Color me

Arrangement by me. Mother Nature helped.

Well, the ceaseless rain took a brief break on Wednesday here in Pittsburgh, so I went for a walk.

April's breezes have been scattering blossom petals and young leaves all over the place.

I picked up these maple seedlings and baby leaves on my stroll. The deep rose red and bright pistachio green are one of the best color combinations in nature. (Complementary on the color wheel.) 

I don't know why this pairing speaks to me, especially because my birthstone is amethyst and I love all things purple.

Here's the thing, though. I love purple with green. I love walnut brown with green. And blue is not my favorite color (except for denim, it will never hang over my bones) but I love it with green.

And I'm not talking about Kelly green. I'm talking cool limes, pale spring leaves and the glaucous shades of evergreens.

It's been years since I took a class in color theory, but what I remember is that I liked the gradations, the hints of what happens when you mix a bit. Talented artists do this mixing all the time to great effect and with more art education than me.

I just pick it up on the street. 😊

(Update: April's showers are more than living up to their name. The drenching has resumed.) 😞

I want a vacation

Up until a few years ago, a group of friends and I made regular spring trips to New York. Not all together, but usually overlapping so we could get together for drinks or dinner or lunch or coffee. Some of us ran (walked, in my case, with an occasional spurt of jogging) in the More Magazine half-marathon in Central Park. One spring the race was scheduled for a weekend in late April that ended up being coolish warm, perfect for a run, and sunny, perfect for the baby green leaves on trees and the tulips and the daffodils. It was absolutely gorgeous.

We haven't made this spring trip in a few years, but I have a door-hanger from Anthropologie to remind me of the fun a weekend in the big city can be: "I'm in New York. Come back later."

I have been wanting a "me" vacation for a while, and New York seems like as good a place as any. I would love to just wander, poke in and out of shops and museums, stop for coffee, wander through Central Park, visit the Union Square farmers market and explore the parts of the city that I don't know.

In my 30s, I interviewed with The Wall Street Journal and had a pretty good shot at a job there. Carl didn't want to live in New York and I've always regretted I didn't push harder for us to try it. We were young enough then and probably could have gotten over the cost of living shock. Now, not so much.

Anyway, teeny weeny spring vacation: Walking the dogs tonight, we wandered along a street with no sidewalks. Lilacs in full flowers hung over part of the asphalt. Twist of course found something underneath to investigate while Holli waited patiently. I waited, too, and stuck my nose deep into some of those lovely blooms, breathing in their perfume.

Lilacs, a cool spring evening, me, and the greyhounds. Pretty short vacation, but it'll do for now.

Spring quarter snapshots

May has been exceptionally beautiful this year. Azaleas, tulips, iris, daffodils all have been brilliant. And such cool weather. The season has been more fall than spring with grey skies, chilly days and rain, or at least the promise of it and garish white,slanting sunlight

I'm bereft without my camera. This evening in the park, I saw an elegant, plate-like fungus growing in a rotted-out hole in a tree. It had broadly ruffled edges and a creamy white concave surface speckled with brown. I wanted to photograph it.

Why? I have digital volumes of photographs of beautiful flowers and scenes that sit, unopened, unexamined, uncaptioned mostly forgotten, on my computer, on Shutterfly, on Picasa.

I am a digital hoarder. Perhaps the best camera is my mind. There, I can sum up any image at will, caption and context included.  Truthfulness is a whole other matter, given the unreliability of memory. But, it's all I've got.

The Ohio State alumni magazine came the other day, and it included a package on memories of High Street. Horrible, ugly layout. But so fun to read the descriptions of places that once were so alive to me. Pearl Alley. Oar House. The Castle. Quisno's (the original, and I worked there). The student union, in its beautiful mid-century terrazo floor and bronze stair rail glory, before being uglified. I remember a gyro place  and a record store on North High, plus a really tiny hole-in-the-wall jewelry store near where Lane Pharmacy was. (I still have a necklace I bought there.) The Blue Danube. Larry's. Thirsty I. Can't believe some of those places are still around. 

My best memory is of my best friend, Heidi, and I, sitting on a curb one spring quarter not too long before graduation, watching High Street traffic go by, elbows on our knees and just talking talking talking. Somewhere by where the movie theater was.

We had our whole lives ahead of us. It was so lovely to be young.

Mind images

I take great pleasure -- and sometimes grief -- in revisiting events that I have seen over my life. They may be insignificant or of great meaning, but they have been captured equally by the camera and the audio recorder in my brain.

As in: Sunday the dogs and I were in the park for our long morning walk. There is a play area; it has a slide, monkey bars and one of those short plank bridges for kids to balance on. There was a young dad there with two kids. A baby and a toddler, a little girl.

 The dogs had paused to read a page in that day's doggie newspaper, so we were stopped on the slope just above the play area. I gazed around and my glance fell on them. I saw Dad scoop up the baby and trot off, with the toddler in bouncing pursuit. It's so funny to watch the movements of kids who have only just learned to walk. They seem to progress forward in a bouncy side to side motion that has very little control of itself. At any moment, they could go tumbling forward. Little one chased Dad and baby, bouncing along with Dad slowing down, then finally stopping. I couldn't hear, but the happiness of an unencumbered moment in a sunny park on a Sunday morning was unmistakable.

Dad and kids moved on, and so did we.

I've also noticed how often I've heard the red-bellied woodpecker this spring; usually he is much more noisy in the fall. I've also missed hearing a wood thrush that I have heard consistently each spring for at least the past four or five years. Perhaps I am missing that because we have been walking in to the park a different way. The thrush, which has the song of an angel, always has been in the same place.

The red-bellied, though, he is another story. In the fall, the air seems clearer, lonelier. Many birds are gone, but this big woodpecker sings on, in a high-pitched, sharp warble that echoes in the quiet park. I keep hearing him now, though, confusing me into thinking it is fall.

It isn't. As lovely as the season is, now, especially, with petal snow covering deep green spring grass, it is changing and moving on. The red-bellied woodpecker's stage season will be here soon enough.