Saturday, August 2, 2014

Getting Lost and Living to Tell About It



“You don’t have to be great to start, but you have to start to be great.”   —Zig Ziglar

What would be the fun of travel if you couldn’t bring home stories of your adventures,  even if they had to be exaggerated sometimes in the telling.  My stories of getting lost don’t need to be inflated, however.  They really happened like this:

In 2009  four of us (Ellen Gunn, Phyllis Parker, Sue Spitchley and I) traveled to Italy with a company called Untours.   Appropriately named, this company does NOT take you on a tour.  Rather they provide lodging and a car, a local contact, maps and brochures, then turn you loose to design your own schedule.    With a very nice station wagon and Sue as the driver, we set out on our first morning with the directions in hand to meet our hostess at an Umbrian agritourismo (farm with guest accommodations).  Even though I consider myself a pretty good navigator, the little roads and villages, foreign road signs, and an Italian map gave me fits.  We turned around 3 or 4 times as we made our way, arriving at the farm 10 minutes late.  Upon leaving we made another wrong turn on the farm road before we could make it back to the highway.  This was a precursor of our “do-it-yourself” trip.


 Our Agritourismo, Il Casa Grande


Later that week we took a day trip to Todi and  on to Orvieto in the afternoon.  We had learned that there would be a 5 p.m. concert by a youth orchestra in the Duomo there.  On our return trip (almost 2 hours back to our apartment) we took an exit that put us on a country road which dead ended in a pig farmer’s front yard.  We pulled to a stop and saw another car turning around headed out, also lost.  As I tried to ask for directions with no Italiano to the farmer with no Inglese, we jabbered back and forth, looking at the map, pointing up the road, with little understanding on either side. My three companions were in the car giggling. As he repeatedly pointed at our gas tank, it dawned on me that he was indicating a place to buy gas, thus a landmark further along.  Eventually I got enough information to get us back on the right road to Il Casa Grande before nightfall.   

And so it went…Umbria and Tuscany…then time to return to Rome for our flight home the next day.  Our new friends, Dino and Laura (a college friend of Marietta’s) had given us a tour of Cortona earlier in the week and realized that we were very nervous about driving into Rome and delivering the rental car at the airport.  They offered to accompany us, Dino driving our car with Sue and Ellen, Laura taking Phyllis and me on the train.  Upon debarking we planned to use our map of Rome to get us to the hotel (big mistake!), but even though Laura can read and speak Italian, the three of us walked in circles for at least 3 miles.  Finally connecting with Dino back at the train station, he put us in a taxi which got us to our destination.
At least we were together when we got lost in Italy.  But getting lost by myself in Madrid was a different story. Our trip from Atlanta to Spain included a connection in Frankfurt where we stood in lo-o-o-mg security lines to clear passport control.  The two hour flight to Madrid started with a screaming child whose mother kept whipping her to make her shut up!  Arriving at the Hotel Tryp Cibeles on Gran Via (the main street of Madrid), we took naps before going out for a walking tour of the city center.  By this time it had gotten dark but there were lots of people on the streets.  Our program director, Victor Santos, was giving a running description of what we were seeing while we were snapping pictures along the way.  At one stop I was trying to get a shot of a building inside a wrought iron fence but upon turning around, my group was nowhere in sight.  I looked on every side street, but saw no one that I recognized.  At this point I told myself I should not panic because I knew the name of the hotel and I could get a taxi to take me there.  Also I had a slip of paper with Victor’s name and cell phone number in my pocket; he had handed them out before we left.  (This is the only time I remember being given the phone number of the leader upon arriving in a country.)

I had no cell phone (that would work in Spain) but I began to look for someone who might help me.  I noticed a middle-aged woman reach in her purse for her cellphone and before she could dial, I hurried over saying “por favore” (please).  She looked at me,  puzzled, as I put my fingers to my ear to signal “telephone”.  I handed her the slip of paper indicating that I was lost and needed to find my group.  She called Victor, who answered immediately.  He told her where they were and said they would wait for me.  With hand signals she was able to show me which way to walk to find them.  At breakfast the next morning I thanked Victor for providing me with the phone number.  He said, “It was good.  You didn’t panic.  Some people would call the police and go back to U. S.”

My first trip to France was with Ellen, Sue and Kay Adkins in 2000.  We were traveling with the handbell choir from University of Southern Mississippi.  They played concerts in many venues on this trip, starting with one on Sunday afternoon at the American Church.  After the concert, the bus took everyone to the Eiffel Tower so they could climb to the top.  Ellen decided to make the climb but Sue, Kay and I chose to walk and eat our picnic while we waited.  It was very cool by the Seine, so we started walking back to find the bus and wait for the group out of the cold.  Kay looked ahead and said, “There’s a Meyers’ bus” (the name of our bus company) and I said, “but it can’t be ours because it’s full of people and they are leaving”.  That’s when we noticed everyone on the bus waving frantically.  When they couldn’t get tickets to the tower, they just got back on the bus and drove away! Ellen was saying, “Please don’t leave my friends”.  At that point, the bus began to circle so everyone could search the crowds for 3 women who did not know they were lost!

Technically, getting separated from a tour group in London did not mean that we were lost, but it was very, very annoying since we thought it was someone else’s fault.  On a trip to England in 2010, a fellow art student and I decided to take a day tour of London.  The bus took us by many of the famous sights, also touring inside St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Tower of London.  From there we took a boat trip on the Thames, just riding and looking at Big Ben and  the London Eye along the way.  My friend and I were sitting near the front of the boat when we realized that we didn’t see anyone we recognized.  We asked a crew member about the tour group; he said that some people got off the boat at the last stop (apparently from the back of the boat).  We had no choice but to continue on the river until the next stop, then walk 1/2 mile to the closest underground station to travel back to our hotel in Kensington.  


This was my second time for a tour guide to fail to “count heads”.   And since I had intended to return to the bus, I left my sketchbook in my seat.  Thankfully, it was early in the trip and I hadn’t done much work in it, but I had to get another one before our art classes started the next day.   

A friend of mine said to me recently that she would hesitate to travel with me, considering all my stories of getting “lost”. And yet, none of those experiences made me afraid to travel; keeping cool, using good sense and paying attention has always paid off for me.  Also not hesitating to seek help from strangers and receiving kindness in return has been a worthwhile lesson.




Saturday, July 26, 2014

Flowers with Jackie



“Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God; but only he who sees takes off his shoes; the rest sit around and pluck blackberries.” 
—Elizabeth Barrett Browning

One of my first friends in Georgia was Jackie Gibson.  At the time we met she was still single (Rich entered the picture a year or so later) and we would go  on little day trips, usually at her instigation.  Jackie is a gardener and, while I am not, she knew that I was always willing to go with her to visit lovely places.

  She invited me to attend the Atlanta Garden Show, a tour of personal gardens mostly in the Decatur area.  We enjoyed the day, but it was a lot of driving and walking to see gardens that were less than spectacular.  

She was a member of the Atlanta Botanical Gardens and invited me as her guest to tour.  Rich assured me I would be doing him a favor to accompany her (thereby freeing him to do his own thing).  Never having been to this venue I enjoyed it thoroughly with an expert guide to tell me all about the various varieties of flowers and plants.

One spring a friend from Black Mountain, NC came to visit on the weekend of our annual church gala, St. Julian’s Idol.  Seated next to Jackie, my friend Geri began to describe a festive weekend “Art in Bloom” held every June in Black Mountain.  Jackie immediately said “I want to go; Donette, let’s do it.”  And so we did.  Geri arranged for us to stay in the guest apartment at their retirement community.  Our weekend included garden tours, a luncheon and a delightful theater production.   My favorite event was the art show in which each painting was interpreted with a floral design by one of the local members. At a  tea party/fashion show we enjoyed “delectables” and tea served from handmade pottery tea pots.  

After tea was served we were treated to a style show of “wearable art.”  Every garment was made from natural fibers, handwoven, knitted, silk screened by local fiber artists.  One unique item was a raincoat made from recycled billboard posters.  Jackie found an elegant patchwork coat, full length and woven from variegated turquoise yarn.  She knew that Rich would love for her to buy this as an early Christmas present.  

It was a memorable weekend and the time when I began to realize that my friend Jackie was totally spontaneous.  I loved being included in her adventures.

Having told Jackie and Rich about Highlands, NC, from my years with a vacation home there, they had also grown to love that area.  One day Jackie called to say, “How would you like to go with me tomorrow to look at dahlias?”  “Sure,” I said.  “Where are we going?”  She answered “Cashiers” (in North Carolina)  Surprised that she wanted to make such a trip in one day, I agreed to go.  We stopped in Highlands for lunch in the courtyard at the Old Edwards Inn, then drove the next 10 miles to see the dahlias that grow in abundance at a nursery right on the main highway.  While she inspected every variety of dahlia to determine which would be appropriate for her garden, I sat on the porch and sketched the flowers from that shady spot.



She has certainly inspired me to learn and experiment more with flowers than I had done in the past.  Although she and Rich moved to Indiana last year, when they came back for her son’s wedding in May this year, my opportunity to see them came in the form of an invitation to visit a botanical garden.  We drove to Ballground, GA and then 10 more miles through the countryside to Gibbs Gardens, an exquisitely landscaped private garden developed over the last thirty years by Jim Gibbs.  From the website, the description of the gardens captures the essence of what we saw:


In northeast Cherokee County, Georgia, capturing a view of the north Georgia mountains, the gardens are composed of 16 gardens, including a Japanese Garden, a Waterlily Garden and the Manor House Garden.  Flowing through the middle of the valley is a beautiful stream intersected by hundreds of springs.  The springs are surrounded by millions of naturalized ferns.  Native azaleas, dogwoods and mountain laurels area scattered throughout.  Gibbs designed 24 ponds, 32 bridge crossings and 19 waterfalls.  The numerous garden rooms are planted with hundreds of varieties of plants and flowers.  The entire property is 292 acres, of which 220 make up the house and gardens.  It is one of largest residential estate gardens in the nation.

The elegance and beauty of this place was truly memorable.  I would have probably never heard of it or had a chance to see it, if not for my flower friend, Jackie and her charming husband, Rich.  They have enhanced my love of beauty.





Monday, July 21, 2014

Beaches in July



“We do not quit playing because we grow old; we grow old because we quit playing.”
                                                                                 --Oliver Wendell Holmes

In the summer of 2008 all 29 members of the Dunaway family, children and grandchildren of W.A. and Deloris, gathered at Lake Louisa near Clermont, FL, for a long weekend reunion.  We had four houses along the waterfront on either side of Larry and Sue’s lake house. It was an ideal setup, allowing the children complete freedom to scamper from one house to the other, while adults rocked on the screened porches. 

Because of severe drought the water level was very, very low.  Larry had to drag his boat across sand to get it launched.  But because the water along the shore was only 1 foot deep, the children could safely play while adults visited in beach chairs.  


Each day one of the family groups hosted the evening meal and afterward we played “intergenerational” games such as “Catch Phrase”.  Playing games with adults in the family has always been a favorite memory of my daughters and we loved sharing that experience with the next generation.

Because my grandson Zach turned 5 on July 20 we invited everyone to his birthday party on  Saturday afternoon, We had a piƱata, balloons, and  pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey.  It was such a big hit that Zach requested another party at the lake the next year.














      One of the most talented members of our family is Larry and Sue’s grandson, Liam, who was 17 at the time of the reunion.  With his ever-present camera, he documented the entire event, even taking family group portraits, organizing everyone and managing it all in 20 minutes.  He was able to set up  time delay to get in the center of the picture just beneath his parents, Beth and Will.



This trip to Florida dovetailed nicely with the Jekyll Island Wretreat that was in progress when I arrived on Sunday.  [The spelling of Wretreat is not accidental, as this group of MUW alums had been labeled “renegades” by the administration of our university.   Turning it to our advantage by adding the W, we became the Wrens, and this group of loyal dissenters has continued to bond in the years since the debacle which began when our alumni association was disaffiliated from the university.  Happily, since new brooms sweep clean, the current administration has seen the value of having a united alumni body and we are once again back in favor at our beloved alma mater.]   But I digress.

The idea began to circulate on our listserve that we could congregate on the coast of Georgia to get to know each other better, and in some cases, to meet for the first time.   That was also the week of my birthday and the highlight for me was the surprise party with a large basket of Creative Memories scrapbooking supplies.  I was able to preserve my memories from the summer in the scrapbooks that I received.

During our week together I had lots of time to sketch and the location is perfect for that pastime.  Here are a few of the scenes that I captured: 




Gargoyles on Faith Chapel and interesting palms behind the Jekyll Island Club














On a day trip to St. Simon’s Island, I recorded this view of  the historic lighthouse.




I sat in the crook of a low-hanging limb while I painted these old oaks 
















Close to the King Street bridge is a huge tangled clump of wax myrtles atop the dunes.


The weather at the beach was perfect for painting on the morning of my 73rd birthday.

Monday, July 14, 2014

Best Friends Forever

Women have rarely known primacy in temples or churches, and so we continue to find it at other altars, with our sisters, who have never lacked for words, only voices and volume. “
—Martha Manning

Most everyone would agree with me that life long friends are gifts to be treasured.  It never occurred to me that getting to know a group of girls during my college years at MSCW would stretch out over the next 60 years and provide an annual gathering in far flung locations around the South.  We belonged to the Jester Social Club, from the classes of 1956, 1957 and 1958. After graduation we scattered to begin careers or marriage, some with young families already.  But we tried to reconnect periodically, often at Christmastime in Jackson when we returned to Mississippi for the holidays.  Those early meetings were usually dinner at a local restaurant; some of us included our husbands.  

But as our children grew older and we had a bit more freedom, we could manage a weekend away from home.  The earliest of these outings was near Louisville, MS, at Lake Tiak O’Khata where we could rent cabins and eat in their dining hall.  Sylvia (Duckie) Clark lived in Louisville and made the arrangements for us.  At that time she was co-owner of a dress shop named “Mirror Mirror”.  The highlight of the weekend was shopping with our own personal consultant, who graciously granted us a 20% discount on purchases. 

In the intervening years we have traveled several times to Edisto Beach, SC, at Betty Lewis’ invitation; once we visited in Geri Ingram’s home at Sautee, GA; Sally McReynolds entertained us at least twice in Shelbyville, TN; Nan Long gave us access to vacation homes of her children in Port St. Joe, FL and Pickwick Lake, MS, and Duckie opened her condo in Orange Beach, AL, on several occasions.  







Beach trips provided great subject matter for sketching









Other trips have been planned for hotels, condos, beach houses and conference centers in fun places like Black Mountain, Highlands, and Blowing Rock, NC; Jekyll Island, and Callaway Gardens, GA; Ft. Morgan, AL; Gray Center and Plymouth Bluff in MS.

We have embraced new adventures:  riding on Sally’s Sea Doo at Tims Ford Lake, hiking to Sunset Rock to overlook Highlands, fishing at Gray Center and Pickwick Lake, hiking to Anna Ruby Falls in north Georgia.  And we have seen the sights:  the Majesty of Spain exhibit and the Museum of Natural Science in Jackson, buggy riding in Charleston, SC, feeling the wind at the top of Blowing Rock, NC, taking an historical walking tour of Beaufort, SC, and of course, shopping in at least 7 different states. 

Our most recent trip in 2014 gave us a chance to return to Homecoming at the W as well as spend a day at Mississippi State enjoying the annual Ragtime and Blues Festival.  With no activities planned for Sunday morning, we had a memorial worship service to honor the first member of our group to pass away.  In February our sweet precious Jo Nell Hales died quietly in her sleep in Birmingham.  Ten of us were able to attend her funeral and it seemed appropriate for us to honor her privately when we gathered in March.  

We sang, read Scripture, and prayed; then Sally spoke for a few minutes about The Ties That Bind, a reflection in memory of Jo Nell and in honor of the strong bonds that exist within this group.  Quoting from Sally’s remarks that day:

“To begin with, MSCW was the tie that brought us together.  Through activities in smaller groups like Jesters, college singers, BSU or Wesley, Meh Lady, Spectator, Theater Guild and Student Government, we built friendships and developed common interests.  But what ties have kept us together all these 60 years?  We have not all lived in the same communities.  Some of us married while others did not.  We pursued different careers, joined different organizations and churches, and supported different charities.  I suggest to you that it might be those differences that tie us together.  God gave us different talents and we have used those talents to knit a group of kindred minds together in Christian love.
Those in our group who are musically talented have led us in memorable experiences.  We remember singing in the Church in the Wildwood, the chapel in Callaway Gardens with its magnificent stained glass window and melodious organ music, the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville, the piano and sing-a-long at Port St. Joe, another sing-a-long at the chapel in The Cove in North Carolina with Janet at the piano, and at the Gray Center in Canton where we had our own little church to sing and worship.  We even sang camp songs at Tims Ford Lake in Tennessee.  Jo Nell was inspired by the breakfast music at Highlands and found “Scottish Tranquility” on a tape which she copied for each of us.  And most recently we attended the Ragtime Festival at Mississippi State.  

“Some of us are talented and educated in the field of home economies. Think of the delicious food our talented cooks have prepared and served so elegantly.  Bacon wrapped green beans by Jo Nell comes to mind.  That bowl of boiled shrimp and platter of corn-on-the-cob with new potatoes served by Beverly and Duckie at Edisto was a low country delight.  Of course we all love Beckly’s pimento cheese. Desserts and goodies too numerous to mention added flare to our meals.  The creative members saw to it that the table were set with appropriate and available decor, i.e. magnolia blossoms at Jekyll Island…”

The wide ranging life experiences within this group of 16 women have enriched all of us.  Bev Jones was dedicated to her work with Girl Scouts; when we  had a few hours in Savannah, it was important to her to tour the homeplace of the founder, Juliette Lowe.


Becky has  donated untold hours to Mustard Seed, a daycare facility for developmentally challenged adults.  She arranged a tour for us through their ceramic workshop and we were enchanted as they eagerly showed us their artwork.  Later in the gift shop we bought lots of colorful items to remind  us of a unique experience.  I treasure my little teapot. 


On one of our trips to Edisto, Betty arranged a walking tour of nearby Beaufort, SC, where learning about the history of the low country was entertaining and educational.  Our guide (a former actor) loved to talk, and during his rambling discourse there was plenty of time to sketch this old church, Tabernacle Baptist, founded in 1840 and given to the slaves by the Union army after they invaded South Carolina.

While traveling in North Carolina in 2007 we wanted to see the Grove Park Inn in Asheville.  But as we arrived, so did a thunderstorm.  Racing inside out of the rain, we strolled and looked, then decided to make our picture standing in front of the enormous fireplace in their lobby.  That was when the electricity went out.  Beverly, who had parked her van underground, said “I better go get the van; you round up the girls.”  We waited at the front door quite a while before she drove up, tears in her eyes from laughing, to recount her adventure:  Without electricity or elevators, she had to walk down to the sixth level, but there was no entrance.  She stopped a  maid who said, “No English.”  She walked down more stairs to the fourth floor, where she was told to go back up to sixth and look for a tiny car sign over door to “Sammons Garage”.  Finally inside, she had to flick the remote control to work the car lights in order to locate the van.  

Occasionally we wonder how long we will be able to continue our trips, but we all know that they have a high priority on everyone’s calendar.  Sally ended her remarks that Sunday in March 2014 by saying, “After the benediction I invite you to share  some of your memories of Jo Nell.  And we did…surprisingly, they were not sorrowful, rather they were mostly joyful…and yes, even funny.  We all have special memories of Jo Nell and also of every other member of our group.  The recent coining of “BFF” has almost become trite; but in some cases, “best friends forever” is actually true.

   
Edisto  












Lake Tiak O'Khata 1987




Callaway Garden 1998


Church in the Wildwood
Highlands, North Carolina  1993 


At the W in 2014

Thursday, June 26, 2014

Did I Mention That I Sang at Carnegie Hall?


“Hallelujah!”

Maybe being only one voice out of ninety doesn’t exactly make me a star, but the experience was as exciting as if I had had the stage to myself.

It happened like this:  No longer having use of company computers after I retired, I immediately purchased my first desktop PC.  As with every new gadget I acquire, I spent hours just practicing, playing games, and searching the internet.  My internet provider at the time was AOL and one day in mid 1997 I noticed a “click here” button that said, “SING at Carnegie Hall”.  Upon clicking out of curiosity I read that a chorus was being recruited from across the country. But what got my attention was that the conductor would be none other than John Rutter from England.   Our choirs in recent years had sung many of his compositions and his recordings with the Cambridge Singers are among my favorites.  Added to that, the chosen work for the performance would be “Messiah” by Handel.

This was the perfect combination for me and what did I have to lose by applying?  The announced schedule involved being in New York over the Thanksgiving weekend for the concert on Sunday afternoon.  I called to tell Sue to go online and retrieve an application form; the deadline was August 31, giving us only a couple of days to make our decision.  In 1997 using the internet was much less commonplace than now, but we submitted the forms by email the next day.  The second step was to send a vocal recording to Mid America Productions.

Billy Trotter, organist at Northminster, graciously agreed to work with us.  The sound system for the church was capable of making cassette tapes and each of us sang a verse of Amazing Grace to Billy’s accompaniment.  I certainly didn’t profess to be a soloist, but I convinced myself that they were looking for people who could stay on pitch, had good diction and could project their voices.  In any case, within a week both of us had been accepted to sing with 90 other choristers recruited online.

The internet played an even greater role in this project as message boards were set up to allow the participants to get to know each other in advance.  We could talk to the others in the chat room, speculating on just what we could anticipate.  In a planned group chat in November, Maestro Rutter came on to give last minute instructions to the group while we made notes in our scores.  (Today we could have “Skyped” and actually heard him speak to us.) 
We flew into New York on Wednesday, enjoying watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade in person.  We were booked in the Grand Hyatt hotel at a great location near Grand Central Station.  The first rehearsal was scheduled for 5 p.m. on Thursday afternoon at a nearby rehearsal hall.  On the stroke of 5:00 Rutter entered to our applause, nodding his acknowledgement. Mounting the podium he announced the page number, gave a downbeat and we were off—no preliminaries or warm up.  

Most of the people had good choral background and were proficient in singing large works of music.  Here and there we learned that some had never sung “Messiah”, which surprised me.  But in my alto section I sat by a New Yorker who sang regularly in the choir at St. John the Divine.  Her diction was flawless.  Rutter’s demeanor was very low key but his methods were exacting.  To achieve an harmonious blend from so many disparate voices was a credit to his genius.  

We rehearsed on Friday and Saturday, then reported early to Carnegie Hall on Sunday for a final run through.  Four professional soloists were engaged for our concert and we were accompanied by the Brooklyn Symphony Orchestra.   We had a rather long wait until performance time, but a reporter from the New York Times was making the rounds interviewing various members of the chorus.  

When the curtain rose at 3 p.m. I was surprised to see that the every seat in the house was occupied.   The audience was enthusiastically appreciative, standing for a long ovation at the conclusion.  And in the Monday edition of the New York Times, there was a picture of the group with a long article about this “first-of-its kind” concert.  


Monday, June 23, 2014

The Story Behind the Sketchbooks

To explain how I began combining my love for traveling with another of my post-retirement loves, painting, I need to explain about the origin of my sketchbooks.  They are the source for many of the stories in this book.  

Despite having kept journals for several years, even including little colored pencil sketches amid the writing, it had never occurred to me that my newly found watercolor hobby could be incorporated into these notebooks.  That is, until I met Maggie Hoybach.

Having begun to take art lessons in 1996, I was eager to find good workshops to attend. In the spring of 2001, during a lengthy stay at our condo in Highlands, NC, I learned of a weeklong watercolor workshop at the High Hampton Inn in Cashiers, 10 miles away.  Without knowing anything other than the instructor was from Charleston, SC, Sue Spitchley and I signed up for her course.  This literally set me on a totally new path, not only with my artwork, but also for my future travel.  Because Maggie had a passion for watercolor journaling, she described her technique throughout the week.  The turning point for me came when she announced that she would be taking a group to Provence, FR, the next September to paint in the Luberon Valley.

I knew immediately that this was a trip I had to make. On August 29 Sue and I, along with our friend, Phyllis Parker, and our Jackson art teacher, Diane Norman, flew to Marseille by way of Paris.  Even though our flight from Atlanta was smooth, we landed at Charles de Gaulle airport at 6:30 a.m., only 45 minutes before our connecting flight to Marseille.  There were at least 200 people at passport control, causing us to miss our flight and wait for 4 hours in the airport.  Finally arriving in the south of France, we were met by Maggie and her husband Peter at 2:00 p.m., only to learn that Sue’s luggage was not aboard the plane.  (It arrived the next day.)

After driving north for an hour and a half to the village of Gordes, then finally making it to our hotel, Mas de la Senancole, we were ready to sit by the pool, drink wine and view Maggie’s sketchbooks.  Our instruction began immediately.  She explained to us that we would be expected to take our sketchbooks with us everywhere, making sketches, notes, observations, collecting tickets, labels and postcards in addition to pages of actual watercolors from our various locations.  The first thing to put in the book was a blank calendar for the dates of the trip; there we could jot down quick notes of where we were that day, because the names of all the places would become jumbled in our minds.

A van would pick us up each morning to take us to a different village where Maggie would give a demo to illustrate various watercolor techniques.  She pointed out that the sidewalk cafes were ideal for doing our sketches.  All we needed to do was order a pot of tea and the wait staff would let us stay outside all afternoon to paint to our hearts’ content. We also carried small collapsible stools that allowed us to perch in any  convenient spot to get the right view for our sketches. 
 
Maggie could communicate with the local people just slightly, but it was enough to help us get by.  She encouraged us to keep a list of French words and phrases so that we could make ourselves understood in villages where there were few English speakers.  My list in the back of the sketchbook was valuable in restaurants when I tried to interpret the menu.  But being able to ask for  d’eau chaud  (hot water) was essential when I was served black coffee that was stronger than double expresso.  All of Maggie’s little tips have given me a foundation, not only for my artwork, but also for every trip that I have taken since then.

Another trick that Maggie showed us was how to peel off the beautiful labels from the wine bottles at our dinner meals.  We would take the bottles back to  the hotel, soak a hand towel in water, wrap the wine bottle and leave it overnight.  The next day the label could be gently removed and flattened to dry.  Later these labels formed beautiful collages in the sketchbooks, reminding us of the variety of wines served during our trip.    

She insisted that we learn to make quick sketches just to capture a moment.  As we set out for the beautiful  hilltop town of Roussillon, glowing from the red clay of its buildings and the cliffs on  which it sits, Maggie had our driver stop at an overlook to gaze across the vineyards at the scene.  She instructed us to sketch it quickly, giving us only 90 seconds to capture the image.  Later I was able to expand that image into a two-page watercolor.


From Maggie I learned to really see what was in front of me.  Until then it had not occurred to me that I should draw the designs from the tablecloth while waiting to be served dinner.  If I had not sketched the unusual shapes of the ice cream dishes served on the hotel terrace, I would no longer remember the delicious citron et menthe chocolat that was so refreshing on a hot afternoon. 

  And how fabulous it is to have images of Cezanne’s studio, where we were forbidden to take our cameras. Many times I have been reminded of the door that was 2 stories tall and 2 feet wide which had been built to transport his enormous canvases out of the studio.


When she told us to carry the sketchbooks everywhere we went, I took her seriously. Every evening in the hotel I would write about our activities that day and put final touches on my artwork.  My diligence paid off because on the last day Maggie critiqued our work, awarding me the prize for most complete sketchbook.  I will be forever grateful to Maggie for giving me such a basic understanding of travel journals and helping me to see the endless possibilities that they afford.  All these many years later I can return to those experiences with much more passion than I ever could with a photograph album.  I now have sketchbooks of every trip I have taken.  

The date we arrived home is indelibly printed in my mind:  September 10, 2001.  Returning to Atlanta, Sue and I spent the night at Marietta’s apartment where we were having a cup of coffee while watching the Today Show on Tuesday morning, September 11.  One day later and we would have been stranded in the airport in Marseille.
Lovely fountain in Saignon, our first village of the trip

Monday, June 16, 2014

Email from my Blog

The email connection to my blog seems to be working, finally. Unfortunately, the first one to come through is a continuation of the earlier posts where I was setting the stage for what I want to do in this space. If you are interested, you can go to the blog itself, Hither and Yon, to read from bottom to top.