It's the weekend, and apart from it being a time of rest and relaxation (unless you are digging out on the East Coast), it's also the time to participate in Favorite Thing Saturday at Mockingbird Hill Cottage!  The last few weeks I've been sharing some stories from my Memories of Yesterday collection, which features charming figurines based on the artwork of Mabel Lucie Attwell.  The very first figure I received was a birthday gift from my Bible study group in South Dakota.  The little girl reminded them of my daughter, who was one at the time.  I love this little figurine--it brings back such precious memories.

Figurine "Strikes Me I'm Your Match", 1992

I think you can see the resemblance!  My daughter's 1st birthday, 1992

I chose this poem not only in honor of my beautiful daughter, but also as a tribute today to Claudia (of Mockingbird Hill Cottage)--her dad has been hospitalized this week and she's dealing with Storm Nemo by herself.  Her dad had a close relationship with Edgar Guest.  Here's thinking of you, Claudia!

To A Little Girl

by Edgar A. Guest

Oh, little girl with eyes of brown
And smiles that fairly light the town,
I wonder if you really know
Just why it is we love you so,
And why--with all the little girls
With shining eyes and tangled curls
That throng and dance this big world through--
Our hearts have room for only you.

Since other little girls are gay
And laugh and sing and romp in play,
And all are beautiful to see,
Why should you mean so much to me?
And why should Mother, day and night,
Make you her source of all delight,
And always find in your caress
Her greatest sum of happiness?

Oh, there's a reason good for this,
You laughing little bright-eyed miss!
In all this town, with all its girls
With shining eyes and sun-kissed curls,
If we should search it through and through
We'd find not one so fair as you;
And none, however fair of face,
Within our hearts could take your place.

For, one glad day not long ago,
God sent you down to us below,
And said that you were ours to keep,
To guard awake and watch asleep;
And ever since the day you came
No other child has seemed the same;
No other smiles are quite so fair
As those which happily you wear.

We seem to live from day to day
To hear the things you have to say;
And just because God gave us you,
We prize the little things you do.
Though God has filled this world with flowers,
We like you best because you're ours--
In you our greatest joys we know,
And that is why we love you so.

May God bless all our children.  Illustration by Kate Greenaway from the book “The April Baby’s Book of Tunes” (1900)

Please join me over at Mockingbird Hill Cottage and have a wonderful weekend!
http://mockingbirdhillcottage.com/

And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.

For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

 

Lest you think my friend and I are some kind of bluestockings, it's time to let you in on a little secret.  We built in plenty of play time in addition to museums and operas in Chicago!  Hmm, well to be honest, I guess at heart we really ARE bluestockings, but we can still have fun!  In the words of Cyndi Lauper:

 

That's all they really want
Some fun
When the working day is done
Girls - they want to have fun
Oh girls just want to have fun

We have several favorite shops we love to visit when we are in Chicago, and Arts and Artisans is at the top of the list.  We also love Marshall Field (yes, I know it is now Macy's but it will always be Marshall Field to me!) and Nordstrom's, where we browse the racks for clothes and shoes.  But we always make time to stop by Arts and Artisans where we delight in choosing a special piece of jewelry as our get-away weekend 'souvenir.' 

In the past we've chosen colorful insect pins from a line called Yipes!---aren't they great?  My little clay bug and wooden luna moth are displayed in the second picture.  I love pinning them on in the morning and recalling our crazy weekends, filled with laughter and the telling and re-telling of silly stories and memories we've built over twenty years of friendship. We also proudly own earrings like those pictured below--they remind me of Frank Lloyd Wright's architecture.  This year we found beautiful hand-blown glass pins at the Art Institute gift shop.  Next year I'm sure we will both be sporting them as we head towards Chicago for another weekend of fun!

We also visited a new store filled with all sorts of wonderful art supplies, but I'm planning to share that story with you later as I'm going to use them over the weekend for a couple of diy projects.  I thought I would wrap up my 'adventures in the big city' stories with one of my favorite poems on friendship, by Khalil Gibran. Friends have a special place in our hearts, and I look forward to my yearly Chicago trip with one of my dearest friends.  Your friend is your needs answered...And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.  Amen.  

Friendship IXX  
by Khalil Gibran

And a youth said, "Speak to us of Friendship."

Your friend is your needs answered.

He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.

And he is your board and your fireside.

For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.

When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay."

And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;

For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.

When you part from your friend, you grieve not;

For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.

For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

And let your best be for your friend.

If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.

For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?

Seek him always with hours to live.

For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.

And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.

For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

  Have a wonderful weekend!

Chicago-Part Three.  

 

Beauty is Truth; Truth Beauty.... 

 

Today is my 150th post.  I am amazed at how quickly the time has flown by, excited at how much I enjoy writing and photography, and most of all, deeply humbled that you are willing to share a few minutes each day with me.  I love getting up each morning and giving you a glimpse into my life and, like my grandmother, sharing a poem to savor during the day.  Thank you for your presence and your support.  

Before we leave the Art Institute let's take a few minutes to explore the special exhibit titled Of Gods and Glamour, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Art.  Over 550 works spanning 4,000 years from the Mediterranean region present the origins and early development of Western art from the dawn of the third millennium B.C. to the time of the great Byzantine Empire.  Key pieces include a rare Mesopotamian Statuette of a Striding Figure (@ 2800 B.C.).  My friend and I wandered from showcase to showcase, admiring beautifully decorated Greek vases, Etruscan bronze and terracotta, realistic Roman portraiture, intact and complex mosaics from near Pompeii, and finally Byzantine art.  The very end of the exhibit was breathtaking, featuring 51 of the finest artworks on loan from the British Museum's collection of late Roman and early Byzantine treasures.  It was fascinating to get a glimpse into the opulent households and ecclesiastical sites that existed between A.D. 350 and 650.  It was also somehow reassuring, in this present time of tumult and change, to realize that family life thousands of years ago was in many ways just like today--people cared about their homes, enjoyed their families, worshiped their God (or gods) and celebrated life.  

It took over two years to bring this exhibit to life, including completely revamping the courtyard with special windows, baffles and lights to best protect and showcase the art.  The display cabinets were designed in Milan, and the curators worked closely with the British Museum and many private collectors in order to present a complete picture of this time period.  Many of the items from England have never been displayed before and when this exhibit closes, this rare opportunity to appreciate first hand this incredible collection will close forever.  I felt very lucky. 

 Roman Bust of Athena (detail), c. 2nd century A.D.   

Roman bust of Silenus, 1st century B.C.

There were a lot of poems I could use today, and perhaps my choice is a little obvious, but I decided to use it for two reasons:  first, because the lines kept running through my head while I was walking through the exhibit, stopping to admire ancient serving bowls, urns and drinking cups, and second, because even if it is a predictable choice, it is simply too beautiful of a poem to not enjoy. I hope you like it too.

Ode on a Grecian Urn

John Keats

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,

       Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,

Sylvan historian, who canst thus express

       A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:

What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape

       Of deities or mortals, or of both,

               In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?

       What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?

What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?

               What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard

       Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;

Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,

       Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:

Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave

       Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;

               Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,

Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;

       She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,

               For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed

         Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;

And, happy melodist, unwearied,

         For ever piping songs for ever new;

More happy love! more happy, happy love!

         For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,

                For ever panting, and for ever young;

All breathing human passion far above,

         That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,

                A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?

         To what green altar, O mysterious priest,

Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,

         And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?

What little town by river or sea shore,

         Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,

                Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?

And, little town, thy streets for evermore

         Will silent be; and not a soul to tell

                Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede

         Of marble men and maidens overwrought,

With forest branches and the trodden weed;

         Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought

As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!

         When old age shall this generation waste,

                Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe

Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,

         "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all

                Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

Chicago...Part Two

How do I cram so much sightseeing into a weekend?  Walk briskly, my friends, walk briskly!  Which is not hard to do with gusty, chilly winds that bring tears to your eyes buffeting you between the buildings.  Next stop is the beautiful Art Institute, a landmark on Michigan Avenue. Guarding the building are the magnificent bronze lions, two of the city’s most beloved and recognizable sculptures. A largely self-taught artist who became famous for his sculptures of wild animals, Edward Kemeys (1843-1907), established a studio in Chicago in 1892. The following year, the World’s Columbian Exposition in Jackson Park showcased twelve of his sculptures in plaster including massive jaguars, bears, and bison. At the fair, Kemeys’ lions were placed at the entrance to the Fine Arts Palace (now the Museum of Science and Industry). Mrs. Henry Field donated the funds to recast the lions in bronze and install them in front of the Art Institute’s new building in Grant Park in 1894.  Prior to their official dedication, the Chicago Tribune reported that Kemeys said that the lions were "conceived as guarding the building.” He explained that the south lion is “attracted by something in the distance which he is closely watching,” and that the north lion “has his back up, and is ready for a roar and a spring.”

South Lion

North Lion

We were in for such a special treat!  What prompted our visit was the special exhibit Of Gods and Glamour, but once inside we serendipitously (don't you just love that word?!) discovered two collections that made my little blogging heart beat faster!  The first was 'The Artist and the Poet', which coincides with the Art Institute’s upcoming major exhibition Picasso and Chicago. According to the visitor's guide, this presentation from the Department of Prints and Drawings is inspired by Picasso's love of poetry—he was close friends with many poets, including Max Jacob, Guillaume Apollinaire, André Breton, and Paul Éluard, and collaborated with them from his earliest days in Paris. Taking Picasso's passion as a jumping-off point, this collection of works on paper surveys the myriad ways visual artists have been inspired by or collaborated with poets in the 20th century. 

Lesley Dill, American (Bronxville, NY born 1950)

Throat: "I am afraid to own a body, I am afraid to own a soul", 1994

Series/Book Title: A Word Made Flesh... (The Soul Has Bandaged Moments)

I am afraid to own a Body—

Emily Dickinson

I am afraid to own a Body—
I am afraid to own a Soul—
Profound—precarious Property—
Possession, not optional—

Double Estate—entailed at pleasure
Upon an unsuspecting Heir—
Duke in a moment of Deathlessness
And God, for a Frontier.

And the second exhibit was Picturing Poetry, which features dynamic interpretations of verse by picture book artists Carin Berger, R. Gregory Christie, Brian Pinkney, James Rumford, Peter Sís, and Ed Young. Conjuring enchanting images to illustrate poems that range from ancient epics like Beowulf and The Conference of the Birds to modern works by writers such as Langston Hughes and Robert Frost, all of these award-winning artists offer new ways of seeing the unique power of poetry (taken from the visitor's guide).  The exhibit might be designed for children, but I loved it.

Carin Berger. Illustration from Behold the Bold Umbrellaphant and Other Poems, 2006. Written by Jack Prelutsky. 

Behold the bold UMBRELLAPHANT
   That's not the least afraid
To forage in the broiling sun,
   For it is in the shade.
The pachyderm's uncanny trunk
       Is probably unique,
    And ends in an umbrella
That has yet to sping a leak.

And so the bold UMBRELLAPHANT
          Is ever at its ease,
   No matter if the temperature
      Is ninety-nine degrees.
And when a sudden thunderstorm
       Sends oceans from the sky,
   That fortunate UMBRELLAPHANT
      Remains entirely dry.

The Conference of the Birds, Peter Sis, 2011.

Selection from Farid ud-Din Attar’s The Conference of the Birds

(Taken from the translation by Afkham Darbandi and Dick Davis)

The poem begins with all the birds of the world gathering to search for their king, the mysterious Simorgh. The hoopoe, who summons them to the quest, speaks below. 

It was in China, late one moonless night,

The Simorgh first appeared to human sight -

He let a feather float down through the air,

And rumours of its fame spread everywhere;

Throughout the world men separately conceived

An image of its shape, and all believed

Their private fantasies uniquely true!

(In China still this feather is on view,

Whence comes the saying you have heard, no doubt,

“Seek Knowledge, unto China seek it out.”)

If this same feather had not floated down,

The world would not be filled with His renown -

It is a sign of Him, and in each heart

There lies this feather’s hidden counterpart.

But since no words suffice, what use are mine

To represent or to describe this sign?

Whoever wishes to explore the Way,

Let him set out – what more is there to say?

Poetry and Art.  It was one of those afternoons that give you great joy, wonderful memories, and the opportunity to stretch your mind.  I can't honestly say I loved all of the paintings, but it was fun to look at the world from a completely different perspective.  And that's part of the fun of life, isn't it?

Happy Wednesday!

Food poisoning and a trip to Chicago don't mix very well.  In fact, it tends to put a bit of a damper on an adventure!  Fortunately, I had a terrific Saturday with my friend before I was felled and ended up spending the last two days in bed.  Enough on that topic!

Chicago was exhilarating, in part because of all the raw energy, edgy art and hustle and bustle of a major city, and in part because of the cold wind that swept inward from Lake Michigan and blew you around!  The downtown area has undergone quite a transformation in the last twenty years and you feel very safe walking around the Loop.  There are so many beautiful buildings that you can spend the day walking around (or being blown around) doing nothing but admiring the cityscape.  Here's an unusual peek at the skyline, as seen via reflection in the Cloud Gate Sculpture in Millenium Park, affectionately called The Bean by city residents.  I was standing across the street but was able to capture some of the reflected buildings.

In case you don't have a chance to visit Chicago very often, I thought I would share some of my weekend highlights with you this week.  Our hotel was part of the fun--we stayed in the magnificent old bastion of downtown Chicago--The Palmer House.


Here's a little history of this grand hotel--a story of romance and charm.  Chicago business magnate Potter Palmer was introduced to socialite and philanthropist Bertha Honore' by his former business partner, Marshall Field.  The introduction sparked a romance that led to perhaps one of the most extravagant wedding gifts of all time – a Grand Chicago Hotel destined to take it’s place among the most luxurious hotels in Chicago and the world. Tragically, just thirteen days after its grand opening on September 26, 1871, the Palmer House fell victim to the Great Chicago Fire. Determined to rebuild his luxury downtown Chicago hotel, the Palmer House namesake secured a $1.7 million loan – negotiated on his signature alone. On November 8, 1873, the new Palmer House welcomed its first guests, marking the opening of what would become the nation’s oldest continually operating hotel.



Shortly after befriending Claude Monet in France, Bertha Palmer began decorating the Palmer House with artistic treasures inspired by her French heritage, eventually accumulating the largest collection of impressionist art outside of France. The Palmer House was bedecked with garnet-draped chandeliers, Louis Comfort Tiffany masterpieces, and at its heart, a breathtaking ceiling fresco by French painter Louis Pierre Rigal, which was described by columnist George Will as "a wonderful protest of romance against the everydayness of life."
 

Photo courtesy of Ben Altman, Lobby ceiling (my ceiling picture was a little too dark)



 

Detail of lobby ceiling



By the turn of the century, the Palmer House had become Chicago’s liveliest social center, hosting a long list of prominent figures, from U.S. Presidents, to Charles Dickens and Oscar Wilde.  In 1933, the Palmer House’s Golden Empire Dining Room was converted into an entertainment epicenter, hosting legendary entertainers like Frank Sinatra, Judy Garland, Ella Fitzgerald, Harry Belafonte, Louis Armstrong, as well as a little known pianist named Liberace.  All the room floors have gorgeous black and white pictures of these performers gracing their walls.  I didn't think to take any pictures of them, but I did take a few along the way to our room:





Waiting area by elevators...check out the peacock design in the carpet!





 

Famous Peacock Doors leading to hotel lobby, designed by Louis Tiffany

  

Hallway carpet leading to our room...peacock tails by day, but late at night it looks more like ghost eyes!!  Did I mention that the Palmer House has regular ghost sightings? 



Our bedroom...note the peacock themed designer pillows! 



Peacocks even in the bathroom!

 After all this peacock finery, I think the obvious choice for today's poem is:

Peacock Display

David Wagoner

He approaches her, trailing his whole fortune,

Perfectly cocksure, and suddenly spreads

The huge fan of his tail for her amazement.

Each turquoise and purple, black-horned, walleyed quill

Comes quivering forward, an amphitheatric shell

For his most fortunate audience: her alone.

He plumes himself. He shakes his brassily gold

Wings and rump in a dance, lifting his claws

Stiff-legged under the great bulge of his breast.

And she strolls calmly away, pecking and pausing,

Not watching him, astonished to discover

All these seeds spread just for her in the dirt.

Join me tomorrow on a tour of Chicago's beautiful Art Institue and a glimpse at some of its special exhibits!

 

Little Girls and their Grandfathers...a Very Favorite Thing

 

I was a very lucky girl when I was growing up, because I got to spend a lot of time on my grandparents' farm in Indiana.  I've written quite a bit about my grandmother and how her love of poetry has inspired this blog, but today's post is about my grandfather.  He was a quiet man, but his eyes twinkled with good humor.  He loved his family and his faith, and was respected for his character and his integrity.  

 

When I was about three his good humor slipped a little the day he was working inside the corn crib and I locked him in.  He asked me to let him out, but evidently I skipped off and went back to the farmhouse.  After he freed himself (which took quite a while, and it was hot out and the corn crib was not a pleasant place to be trapped for a couple of hours) he came back to the house and asked why on earth I would do such a thing.  I have no memory of this event, but evidently my answer was "I wanted to see what a monkey looked like in a zoo." Oops, wrong answer!

My parents and grandparents and me, Christmas Eve 1960

Grandpa on a visit to South Dakota--check out my pink hat!  What was I thinking?!

Grandpa and I enjoyed fishing in the stock pond, walking around the farm, and watching As the World Turns right after lunch.  We also checked out Lawrence Welk and Wagon Train after my Saturday night bubble baths. I loved to go on excursions with him, and I especially loved to ride in his truck to the local feed mill.  When I was back in Indiana last September for my uncle's birthday celebration I drove out to Fairbanks and took a picture of the old feed mill.  It's closed now, of course, and has seen better days, but I can remember sitting in the truck watching the men at work.  

And best of all, after we were done at the mill, we always got strawberry ice cream cones.  To this day, I always order strawberry, and every bite is filled with happy memories. 

I am linking with Favorite Thing Saturday over at Mockingbird Hill Cottage, and today's favorite thing is my charming Memories of Yesterday figurine A Sweet Treat.  Every time I look at her and her yummy strawberry ice cream cone I am reminded of my grandfather and how much I loved him.

Have a wonderful weekend--I'm now off to Chicago!  You can find other lovely favorite things here:

http://mockingbirdhillcottage.com/



It’s Windy City time!  And windy is definitely the word of the day, with wind chills of -20!  What strange weather this week—high 50’s on Tuesday (which meant I saw people in SHORTS.  Really, I did.  Fifty degree weather messes with Wisconsinites’ minds…it feels like a heat wave.)  And today the ‘actual’ temperature is minus 6, but the meteorologists gleefully insist on letting us all know that it FEELS like minus 20 outside.  Believe it or not, I can figure that out for myself as soon as I step outside!

With no extra excitement to finish off the week…no additional backyard owl sightings, no front yard fox appearances, and nothing at all worth mentioning in the side yard (except mounds of snow) I’m off to the big city this weekend for a little fun and relaxation.  I have an incredibly generous friend who shares an opera ticket with me each year, and we look forward to our annual excursion to Chicago for music, museums, and shopping (I tried to think of another ‘m’ word but evidently my creative side has already closed shop for the day).   We have our favorite shops—mostly consisting of bookstores and indy art stores, and we have a wonderful time exploring Michigan Avenue.  Last year we visited the Art Institute, but I must confess we were a bit unruly—we simply couldn’t get serious about the exhibitions in the modern wing and we laughed our way through the exhibit.  I’m afraid I’m a bit staid and pedestrian when it comes to art—give me a Monet or Degas and I’m quite happy.  Modern art?  I always feel like someone is pulling my leg. 



Untitled, 1995, Robert Gober

 


The Hang Up, Eva Hesse, 1966

Seriously??



This weekend we are looking forward to the Lyric Opera’s performance of Puccini’s La Boheme, where his beautiful melodies will transport us back in time to Paris’s Latin Quarter.  I imagine the struggling young artists will feel quite at home—icy cold Parisian garrets on stage, icy cold Chicago streets outside!  But we’ll all stay warm with the wild passion, unbridled emotions, tumult and ecstasy on stage.  Of course the ending is sad, because it’s an opera, and that’s what operas do.

But the Lyric always has amazing productions, and we’ll talk about it all the way to our favorite Italian restaurant (which, by the way, was also Al Capone’s favorite Italian restaurant…how’s that for name dropping?!), where we will feel decadent and order wine AND dessert at 11 pm., a time when most assuredly if we were at home we would already be tucked in bed with our flannel pajamas!

I'll share my adventures in the big city with you next week.  Until then, look for my 'favorite thing' post tomorrow morning, have a wonderful weekend and stay warm!  I didn't want to be too predictable and use Carl Sandburg's poem today, so instead here is a poem by Clifton King, who is searching for Sandburg's Chicago.

Finding Chicago

I wanted to write poetry like Carl Sandburg.
I wanted to write about big cities and small towns,
about open prairies and rivers in the sky.
I wanted to write about the people:
plumbers, politicians, poets,
but I’d never been east of Tucson.
So I quit my dead end job,
closed out my savings account, all 600 dollars,
and went to Chicago in search of a poem.

Chicago—City of the Big Shoulders, wrote Sandburg.
But I couldn’t find it.
I found Chicago falling down around an old black man
leaning on his battered bass case, the way you lean
on a friend when you’re in need. And Thomas Jefferson
Brown was a man in need, shoulders sagging under
the weight of six decades of back alley blues bars
and his thirst for blended whiskey.

Chicago—Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler,
wrote Sandburg.
But I couldn’t find it.
I found Chicago in a rusted heap of railroad cars, twisted
tracks and 55 gallon drums where bums built their fires.
Factories and warehouses empty, workers sitting in nearby
bars drinking beer, expecting checks at the end of the week.

Chicago—Stormy, husky, brawling, wrote Sandburg.
But I couldn’t find it.
I found Chicago shimmering in the shadows of towering
concrete, steel and glass along 32nd Street, poets reading
in bookstores and coffee houses, children marching
to museums, women with slim hips in black silk gowns,
men in tuxedos and Italian shoes, dressed for the theater.

I wanted to write poetry like Sandburg.
But I couldn’t find his Chicago.