Yes, I’m still plodding away at the poinciana project. I’ve done two rough drafts with colored pencil and decided it was time to try a small watercolor before attempting to do a larger one.
The jury is still out on whether or not to add color to the background. I have mixed feelings (more negative than positive) about how it looks with this one. I’d love to get your feedback!
If you want to see the previous post with the original photograph and rough drafts, here you go: Another Poinciana
The beach was covered with beach umbrellas and lots of tanned bodies. There were a few other pale-skinned people like us, but not many. 🙂 We had seen an intriguing castle-like building on the other side of the beach that we wanted to explore, so we made our way over there.
Kris went out on some craggy rocks so he could sit down and put his tootsies in the sea (a phrase that should be familiar to some of our children). I had to assess the danger value first; this is why I’m not much of an adventurous traveler and need someone else to lead the way. It looked like tricky climbing, but I eventually picked and crawled my way over to where he was and stuck my own tootsies briefly in the sea. As we sat there in the sun Kris felt something occasionally grazing against his leg in the water. Suddenly he realized that it was a little creature of some sort and yanked his feet out of the water to investigate. Sure enough, there was a little crab hiding in the rocks just under the water. He stuck a longish piece of grass in the crab hole trying to entice it out, but it just clipped off the end of the grass and stayed where it was.
Kris makes his way out there while I asses the danger.
We still hadn’t found the right approach to the castle (although we were directly under one side of it), so we went back and around to the other side and up the stairs. It turned out that the castle had been in this place for hundreds of years – since 1130. It was located on what used to be an island of sorts, called “L’isola di Camogli.” The castle itself was named “Castel Dragone,” named after a “savage Ottoman pirate…known as Dragut.” The building served for a time as a prison and there were still bars over the windows. There were also a couple cannons outside.
On our way back down, we realized that we were passing a large old church with a very grand interior, so we popped in for a quick look around and a photo. Everything you see here makes you want to capture it on a camera. I wonder if before the advent of photography, people were more naturally observant and better at retaining visual details. We don’t really look at things, we take pictures of them, which I can’t help but feel is a little bit different.
If they sold this on Amazon, I’d get one for the front door.
We found a nice place to sit for a while and watch the world go by. The buildings are of many different pastel colors and appear to be all brick siding. As we sat there looking around, I began to observe that the building in front of us didn’t have the textured appearance you would expect from bricks. I went over for a closer look and discovered that the bricks were painted on! Cheaters! It looked like a lot of trouble to go to for a brick appearance, but I have to admit the effect was quite striking. (Note: later we read something about Camoglie and found out that the town is well-known for this type of art, called “trompe l’oeil.” Go figure!)
Cheaters!
We had purchased round-trip tickets and knew that we could catch a train back to Genova just before 6:30 so we got to the station about 15 minutes early (after an exceptionally long walk up thousands and thousands of stairs; I’m not going to tell you the exaggeration factor – you just need to know that it seemed like thousands and thousands).
Passed this cat on our way up – wished I could take a rest like that
The platform was already fairly crowded and as we stood there waiting, it filled up until we were a mass of humanity crammed together. This didn’t bode well. All those swimmers were going home, apparently. The train came right on time and everyone swarmed en masse to the doors. People were packed in tightly and it seemed hardly possibly any more could fit in each train car, but people pushed their way on. This was looking like it was going to be a horribly uncomfortable trip, so we elected to wait for the next train, which, according to the schedule, would come by at 6:51.
Sure enough, at 6:51 a train came zipping up to the station and zipped right on by without stopping. Uh oh. We had apparently misunderstood something about the schedule so we went back in to study it to see if there was any clue as to why it hadn’t stopped. This was an important detail since there was to be another train at 7:24 and we began to be a little concerned that that train might not stop either, for reasons unknown to us and it was one of the last trains out. We walked in and out of the station multiple times double checking the schedule, but the information window itself was closed and it appeared that station personnel had left for the day. By God’s providence, the last time we went in to look at the schedule, an employee of the station came out of a locked door, presumably on her way home. We enquired about the train that didn’t stop, counting on her to know enough English to understand us. She did and pointed out a little teeny tiny notice at the bottom of the schedule for that train that said “festivi – Sabato.” Relief flooded us as we realized that the 6:51 train only stopped in Camogli on Saturdays during particular holiday weekends. She reassured us that the 7:24 train would stop and lo, it came to pass.
After we got back, we headed out on foot again to find a restaurant. Giovanni had given us the names of a couple nearby that were open on Sundays; most restaurants are not. We found one less than 10 minutes away and I’ll spare you this time of all the details involved in the menu, ordering and eating. Suffice it to say that we got our daily pesto pasta fix and finished the meal again with tiramisu.
This is a test of your imagination. Don’t feel bad if you fail it, like those 3-D illustrations that ran rampant some years ago.
Do you see the toad’s face in that set of rock formations? You do? Phew! His mouth is easy to see, but you have to squinch your eyes a bit to see his eyes. My impression – and this is completely up for debate – is that he’s a little on the curmudgeonly side.
The curmudgeonly toad Protrudes from the rock His eyes are crossed, His mouth is locked. If he could talk, He’d probably grumble ”Why am I stuck here? Mumble, mumble…”
By the way, I feel like “squinch” should be a word, but I am informed by my computer overlords that it is not.
We left Sanders for the 30-minute drive to Petrified Forest National Park. We’re getting our money’s worth out of Kris’s lifetime membership card for seniors. PFNP was pretty cool – lots of painted desert stuff at the beginning (North Gate entrance) and the petrified wood towards the end (South Gate). Lots more photos and a few mini-hikes.
Using the “vivid” effect on my camera
We stopped at the Historic Inn and had the pleasure of getting some fun intel from the lady running the cash register. She was really a hoot – local color at its best.
She noticed me standing around looking at stuff and pointed out some tiles on the ceiling that were done in the style of Pueblo art. After giving me the background on them, she said, “But they were made in the 1930’s and have lead in them so you can’t lick them.” I thanked her for the warning and said, “I suppose when you looked at me you thought, there’s somebody whose first move after hearing about the tiles will be to jump up and try to lick them.” We had a nice chuckle over that – she had a fun sense of humor. The tiles were painted by CCC artisans, which surprised me. I had kind of thought that the CCC workers of the 1930’s were all doing basic construction jobs and grunt work.
She told us about the petroglyph of a coyote that was in the same room, pointing out that the coyote’s tail was abnormally angled over its back. Since coyotes keep their tails straight behind them when running (which this one was doing), she said her best guess as the why the tail was in that odd position was that the person making the petroglyph was trying to best utilize the space on the rock. Ha ha! That’s as good a guess as any, I suppose.
The Petrified Forest is the only park in our system of national parks that contains a section of Historic Route 66, by the way.
“Vultures” circling the remains of Route 66
When we stopped at the Puerco Pueblo and walked the short trail to see everything, I noticed that “Stay on the paved trail” signs were numerous. I told Kris, “I’m thinking about walking off the trail – do you think anyone would mind?” He got right into the spirit of things and replied, “I’m wondering when I visit you in prison if it will be an open room at a table or if you’ll be behind glass.” I answered, “I’m guessing that for the severity of the infraction, I’ll be behind glass.” That’s how we roll.
The Puerco Pueblo contained ruins from a large Pueblo compound that was probably inhabited 800-2000 years ago, so it was interesting to imagine people occupying those spaces that were just bare vestiges of the original homes. We also stopped at the “Newspaper Rock,” which contained a large fallen boulder of sandstone that had lots of petroglyphs carved into it. Very interesting! We saw small petroglyph markings in other places as well.
I feel like my drawing style would have fit in well in this culture
We skipped the separate loop for the Blue Mesa area, figuring we could see all the blue mesas we wanted right from the road we were on. Kris posited that when we told people about our visit to the PF, someone would invariably say, “Did you take the Blue Mesa loop? It was BY FAR the best part of the park!”
Blue Mesas of the Non-Loop Variety
Our next stop was the Jasper Forest, our first glimpse of the actual petrified wood of the petrified forest. Kris said, “When we get to the overlook, I’m going to make an announcement to the other tourists: ‘We’re all going to take a piece of petrified wood and not tell anyone else.’” He’s a fun traveling companion! We did not, however, make a secret pact with the other tourists (nor did we take any wood, I hasten to point out). More’s the pity.
Another display of petrified wood was called the Crystal Forest, a place where much of the inside matter in the wood had turned into quartz and sparkled in the sun.
The final stop was the Rainbow Forest Museum and Gift Shop. The phrase “millions of years” was evidently required verbiage on every display.
Don’t get me started.
We walked around a little loop that they had with plenty more petrified wood that you could actually touch and sit on. We did both. And took a selfie. Oh, and I spotted a little lizard that we each got nice close-ups of.
On our way back to the car to eat lunch I spotted another little critter crawling along the sidewalk in a strange manner. I stopped and took a photo, but wasn’t quite close enough to figure out what it was.
I was thinking to myself how good I am at seeing things that others don’t see, patting myself on the proverbial back as it were. I walked slowly closer to the odd looking little critter and when I got close enough I saw that it was a scrap of black plastic from a bag that a breeze had been moving along on the sidewalk.
The good Lord always knows when I need a little humbling.
About thirty years ago, my mother discovered bread machines. It was a happy discovery for her – she was so thrilled with hers that she bought one for each of her six children as a way of sharing the joy. We promptly named ours “R2-D2” (Artoo-Detoo) for obvious reasons.
Mom also instructed us in the liturgy of the machine. There was a recipe for chocolate chip bread in the accompanying recipe booklet which instructed you to wait until the machine gave out a number of beeps after the second mixing, your cue to put in the chocolate chips. I don’t think Mom ever actually made the chocolate chip bread, but every time the machine uttered its programmed beeps, she would crow, “TIME TO PUT IN THE CHOCOLATE CHIPS!” Yes, just like that in all caps. Soon, we were all saying it in a very liturgical manner:
“Beep beep beep beep beep” “TIME TO PUT IN THE CHOCOLATE CHIPS!”
We enjoyed our bread making robot and tried a lot of the recipes (probably even the chocolate chip bread because why not?). But the day came when one little loaf was not enough to feed our growing army of boys. I learned how to make five loaves of whole wheat bread at a time and we retired our beeping friend to the storeroom in the basement where it sat uncomplainingly while gathering dust.
We ran out of bread recently and I haven’t had time to make any. Today, my husband remembered R2-D2 and brought it back to a place of usefulness. It had not forgotten how to bake a tolerably good loaf of bread, and when the beeps started in, I blurted out “TIME TO PUT IN THE CHOCOLATE CHIPS!”
When we were traveling in the Southwest, I discovered that my camera has various effects, so I did a little experimenting. The one I enjoyed the most is called “vivid.” I used it a lot at the Grand Canyon (of which I have not posted yet). It definitely feels like cheating, but is it? I’ll let you ponder the philosophical gravity of that question on your own.
Here’s one photo I took of the evening sky by our house recently, plain and unadorned by fancy camera effects.
Here it is in “vivid” mode.
It’s fakey looking, but quite striking, no? I took a few more before retiring the camera that night.
The next morning, I came out early and the grass was all dewy and alight with the sun. No special effects from my camera were needed.
Behold, how good and pleasant it is For brethren to dwell together in unity! …It is like the dew of Hermon, descending upon the mountains of Zion; For there the LORD commanded the blessing – Life forevermore.
But not blog forevermore; it’s gone as the dew dries up in the morning.
(To start at the beginning: Adventures in Italy Part 1) Also, hallelujah – what was lost has been found: our digital photos from this trip! So, no more pictures of photos in a book. Phew!
Church in Genova, then to Camogli – August 2016
We’re sitting on a train that will take us to Bordighera, so I have a chance to catch up my travel journal for yesterday. Make yourselves comfortable! I never make a long story short, as you know – it always goes the other way. Someday I will be boring all our grandchildren to death when they ask a simple question and I launch into a 30-minute answer that includes what time I got up, what I had for breakfast, and how my bones and joints feel that day.
We found an English-speaking Anglican church in Genova called “Church of the Holy Ghost.” We set out on foot for the 15-minute uphill walk and although we took one false turn still managed to get there on time. It was a beautiful old building, built in the late 1800’s.
The street on which we lived – time to walk to church!Church of the Holy Ghost
We were greeted by an older lady named Liz in the British accent that never fails to charm. She seemed so very pleased to see us and asked us if we were the type to join heartily and loudly in the singing. Looking around at the sparse attendance, I could understand why this might be important. She explained to us that they wouldn’t have a priest that day. She also told us not to be alarmed if the service didn’t start right at 10:30 – “we’re on African time!” It turns out that about half of their members are from Africa and tend to meander in at different times after the service starts.
We met a fellow named John who was visiting that day also, having been on a cruise ship that stopped in at the Genova port for the day. There were no hymnals, just words printed in the bulletin, so sitting by John ended up being a key part of being able to sing along. He knew the tunes and sang loudly and confidently in a wonderful baritone voice. I thanked him afterwards for “leading” the singing. The service itself was liturgical and in that sense was very familiar to us. The woman who led the liturgy got a little off course occasionally and the order of service went somewhat cattywampus, but we all managed to figure out where she was eventually. Instead of a pianist, they had a violinist who played beautifully. Halfway through the service a little boy (3 years old?) came running up the center aisle and went over to say hello to her. It was a sweet moment that made us all smile. The father followed closely behind to retrieve the little escapee.
We were invited to stay for wine and cake after the service, so we stayed briefly and chatted with a few people. We met a fellow named “Mondey” who was from Nigeria and had been in Italy for a year and 4 months and was still waiting for documents that would allow him to work. It’s hard to imagine how discouraging that would be!
We walked back to Il Borga di Genova (our B&B) and had some down time. It was already very hot outside so we turned on our room air conditioner and did some reading and writing. We didn’t have a firm plan for the day so we decided to go back out and walk over to the super marcato (super market) to see what it was like. It was smaller than most American ones but other than that, not very different.
The front door of our “home” in Genova
My only goal for the day was to do a lot less walking. Our host, Giovanni, had told us that we might enjoy a trip to Camogli (CAM-oh-lee) just up the coast to the east, which would involve a train trip. We really were longing for more than a glimpse of the sea (didn’t see much at the Genova port) so rather than spend more time walking aimlessly around Genova, we took the leap and went to go find a train to Camogli. We are getting better at reading the train schedules and navigating our way around the train stations by now, so it wasn’t long before we had found a train going that way and settled in for the 30-minute trip. Almost as soon as we were east of Genova we began to see the wide blue expanse of the Mediterranean. What is it about being by bodies of water that is so soul filling? The view was occasionally obscured by tunnels and trees, but was a thrill each time it broke through.
We got off in Camogli, made a quick phone call to Sam (3:30 our time, 8:30 a.m. at home) and then set off to get close to the water.
First glimpse of the beach at Camogli
Kris’s instincts did not fail us and within a few minutes we had walked down steep flights of stairs and were sitting at table beachside, ordering salads for lunch. We have steadfastly tried to use the Italian we learned on Duo Lingo, but most people answer us in broken English that is better than our broken Italian.
After lunch we strolled to the Cremaria next door so I could get my daily gelato fix. I’m still supposed to be avoiding dairy and eggs, but on this trip I have entered an alternate universe in which those things are allowed, my own deus ex machina.
Did we go down to the beach? Did we go swimming? Stay tuned for the next installment. Adventures in Italy Part 12
This daily blogato fix will melt away in the morning.
Hello, friends! You may recall that my husband and I have decided to visit one Minnesota attraction per month in 2024. We didn’t think of the plan until February, so January was a bust. In February we went to the Spam Museum and in March we went to the Bell Museum of Natural History. So far, so good!
We traveled to our nation’s Southwest in April and visited 6 national parks while we were there, which will have to take the place of our Minnesota Meanderings for April. I’ve been slowly posting our travel adventures at those parks under the title of “The Wanderers.”
And now we come to May. Or rather, May is behind us now, but we did, in fact, squeeze in a Minnesota Meandering at the end of May: Como Park Zoo and Conservatory in St. Paul.
Como Park has been around for over 100 years and countless parents have brought their children there over the years. Both Kris and I remember being brought there when we were young; I couldn’t find our family photo there, but do have this charming one of little Kris wandering in the conservatory.
However, neither of us remember going there since then, and to our shame, we never brought our children there when they were growing up in Minnesota. We should have our heads examined. For one thing, the park is FREE. Yes, you read that right. There’s a suggested donation of $4 for adults and $2 for children (that’s so cheap now that it’s hard to imagine what it was 50-60 years ago when we were young). This is how we remember the cages looking way back then:
These aren’t used anymore
Como Park Z&C is owned by the city of St. Paul and operated by its Parks and Rec department. It’s been around as a destination since around 1900, the 300-acre property having been purchased by the city in 1873. In addition to the zoo and conservatory, there’s an amusement park, carousel, Lake Como, a golf course and more.
The conservatory was renamed “Marjorie McNeely Conservatory” in 2002 after her husband, Donald, donated $7 million (she had died in 1998 and was apparently an avid gardener). As an aside, good old Donald McNeely was one of the original investors in the Minnesota Vikings!
Okay, that’s enough history. The day of our visit was absolutely perfect, weather wise. We went through the zoo first, skipping the show at the aquatic animals area. I happily engaged my camera in the excessive manner to which I am accustomed, so I will prune through my photos and share some of the better ones here, but there will be lots, even so. I got quite distracted at the gorilla exhibit and could have stayed there for hours. Anyway, buckle up!
The polar bear wasn’t feeling sociable
After we had sated ourselves with the animal viewings, we made our way to the conservatory. Oy, was it hot and humid in the first part (ferns and such). Don’t expect a lot of learned discussion about the plants, but do expect more photos.
Oh, I should share a story I read when doing research for this post. In 1963 a rare Agave American plant unexpectedly bloomed – this caused quite a stir at the time. One of the shoots from the plant grew up to 35 feet, requiring the removal of one of the roof panels! The stalk bloomed into over 300 flowers. I suppose it’s possible I got a photo of this plant – who knows? I’m fairly lazy about identifying things; I just take photos of the things that delight and interest me, including my husband.
I’ve come to the end of another busy day with not enough time to write a proper post (whatever that is). So I’ll reach into the File of Languishing Photos again and see what comes forth.
Fluffy puffy stuffy clouds. Cotton balls in a sea of blue. Cheerful denizens of the sky, unlike their nefarious cousins, the storm clouds.
The mustard and ketchup flower. The blushing sunshine flower. The tulip with outstretched arms and a welcoming nature.
And to finish off this random bit of writing, a haiku.
Puffy stuffy clouds, Blushing tulips glow below; Will they ever meet?
Tiptoeing through the tulips with feet that delete.
I’m still doing rough drafts of the poinciana tree and feel like I’m getting to know it better. Here’s the first and second rough drafts side by side, followed by the original photo. I drew the second one from a photograph of a different perspective, so the trunk is different.
My sense is that when I begin to do the watercolor painting, it will be loose, rather than super detailed. We shall see.
Looking through old files today, I ran across a series that I started through the gospel of Mark in 2015, another one of my grand ideas that sort of petered out. Is it too late to say that I only intended to go from Mark 9 through Mark 12?
Thou hast seen all that I have for today. A blessing on all your heads.
Can this blog be saved from deletion in the morning?
(To start at the beginning: Adventures in Italy Part 1) (crappy photo alert: still can’t find those original digital photos from our trip!)
Genoa, Italy – August 2016
It was by now getting to be close to 6:00, so we had to decide whether or not to pursue the 3rd attraction that we had a ticket for, which was a tour of some towers over by the Christopher Columbus house. Well, why not – in for a penny, in for a pound. By the time we got there (another 20 minute walk), it was almost 6:15 and we couldn’t find any open door around the whole area of the towers. Is it possible they only opened at 6:00 and if you weren’t there, closed up again? We could think of no explanation that made sense, but didn’t care enough about it to ask any of the nearby people about it. C’est la vie.
Time to start thinking about supper. Giovanni had recommended a couple places, one of which was very near where we were, so we walked down the narrow street to get to the entrance: Rosmarino Trattoria. We went in and found out that they didn’t open again for dinner (cena) until 7:30, which is typical in Italy, probably in much of Europe actually. Should we find a nice place to sit and wait or go back to the B&B (another 20 minute walk) to freshen up? In spite of the fact that we were both fairly tired, the allure of having a quick refreshing shower won us over and we hoofed it back to Il Borga Di Genova, home sweet home. This way, Kris posited, we could also put on some “glad rags” before going back to the restaurant. Gotta love a guy that uses the phrase “glad rags.”
Feeling amazingly refreshed and dressed in our aforementioned glad rags, we got back to Rosmarino Trattoria at exactly 7:30 and were the first customers there, so we got our pick of the tables. This time, the woman who seated us gave us an iPad with the menu in English (oh happy day!) to look over. Much of the food here in this port city is seafood based and although I’m not a big fan of seafood, I wanted to be open to trying something new. “I wonder what dolphin tastes like?” I mused out loud. Kris thought it was probably a lot like mahi mahi and that made me wary of it being served raw or sushimi style. The menu also had beef tartare, another type of raw meat that I wasn’t terribly eager to try. One of the selections, even in “English” was mysterious, something like vitetto tonnoto with crispy something. I asked the waiter what it was, and although he spoke English, his accent was such that I still couldn’t understand. “I’ll have that,” I said, throwing caution to the wind. Kris ordered the pork belly with figs and we both ordered another pasta pesto again for our first course. The pesto pasta was different than the one we’d had the night before, but still so very tasty. The main meals arrived, beautifully presented.
I tucked into mine and discovered that it was a cold tuna salad, stuffed with spinach leaves and topped with some sort of thin crispy bread. This was a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. Kris said his pork belly and figs was excellent. The reddish stuff on his plate appeared to be some sort of sautéed sweet onions – yummy (he gave me a taste). We both chose tiramisu for dessert. The restaurant had filled up rapidly after we got there and every seat was taken; the staff was quite busy running around filling wine bottles, bringing food in, etc. We thought they’d be eager to empty our table but after we finished eating, the check did not appear. We speculated that at Italian restaurants, you come at 7:30 and stay for a couple hours, after which the restaurant closes. After waiting 15 or so minutes, Kris finally asked for the check so we could get our weary bodies back home (remember, we still had a 20 minute walk ahead of us). It was around 9:00 by the time we left.
Piazza de Ferrari at night
It looks like we walked around 12 miles and really got to know the town well in the process, so it’s all good. We may take a train today to a nearby coastal town – not sure yet. My legs are still aching from yesterday so I don’t want to do as much walking! I’m feeling my age…
Lynniebeemuseoday 