LIFE AND ART

 By Caroline Clemmons

Since I’ve been an adult, I have loved Monet’s paintings, especially those done of his garden in Giverny. I wanted to travel there, walk through the gardens, and stand on the little Japanese bridge. I haven’t made it. I have a print of the water lilies in our home and my daughter always gives me a Monet calendar at Christmas. When Monet’s works are on tour and accessible at the Kimball Museum in Fort Worth, I’ve gone to admire the paintings in person.

 

One of Monet's water lily paintings

Recently, our youngest daughter drove Hero and me around Lake Weatherford, west of Fort Worth. She was eager to show me the water lilies. We drove around the lake, and reached the water lily garden at the west end of the lake (at least that’s where it seemed to me). Seeing a mass of the flowers and pads spreading over an acre or more surprised me. What surprised me even more was the sweet fragrance filling the air. Who knew they had such a lovely aroma in a mass?

Of course, I had seen water lilies in Koi and other decorative ponds. Believe me, I had never seen flowers like those at Lake Weatherford this year. They were huge, some on stems standing above the water amid their large pads.  A floating boardwalk crosses a part of the flowers, but I am not steady enough on my feet to attempt that, eveen with the rope to act as a rail. Our daughter and a friend enjoyed the walk last summer, but she said the flowers are larger this year.

Many dozens of times Hero or he and I have driven to Lake Weatherford for his fishing or for us to visit friends who live there on a different part of the lake. This trip will be a lasting memory for me. The experience proves that we don’t have to depend on paintings—although they continue to give pleasure. We don't have to travel across the world. I’ll always admire Monet’s works, but, beauty is all around us if we only look.

Thanks for stopping by.

No Matter Where You Go, There You Are by Vonnie Davis

A year or more ago, my Calvin told me during a serious conversation that he wanted some of his ashes spread on the Left Bank of Paris. He specified a small green area in front of the apartment building where he lived during his year of sabbatical. Paris was the place of his heart.

His son and I talked about it. Kelly said, "If that's what Dad wanted, that's what we'll do." I made plans to fly there. Kelly would meet me after his business trip to Tai Pei. I'd never traveled alone before but, really, how difficult could it be?

My youngest son, the out-spoken one, said, "Mom, a woman seventy years old has no business travelling to places where terrorism is active." When I told him I was flying on to Scotland after my week in Paris, I thought he'd bust a gasket. Then...then he had the nerve to tell me to be in my hotel room by dark and not to ride the Metro.

He said WHAT???

"Watch me!" I shot back. "Just remember you're not the boss of me!" My older son, the reasonable one, told bossy son to step out of my business. That I was smart enough not to roam the streets at night or ride the Metro alone. Then they both burst out laughting. Heathens, the both of them.

My hotel was across the busy street from the Seine, so I had a great view. Pardon the lousy picture taken through the window glass. Those are artists' stands jam-packed along the walk facing the river.

I went to a few cafés Calvin and I always ate at when we went over. But each meal was bittersweet. Memories didn't compare to having him with me, holding my hand as we walked and talked. I confess to spending a day in bed in tears. It doesn't matter where you go, you can't escape grief. It follows you like a piece of gum stuck to the sole of your shoe.

Kelly and I spread the ashes in front of 21 rue Galande. I had to make two trips to work up nerve to do it. And Kelly, just like his dad, indulged me.

I took a day trip to Giverny where Monet painted. The gardens were spectaculat; so was the French countryside. His home was fabulous.

My trip to Edinburgh was a blur of layovers and customs and finding my luggage. My hotel was a block below the Royal Mile--the distance from the palace to the Scottish Parliament. A great walk I made daily. The bars were open until 5am and bands played out on the streets until then. The Scots love to party.

I took a day trip to a whisky distillery and sampled four types. Or was it five? I doona recall... We rode through the Highlands and stopped at the William Wallace monument. Another day trip took us to the Kelpies, huge iron statues of mythical creatures and more hikes through the Highlands.

View out of my hotel window. The Royal Mile and castle is at top of the hill.

Me in front of the Kelpies. See how small they make me look? 

After two weeks away, I was ready to fly home. I did take a lot of pictures and take notes for future stories, especially my Scottish bear shifters.

How about you? Do you ever travel alone abroad? Or here in the States? Where's the best place you've ever traveled to?

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