San Marco piazza. Cathedral is not shown. 
posted by Laurie at
4:55 PM
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Thursday, February 24, 2005
It's enough just to know that Venice exists...
The other day I took a trip down memory lane looking at my .jpgs and trying to decide on a Profile pic.
In January, 2001, I took my first trip to Europe. I was in my early 40's (you do the math!). It was primarily to see Andrea Bocelli starring in an opera in Verona and then a train ride north to Munich to see him in Verdi's "Requiem." I ended up spending nearly 2 weeks in Verona. During this time, my friends and I took a day trip by train to see Venice. Much to mine and my other friend's benefit, one of my two companions was European and knew her way around the place.
I had heard of Venice. I knew there were canals. I didn't know I was in for the surprise of my life that cold, sometimes foggy winter day. In a very short walking distance from the train station the beauty, architecture and pure enigmatic existence of Venice swallowed my heart, captured my soul and made me want to never leave.
There are no cars. It is a silent place of meandering alleys, piazzas, bridges, small canals, large canals, gardens on rooftops, laundry drying outside windows like temporary art.
Stepping out of a pathway/alleyway which looked like so many others and coming suddenly, unexpectedly upon St. Mark's Cathedral and the massive piazza seemed a near delusional experience. The beauty and incongruity of it all was overwhelming. The pigeons. The tower. The winged-lion. That space! That huge space! The piazza's brickwork creates an optical illusion of immensity, making what is large, seem larger. The sky becomes a player in the scene. The cathedral's shining golden, mosaic arches and colored marble columns are stunning. This place is an example of mankind's creativity and necessity married and risen to the highest level of beauty and function. Nothing is done without art and beauty being an integral part of the whole.
Meandering pathways line the major canals creating an openness that is so different from getting wonderfully lost amongst the smaller canals and paths where site is restricted. Wide stairways, (almost puzzingly so, till you encounter a crowd) slowly rise and fall, hiding underneath their role as a bridge along the larger canals.
The Rialto is the queen of all the bridges. Gracefully arching over the Grand Canal, it serves as a pathway and a shopping mall to tiny shops many full of colorful Murano glass.
My friends and I ended up buying some life-like, red glass murano cherries on this trip to give to Bocelli after opening night of the opera. The opera was L'Amico Fritz, and it had an aria called, "the cherry duet." I have a couple of these sparkling cherries here at home. They are the best tourista 'trinkets' I have ever bought. And they made such a perfect gift for Andrea at the time.
A little over a year later, I made a return trip to Venice, like a pinch to convince myself I was not dreaming the first time; this time staying a few days. My niece and I stayed in the Rialto Hotel, which as it sounds is next to the regal Rialto bridge. So, I had the dreamy experience of gazing out of the ancient shuttered window from my perch above the Grand Canal and watch night take over this magical place and not have to leave, like my first visit. The dark waters reflecting the many colorful lights strung by restaurants and the glaze of light reflecting from the old, tall lanterns made for a timeless feel, like it could have been a night a hundred years ago with very little change. Our room's walls were lined with a pastel pink silk-like material the furniture painted ivory with 'real' venetian florid designs. The Rialto outside my doorstep, nothing could be more "less" like where I live here in Juneau, but it felt like a coming home.
With pathetic zeal, I have now decorated my bedroom with gondolas! Pictures with them. Ceramic ones! Metal ones! Glass ones! Also, paintings with scenes of Venice, Murano glass cherries, pictures of the Rialto. All because I am homesick.
In January, 2001, I took my first trip to Europe. I was in my early 40's (you do the math!). It was primarily to see Andrea Bocelli starring in an opera in Verona and then a train ride north to Munich to see him in Verdi's "Requiem." I ended up spending nearly 2 weeks in Verona. During this time, my friends and I took a day trip by train to see Venice. Much to mine and my other friend's benefit, one of my two companions was European and knew her way around the place.
I had heard of Venice. I knew there were canals. I didn't know I was in for the surprise of my life that cold, sometimes foggy winter day. In a very short walking distance from the train station the beauty, architecture and pure enigmatic existence of Venice swallowed my heart, captured my soul and made me want to never leave.
There are no cars. It is a silent place of meandering alleys, piazzas, bridges, small canals, large canals, gardens on rooftops, laundry drying outside windows like temporary art.
Stepping out of a pathway/alleyway which looked like so many others and coming suddenly, unexpectedly upon St. Mark's Cathedral and the massive piazza seemed a near delusional experience. The beauty and incongruity of it all was overwhelming. The pigeons. The tower. The winged-lion. That space! That huge space! The piazza's brickwork creates an optical illusion of immensity, making what is large, seem larger. The sky becomes a player in the scene. The cathedral's shining golden, mosaic arches and colored marble columns are stunning. This place is an example of mankind's creativity and necessity married and risen to the highest level of beauty and function. Nothing is done without art and beauty being an integral part of the whole.
Meandering pathways line the major canals creating an openness that is so different from getting wonderfully lost amongst the smaller canals and paths where site is restricted. Wide stairways, (almost puzzingly so, till you encounter a crowd) slowly rise and fall, hiding underneath their role as a bridge along the larger canals.
The Rialto is the queen of all the bridges. Gracefully arching over the Grand Canal, it serves as a pathway and a shopping mall to tiny shops many full of colorful Murano glass.
My friends and I ended up buying some life-like, red glass murano cherries on this trip to give to Bocelli after opening night of the opera. The opera was L'Amico Fritz, and it had an aria called, "the cherry duet." I have a couple of these sparkling cherries here at home. They are the best tourista 'trinkets' I have ever bought. And they made such a perfect gift for Andrea at the time.
A little over a year later, I made a return trip to Venice, like a pinch to convince myself I was not dreaming the first time; this time staying a few days. My niece and I stayed in the Rialto Hotel, which as it sounds is next to the regal Rialto bridge. So, I had the dreamy experience of gazing out of the ancient shuttered window from my perch above the Grand Canal and watch night take over this magical place and not have to leave, like my first visit. The dark waters reflecting the many colorful lights strung by restaurants and the glaze of light reflecting from the old, tall lanterns made for a timeless feel, like it could have been a night a hundred years ago with very little change. Our room's walls were lined with a pastel pink silk-like material the furniture painted ivory with 'real' venetian florid designs. The Rialto outside my doorstep, nothing could be more "less" like where I live here in Juneau, but it felt like a coming home.
With pathetic zeal, I have now decorated my bedroom with gondolas! Pictures with them. Ceramic ones! Metal ones! Glass ones! Also, paintings with scenes of Venice, Murano glass cherries, pictures of the Rialto. All because I am homesick.
posted by Laurie at
1:15 PM
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0 comments
Monday, February 21, 2005
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Blog re-ages math idiot!
I have discovered so far the best thing about creating this blog is that I am now a year younger than I was three days ago.
Many years ago (long ago and farfar away) I stopped keeping track of my age. Turning Thirty was the pits. I agonized. I quit smoking. I aged prematurely from worry. After the trauma of 30, I have not looked back.
I was vaguely aware when forty rolled around. The easy math made almost impossible not to notice. Then I was totally fine with being in my 'early 40's'. Piece of cake (no candles).
I knew that mid-forties was eventually going to attach itself to me like a tick. Making taking surveys something on my not-do-list. They alway ask your age range. Climbing those 'ranges' has put me into company I once thought quite olde. And it makes me stop and think at least temporarily exactly how old I really am. Next door neighbors can do this too.
Last summer while picking blueberries in my back yard with my neighbor, age came up. I stopped and realized I honestly did not know how old I was at that moment. I put my bucket down, shared my year of birth with my neighbor and asked for help or verification of my math. It was Devastating. I realized I was forty-five. The half-way point to fifty. It ruined a good afternoon picking berries. And then with much practiced willpower, I let it go and became forty-ish once again.
About a month ago, something came up with a cyber acquaintance and I felt it necessary to reveal my age. I told the person I was 47. It felt like a really big number, but after my blueberry trauma I must have become immune. Resigned to forty-seven, I even remembered that number as my age weeks later. Which brings me to this point in time.
This week on a whim i sought out 'blog' and turned in my resume. Here i am. But i am not 47!! The computer never lies. It is up there in bold print, i am ONLY 46. Blog gave me a year back I didn't realize i was missing. In November I will return to being forty-seven...I even already have some practice at it....
Many years ago (long ago and farfar away) I stopped keeping track of my age. Turning Thirty was the pits. I agonized. I quit smoking. I aged prematurely from worry. After the trauma of 30, I have not looked back.
I was vaguely aware when forty rolled around. The easy math made almost impossible not to notice. Then I was totally fine with being in my 'early 40's'. Piece of cake (no candles).
I knew that mid-forties was eventually going to attach itself to me like a tick. Making taking surveys something on my not-do-list. They alway ask your age range. Climbing those 'ranges' has put me into company I once thought quite olde. And it makes me stop and think at least temporarily exactly how old I really am. Next door neighbors can do this too.
Last summer while picking blueberries in my back yard with my neighbor, age came up. I stopped and realized I honestly did not know how old I was at that moment. I put my bucket down, shared my year of birth with my neighbor and asked for help or verification of my math. It was Devastating. I realized I was forty-five. The half-way point to fifty. It ruined a good afternoon picking berries. And then with much practiced willpower, I let it go and became forty-ish once again.
About a month ago, something came up with a cyber acquaintance and I felt it necessary to reveal my age. I told the person I was 47. It felt like a really big number, but after my blueberry trauma I must have become immune. Resigned to forty-seven, I even remembered that number as my age weeks later. Which brings me to this point in time.
This week on a whim i sought out 'blog' and turned in my resume. Here i am. But i am not 47!! The computer never lies. It is up there in bold print, i am ONLY 46. Blog gave me a year back I didn't realize i was missing. In November I will return to being forty-seven...I even already have some practice at it....
posted by Laurie at
6:34 PM
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0 comments
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Inkling
Well, I submitted my first post (Launch) and nothing blew up. No crazy emails arrived on my cyber-doorstep. Time did stand still and pigs flew, but that is another story...However, I'm still poking at this 'thing' with a long stick.
So far it seems to be nothing but a harmless mirror. Unless of course the sun hit directly on it for an extended period of time, well then a small fire could be started, so one must be cautious.
This must be what it is like for sheltered primitive tribes when nosey people show up with their complicated cameras and such; terrifying and exhilarating. Making big sticks a security measure, much like my own. Well not exactly alike, but close...POKE---
So far it seems to be nothing but a harmless mirror. Unless of course the sun hit directly on it for an extended period of time, well then a small fire could be started, so one must be cautious.
This must be what it is like for sheltered primitive tribes when nosey people show up with their complicated cameras and such; terrifying and exhilarating. Making big sticks a security measure, much like my own. Well not exactly alike, but close...POKE---
posted by Laurie at
6:15 PM
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0 comments
Launch
Blank page. Confused but hopeful writer uses electric ink like it were a free and renewable resource. This land of blog is hazy. I think i need a map or better yet, a sherpa. If i fall into a hole who will find me?
posted by Laurie at
4:31 PM
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