I
mentioned a couple of months ago that Husband and I have a thing for sculptures; that is, we love to interact with public art such as this marvelously romantical piece down by the waterfront in Olympia, Washington state.
Typically, as with this chap at the Wedgwood factory in Great Britain, we really don't care who watches us be silly as we're posing for snapshots depicting the scenes we imagine. Just to set the record straight, I don't believe we have a shred of evidence that the skilled founder of this factory possessed any violent tendencies whatsoever.
Mimicry is not beyond us. In fact, my "twin" in Zaanse Schans, Netherlands didn't seem to mind at all. And I wasn't too worried about the townsfolk being offended. Dutch people have, in my opinion, a most enjoyable national trait in their sense of humor. Of course, I might be a tad bit biased, considering my father and my maternal great grandparents all came from the Netherlands.
Speaking of my father, perhaps I inherited this weakness for interacting with the local statuesque hoi-polloi. This Hawaiian buddha didn't seem to mind high-fiving my dad.
He even obliged by serenely picking a few lice off husband's head. Or perhaps he was removing a few grey hairs, just as our school secretary did to me the first time I spotted a grey hair. Just a hint: Ask permission before you remove such things from a friend's head. They might actually have been delighted to discover it, and not wish to part ways with a grey hair rightfully earned.
The indiginous Hawaiian deities were not nearly as serene as the imported Buddha, by the way. They didn't scare us. We grimaced right back at 'em. Grrr.
Back in Europe this Estonian composer, Gustav Ernesaks, seemed about as thoughtful as a buddha, looking out over the outdoor concert field where his people sang their way to freedom. Husband snuggled in for a good story ... which Ernesaks kept to himself. However, we later heard and saw it as we watched
The Singing Revolution. Inspiring!
There was no singing in the town of Bath, England, nor any bathing now that I think of it. But Husband did hear the tour guide mention the town crier. After closely studying the photo (on the post to his left), he rejoiced the Bathians' hearts, I'm sure, by presenting a living history re-enactment right there in the town square. Rather heartwarming, wot?
I mentioned a couple of months ago that Husband and I have a thing for sculptures; that is, we love to interact with public art such as this marvelously romantical piece down by the waterfront in Olympia, Washington state.
Typically, as with this chap at the Wedgwood factory in Great Britain, we really don't care who watches us be silly as we're posing for snapshots depicting the scenes we imagine. Just to set the record straight, I don't believe we have a shred of evidence that the skilled founder of this factory possessed any violent tendencies whatsoever.
Mimicry is not beyond us. In fact, my "twin" in Zaanse Schans, Netherlands didn't seem to mind at all. And I wasn't too worried about the townsfolk being offended. Dutch people have, in my opinion, a most enjoyable national trait in their sense of humor. Of course, I might be a tad bit biased, considering my father and my maternal great grandparents all came from the Netherlands.
Speaking of my father, perhaps I inherited this weakness for interacting with the local statuesque hoi-polloi. This Hawaiian buddha didn't seem to mind high-fiving my dad.
He even obliged by serenely picking a few lice off husband's head. Or perhaps he was removing a few grey hairs, just as our school secretary did to me the first time I spotted a grey hair. Just a hint: Ask permission before you remove such things from a friend's head. They might actually have been delighted to discover it, and not wish to part ways with a grey hair rightfully earned.
The indiginous Hawaiian deities were not nearly as serene as the imported Buddha, by the way. They didn't scare us. We grimaced right back at 'em. Grrr.
Back in Europe this Estonian composer, Gustav Ernesaks, seemed about as thoughtful as a buddha, looking out over the outdoor concert field where his people sang their way to freedom. Husband snuggled in for a good story ... which Ernesaks kept to himself. However, we later heard and saw it as we watched The Singing Revolution. Inspiring!
There was no singing in the town of Bath, England, nor any bathing now that I think of it. But Husband did hear the tour guide mention the town crier. After closely studying the photo (on the post to his left), he rejoiced the Bathians' hearts, I'm sure, by presenting a living history re-enactment right there in the town square. Rather heartwarming, wot?
You're so funny!
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