In all the agony of New York, I loved The High Line. It’s a former elevated rail spur that has been converted into a fabulous urban garden. Should have stayed up there for hours. And it’s where I found the best coffee that I drank in New York.
And a bee and I found each other not too far from a pair of water towers. No wonder I was happy. Continue reading “A high point: The High Line”
So Sunday arrived and I actually got to get on the bus to Giverny and Monet’s Garden and House. Oh WOW it was certainly worth the wait. What a blessed gift, and not just how you’d think.
Along with several hundred close friends (physically at least) we arrived in Monet’s water garden. Hmmm, I struggled. I am a woman not gifted with patience, and what I have I’ve earned painfully. I count it credit to those lessons that I did not punch anyone. Nor did I push anyone into the water. It does not count that I wanted to.
I also felt odd for the water. So constrained. So controlled and limited, directed between walls of bamboo. I was unquiet.
Of course it was beautiful, and atmospheric under the clouds. Did I mention that I love French clouds? I just felt so unlike how I feel when I’m immersed in Monet’s paintings.
Still feeling odd I determinedly pushed my way around every step of path! Stubborn? Moi? I was that nutter woman. I talked to the flowers. I wanted them to know that I saw them as equal subjects, that I was not reducing them to flat objects of entertainment, an attitude which I angrily attributed to others. Commodities placed to be consumed I wanted to restore them their living-ness. Their independence of the possessing gaze. Continue reading “Monet’s Sunday is worth the wait”