstage' so that Lucy can have free run of her yard, without distractions, finally the coast is clear: I put her out to eat, and then she insists on barking cuz she's left out there all alone and still will not focus on the business at hand. Back and forth. In and out. I'm exasperated. I want her to seize the opportunity. Hey - show the neighbors what quiet is!!! So, after playing some head games with her, I put her outside with her dinner again. And before she can audibly object, I sit in the darkness of the piano room...and softly play some Rachmaninoff. Something switches on (off?) in her brain. And she quietly goes about her feeding.

Ah.........

feathers...

Continuing, from a brief exchange with Robyn:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all. Emily Dickinson

There was a lot of indiscriminate, adolescent wing-buzzing in the hummer nest today. They're still too tiny to fly, I say. One was barely hanging on with toenails. Surprised he didn't just launch himself into orbit.

Despite my preemptive and informative fax and email, begging them not to until all was clear, Physical Plant came to wash the window today. Granted, mom splats the plate glass with bird doo-doo, so as to obscure the view from the tables on the other side. And this is the time of year workers beautify the campus for commencement. But after they pressure-washed a nest into oblivion 3 years ago (I nearly threw up), they've received reminders & alerts from me - along with promises of keeping them informed of when they've fledged.

Employees in the area alerted them and they did a 'gentle' clean. But, what if they hadn't been caught in time? Sheesh. Pay attention. Even the smallest of all birds is supremely important.

the whole creation groans...and rages...and hums...

Yesterday's tragedy at Virginia Tech - perhaps appropriately - inspires muteness. I read the news, voraciously, but attempts at knowing and understanding do not replace shock. My heart aches for all, beginning with victims and families and ending with perpetrator and his family.

Rage is a part of what is wrong in creation. Does it just seem so -- or is it indeed more pervasive in our world, both human and animal? Is our abused planet contributing to the corruption of psyches and senses? I wonder...I groan...

Now, I'm reminded that Gerard Manley Hopkins poem, God's Grandeur quoted in a previous post , includes language of creation laboring... trod... seared... bleared... smeared... toil... bare... before it gets to the the assuring disclaimer And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things...

Despite yesterday's mayhem, the Holy Ghost certainly 'broods over the bent world' today in the personage of our mommy hummingbird, whose nest is visibly stuffed with feathers and two discernable heads with beaks. Just above this hallowed nativity scene has appeared the usual annual assortment of dead bugs...adhered to the ceiling by a wisely tempting mom...who, perhaps not completely oblivious to the pain in the world, has chosen for her design not a simple circle...but a halo...to entice the babes to look up.

A note on my computer states 'Practice Resurrection'. I think she just has.

encouragement from a holistic dentist

I have a wonderful dentist. He works with me and my health in a way that I wish had been available to me some years ago when I was young and didn't have the inner strength to argue for the right to listen to my body. I saw him last week and he was extolling the health benefits of leisurely eating. Endocrinologists, he says, advocate chewing each mouthful of food 30 - 40 times!

This was a great reminder of something I already know and do advocate (ask my children). Though I rarely intentionally practice it, I can think of more than a handful of significant times in my life when I, by choice, necessity or serendipity, developed a leisurely, appreciative relationship with each mouthful of food...and it dramatically changed my health in surprising ways.

There's basic common sense here. Our processed foods are devoid of the digesting enzymes nature packed them with in their raw state. Undigested food particles ferment in the body and themselves become food for yeast and other unpleasant organisms. Some physicians feel that food allergies are basically the result of poorly digested, and therefore irritating, food sitting like a brick in our stomach. All good reasons for giving time for digestion to get more than a cursory beginning in the mouth.

Eating slowly is, in spirit, a matter of presence and relationship. I'm resolving to make it a joyous health habit.

if i were blue

Patricia Barber not only knows how to sing but also write the blues:

if i were blue
like David Hockney's pool
dive into me and glide
under a California sky
inside your mouth and nose and eyes am i

if i were blue
like Edward Hopper's afternoon
lift the sash to air the breeze
let my summer flush your cheek
lie supine beneath the soft and gentle season

would that this were that
this is more like black
dark as darkest indigo
sickly sweet and ripe
like nothing
smothering light

bring on the pelting rain
palpable sensual pain
like Goya in his studio
in the thick of night
absence is
dull and silent

if i were blue
a pale Picasso blue
as beauty is to sorrow
let me cover you in sleep
and in your melancholy i would give you peace

if i were blue...

I'm an obsessed fan...

patricia barber

Her latest album: Mythologies

Gotcha from Fortnight in France on YouTube

A remarkable review: Verse

And if you're going to be in Chicago...

michelangelo's seizure

Supper at Emmaus Caravaggio

One of the perks of my job: opening up the interesting mail that comes for the Associate Provost for Enrollment. Yeah, a lot of it is total junk. Or from people/institutions trying to impress him. I suppose the announcement from Seton University of the imminent publishing of a professor's book of poetry, including the title poem in its entirety, might come under the category of the latter. But...oh, my...oh, my -- what a poem. A tantalizing doorway into Steve Gerhke's world of marrying painters to poetry.

Of course, I cannot in good conscience print the entire text of the poem here. But, I assure you, an excerpt will do, if you're looking to be hooked.

"...with the witchcraft hushed inside his veins,
onto the flayed skin of St. Bartholomew, crumpled, fierce,
with two dead bugs crushed into the paint, like that bit of
terror, he would think, sealed inside of everything He makes."
--From the title poem Michelangelo's Seizure

The volume includes Caravaggio as a subject. Another reason to order mine, post haste.

kimono kitty

Felipe is The Best!!!!...making possible what I thought was im-. And now my profile pic matches my screensaver.

No more 'stinkybaby.com'...though I did enjoy the symbolism of the empty Hello Kitty chair.

Thanks, Tenor Man. (Oooo...that reminds me of the Benjamin Britten art song subtitled 'The Tenor Man's Story'. It's certainly in my best interest to not here reference the actual title thereof.)

alleluia!!! hummers in the nest!!!!!

I see a beak. And a teeny ruffled wing. Hopefully...two occupants!!! Three's too many...one, hardly worth her effort.

The Holy Spirit doth brood...

and now, it's time for a word from our sponsor

Some awards from that substance that fuels the universe --

1. Miz Minka: for the reminder that the translation of theobroma cacao (botanical name) is, appropriately, 'food for the gods'.
2. To M. for providing an insightful word when I was trying to verbally capture the essence of Green & Black dark chocolate: somber. Wow.
3. The metropolis of Dover, Ohio for having a gourmet chocolate section. Fuel for my sister-in-law's amazing creativity, perhaps?
4. Another sister-in-law: for going way way way beyond pink RAZR high-techness and getting a CHOCOLATE phone. I'm officially jealous.

lucy the wonder border collie

An extraordinarily beautiful dog, wouldn't you say?

rant: less suing & blaming...more grieving & apologizing

Subtitle: I guess this could coming under 'Monday: Misanthropic'

We're a punishing and blaming species. I get really tired of reading news that screams this. The latest, though perhaps not best, example is the cruise ship disaster in Greece.

Hello. Life is dangerous. One should not expect to be 100% safe on a gigantic ship, coming into a harbor with reefs. Nor should one think that by blame, litigation, embarrassment, or prison sentence human beings can be persuaded to never make a mistake.

I've not read the book. But from hearing about it, the essence of 'Plato, not Prozac'* seems to speak to this. Hello. Are we listening? It wasn't the weather that ruined our vacation -- it was our expectation that weather wouldn't be capricious, i.e., could be under our control. Flying through space in a ship is, in fact, is dangerous. So is driving in a car, with/without cellphone, radio, and distracting passengers...or flossing one's teeth, reaching for coffee, and daydreaming

Life hurts. And when it does, it's human nature to get angry and get even. True grieving hurts. Hurts bad. Apologizing hurts -- maybe more than excuses and blame. Perhaps both lay softer ground for nurturing healing.

*Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I only heard an interview with the author on NPR a while back...

tagging along....on 'the whole creation groans'

Wow. Today, Ms. Minka eloquently offered a real world exegesis of something that has very much been on my mind lately...and had been entwining itself into some blog-like thoughts. So, thanks for the inspiration to join in/bring something within me to being!

On a miniature scale in God's creation, my local hummingbird has been occupying an ache in my heart this week. She seems to be missing. The scenario is a repeat of last year: magnificent nest-building and wonder-filled statue-sitting in it have been traded for an apparently barren sight (albeit from below): the nest seems to be unoccupied. I've studied (again, from below...) the edges of the nest for a sign of beaks distinguishing themselves from nesting materials. We did this last year for many, many days -- until we should have seen whole heads emerge -- totally in denial. Not knowing if she was chased off or her eggs napped by scrub jays, I suddenly thought how terrible it would be if she had been killed, leaving vulnerable hatched youngin's to die. Then I couldn't get out of my mind 'March of the Penguins', with Samuel Jackson's voice reminding us that, in killing a feeding-on-fish penguin mom, a leopard seal takes two lives -- hers and her hungry, anxiously awaiting, young chick. The whole Emperor Penguin wonder brings my mind to the catastrophe of global warming and how innocent creatures in our fallen world are gasping and dying. The whole creation groans.

On a slightly less somber note, but still evidence of the same, I've just been told by my office mate, who was raised on a farm, that the raw Jersey cow's milk I'm incorporating into my diet (I'm sure...more later...on this 'strange diet' issue) and can't seem to obtain because it's so popular around here (and the Holstein milk is NOT the same) comes from absolutely beautiful, sweet, long-eyelashed precious cows...whose milk I drink because their own calves are denied it. Ouch.

And, along with wincing a bit more when I kill a spider these days (except Black Widows), occurring to me too late that there is an alternative, I'm watching my garbage cans fill with trash and even recyclables, and picturing cesspool garbage dumps that will take eons to become clean and pure...if ever. Well, I constantly feel like an environmental screwup, even when I'm doing my best. I groan for wounded creation.

I wrestle with the hard reality that, no matter how much I want to and do try to do good, I cannot -- and oftentimes make it worse. No more Pollyanna thinking that if all the other big bad guys would stop mucking it up, the world would be fine. No more anger at the medical establishment for creating all kinds of drugs to cure something and actually making it worse. We all have a desire and longing for perfection...and the more we try, the more we are reminded that we can't make it happen and that, somehow, that might not the point of life.

Such things do indeed seem to have appropriately fallen, or at least come to the surface in a more pointed way, in Holy Week. Suffering, of mother, Son, humanity. I remember praying pointedly and persuasively...over and over (and still do) for things miraculous and ideal to redeem/stave off any and all suffering for my children. As if there should be less for me and mine than Mary and hers? But therein is the point. Jesus (and his mother) truly joins us in our humanity...aches with us...rejoices with us...sitting by our bedside in our cosmic illness and skipping rope with us when good triumphs, and reminding us of the ultimate triumphant end to the drama.

There is much that is good in all world religions and all other worthy efforts towards the healing of humanity. I could go on about that, and probably will at some point (or will quote Fr. John-Julian of Norwich). But, the uniqueness of Jesus' life, death, resurrection...and the marvelous, beyond comprehension way that intertwines and shares and magnificently redeems us (despite how mere humans try to screw even that up)...is where the hope for us all completely resides.

Thank you, Miz Minka. I'm now convinced that it is not my imagination that there seems to be something stirring our collective souls to involve ourselves, care for, grieve for, consider all of creation, even the smallest, most innocent and seemingly insignificant members of it. Perhaps Aslan is on the move.

my meez, DamsiAnne

Am I cute or what????? Check out the Bunny slippers...not to mention the tiara!!!!!!! But, quietly, please: you can see I'm in some sort of transcendental state. How like me -- astro-traveling wrapped in pink hearts. The piece de resistance: the magnificent wings. Fly me to the moon. Oh -- no. I think I'll stay with my Cloud of Magellan.

Not too bad for an air-headed fairy.

Thank you, Meez.com. Verrrrrrry fun.

spring...certainly in, of, and around the air

It's spring. I equate 'Spring Fever' -- that I-don't-want-to-do-anything, too-tired-to-care attitude -- not with falling in love or the distractions of the surrounding beauty, but with 'allergy fog'. It's thick here.

aberrant minds

What does this refer to, you might well ask? Both sides of my schizoid gray matter? A Republican caucus??** Any and all people who eschew chocolate??? Felipe and all his relatives????

Nope. It's simply made up of the letters one would also use to spell my real name!! I nearly choked when it magically came up.

Now -- go to Anagram Genius* and have a great time.

*I simply came upon this whilst e-researching (=googling) a name on Ms Mac's blog.
**I must here add that Fr. C is not amused by this.

P.S. It might help if you use your middle name also...especially if your name is short, like 'Miz'.
P.S.S. Something to please both Repubs and Dems, depending on the sarcasm factor: Type in 'President George Bush'.

stores i've loved...and might wish to get lost in

A short and frivolous pictorial tour of some, insides or outs:

Could be my favorite. A boutique in the St. Sulpice area of Paris. I should know the name of the ritzy neighborhood, but, typically, I'm identifying it with the local cathedral*. Now there's a real church. Wow. Perhaps anther pictorial essay lives there. Anyway, the store was closed at the time. I was content to capture its allure without needing to enter.

State Street, Santa Barbara: the view from an Argentinian restaurant across the street. I love how it seems to be on fire....



Cambria, California. The butterfly bench was definitely out of my price range!
'Local color' shop in the Santa Teresa area of Rio de Janeiro







Last, but certainly not least: the legendary La Samaritaine, late on a misty night along the Seine. May it ever rule in our hearts until it is refurbished, rebuilt, torn apart, or whatever else it takes to make the French fire marshalls happy.

Now you've seen a pic from each and every one of my significant life's travels.

*Fr. Carioca informs me St. Sulpice is not a cathedral, but a mere parish church. Given the grand history of the organ there, I think it deserves the bump up.