tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84582091720508702452024-02-26T13:59:47.834-06:00ALECIA STEVENS: Musings from an Interior WorldALECIA STEVENS: MUSINGS FROM AN INTERIOR WORLD
Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.comBlogger504125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-77255766126893593872021-12-21T19:02:00.004-06:002021-12-21T19:02:36.401-06:00How I Work Best: The Easy Way to Decorate My client's bag - this is no "grandma" of a client - even though she, like me, appreciates old classic antiques.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1_mJkE7FIOVBC4ocoxxVPrfXkG0qliCz8dMv6wtFYjVHi4-gXyWPWilJwL71b-xE7wBsK7fmQ-gL1PcipRe2ZeA0p2BlA8t8t_oYXGW9gx-keEtNkhrviKp5UJUtLQXnIUjdiGJqDGQfzgrJys7Zty8L--oEZsNrxwxvK4oztbhPytwzk9hEzD6iBcg=s594" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="400" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1_mJkE7FIOVBC4ocoxxVPrfXkG0qliCz8dMv6wtFYjVHi4-gXyWPWilJwL71b-xE7wBsK7fmQ-gL1PcipRe2ZeA0p2BlA8t8t_oYXGW9gx-keEtNkhrviKp5UJUtLQXnIUjdiGJqDGQfzgrJys7Zty8L--oEZsNrxwxvK4oztbhPytwzk9hEzD6iBcg=s400"/></a></div><p><span style="font-family: Avenir;">
A few weeks ago I got a new client. She only wanted to decorate (not renovate) which was nice news to me as renovations involve a lot of people and time. She is renting an apartment while she decides if Charleston is for her (it seems to be!) and wants a charming place to live no matter where she is. We discussed finding her things that would be great anywhere, anytime. It's really all I want to do these days. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Avenir;">My attitude is that every piece should stand on its own - not be a part of a suite of furniture. This even goes for the fabrics (though I am sometimes weak when it comes to matching curtains, slipcovers and bedcovers.) The piece should just be it's own thing that you bring into the room. Then if you move, it will go nicely in another room.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Avenir;">This client had a few decent upholstered pieces - a sofa and lounge chair, so we looked for the filler pieces. She was also in quite a hurry - and loves antiques - so the perfect client to just jump into shopping the local antiquarians and loading up a van to see how it all worked. In the end we selected oodles of pieces from <a href="http://antiquescharleston.com" target="_blank">http://antiquescharleston.com</a> (2 separate shops about a mile apart) and they delivered them "on approval." We kept every single piece. 👊</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Avenir;">Here is a sampling of the things that found their way into her home - it's as if her Grandma from London croaked and left her with a lovely assortment of English classics , then threw in a few continental pieces (the French chair, painted chest, and French Empire gilded mirror) and an assortment of Asian things. Such a natural cross-pollination of objects!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Avenir;">What is most interesting....my client is probably 40 years old and very stylish with her uber cool Valentino bag with guitar strap, this antique thing seems to either touch people ... or not. But, it's clearly "my thing" and I can put together a place in no time when the client understands the charm of living with antiques. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggI9VNbX88M6-ivM8NAbuY5syDn1Silr_ZoKgMoPHlq-rDDlHPzpx3wSaH5FeVCkrj6UMU_l2qbjwQ75HZzb9v_j3h8kLKKwQZrZrG69-MaBVfrANcVSO5-dDXoakuw5TXzIN3NMqHZ_U0ivReUqNVSoR8BYtsfADr2xZnncGvlzLVi21MFo1ZDR-V_w=s578" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="412" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEggI9VNbX88M6-ivM8NAbuY5syDn1Silr_ZoKgMoPHlq-rDDlHPzpx3wSaH5FeVCkrj6UMU_l2qbjwQ75HZzb9v_j3h8kLKKwQZrZrG69-MaBVfrANcVSO5-dDXoakuw5TXzIN3NMqHZ_U0ivReUqNVSoR8BYtsfADr2xZnncGvlzLVi21MFo1ZDR-V_w=s320" width="228" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgs3Vp5NKVKNYeG3geLoaRy-65LCVqvkf8xHneYTb_Fg95rZ4E2hND-YqW5KNOXLZSRQY_x7ebk9Ge-G82hqki6iWHJldNZB3vn88HynrM2GFLWLAm-XewhaYZJ16gYROiauW38uJzu9ZEdlEyjThiqTQDZ0fUZkc-lJ34xpJ3_PYuVQiUWJ0EMU51OuA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p><br /><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span></p>Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-7637670959533643072021-12-19T17:12:00.004-06:002021-12-19T17:20:40.586-06:00Post Facebook - Meta World....Retro Move Back to Blogging<p><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Avenir;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA_Y-Ryy8vtJlE0tAum_8IyEWqfYQKfZ81blFPdzTXzyS3GjwdbmrvUFtSfPy6-4bE4NYvUv53VoyikZxGmKn79fR4SiJRHFB8KfH0EayrXxZyfgHhf04UinPYqzBx18Mv47ZtLp4zfl1W/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="928" data-original-width="948" height="489" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA_Y-Ryy8vtJlE0tAum_8IyEWqfYQKfZ81blFPdzTXzyS3GjwdbmrvUFtSfPy6-4bE4NYvUv53VoyikZxGmKn79fR4SiJRHFB8KfH0EayrXxZyfgHhf04UinPYqzBx18Mv47ZtLp4zfl1W/w499-h489/Screen+Shot+2021-12-19+at+9.02.16+AM.png" width="499" /></a></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Avenir;">Greetings at the end of 2021. I woke up today feeling that if I didn't do something to shake loose this Groundhog's Day of a pandemic life with all the ancillary horrible things orbiting the Coronavirus sun that I might start looking for a liquor to put me to sleep like Rip Van Winkle, who woke up twenty years later, having missed the Revolutionary War. I would like to skip the next few weeks and maybe months, please. But I don't really want to croak yet. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Avenir;">So I think of the things I've done in the past to feel better and they include the following:</span></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: Avenir;">Writing</span></li><li><span style="font-family: Avenir;">Traveling with Lee </span></li><li><span style="font-family: Avenir;">Studying something new - learning </span></li><li><span style="font-family: Avenir;">Reading</span></li><li><span style="font-family: Avenir;">Puttering in my home</span></li></ul><div><span style="font-family: Avenir;">(Wondering what makes you out there feel better??? Do tell!) </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Avenir;">So here I go again with blogging. It's SOOOOO retro. But part of this is that I can't really take what Facebook has done to the world and no "Meta" name change makeover undoes the damage. (And Facebook includes Instagram no matter how I wish it didn't.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Avenir;">I'm not new to blogging. You will see, if you dive deep, that I started this in 2007. Isn't that crazy!? Then, I quit in 2016 because blogging was getting too popular in that Influencer kind of way. And it always bugs me when that happens. Like I started yoga in 1973 before lycra was even invented! But wanted to quit when it became too commercialized - hot yoga, Lululemon, Power Yoga, swinging in a stupid sling yoga during which a friend of mine broke her arm. I still did yoga but had to be the old school yoga for me. With teachers that were 60 years old. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Avenir;">My point is this: I'm having that moment again where I just want to escape from the mass experience of IG and Pinterest and Facebook (I closed my FB account the month Donald Trump became president in 2017 but with</span><span style="font-family: Avenir;"> full transparency, I won't give up IG altogether at the moment because I still rather like it and I'm not that much of a courageous purist. But I know it's not altogether right. Let's see how this little experiment goes....)</span><span style="font-family: Avenir;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Avenir;">I am discovering that I don't even see half the people I "follow" on IG because apparently it's not serving the company's algorithms! </span><span style="font-family: Avenir;">And influencers! Don't get me started...paid publicists. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: Avenir;">I want to be this kind of "influencer": to share my experience of authentic, unpretentious but interesting rooms, to role model aging with some sense of humor, any grace I'm granted and with self-awareness and to talk about whatever else I am moved to say without needing to count my likes. (Don't get me wrong! I love having people read my blogs and interact with me, but no daily tallies, thank you.) My topics will be </span><span style="font-family: Avenir;">varied, but I'll mostly write about interiors, a little about fashion, food and relationships, and something about travel when we do that again.</span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Avenir;">This blog is called Musings from an Interior World because I am very interested in our interior selves. My husband once mentioned a phrase - "Inner Fitness"- not sure he coined it, but the idea is a good one. I will also explore this - the double entendre of "interior" - both the outer beauty of a room and the inner beauty of a life well-lived. </span><span style="font-family: Avenir;">I hope you will join me. </span></p><p><br /></p><div><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span></div><div></div><p></p><div><span style="font-family: Avenir;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><p></p>Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0Charleston, SC, USA32.7764749 -79.9310512000000134.4662410638211512 -115.08730120000001 61.086708736178842 -44.774801200000013tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-48484343255607923542016-04-25T14:13:00.003-05:002016-04-25T14:16:24.470-05:00Over-scheduled even in Italy - but lots to show for it<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8458209172050870245" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
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I am not complaining, but I did notice that I felt over-scheduled by the Friday. I just wanted to be lazy, drink my cappuccino slowly, stay in my slippers and then get lost in Florence uncovering antiques and fabrics. But we had 4 days of tours scheduled....I had once heard one of guests say that he LOVED the tours - and I now see he is a man with a great strong mind and loves the learning. It suits him. I am suited for slower, lazier days.<br />
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But....the tours were magnificent and as one the statue of Fortuna in Villa La Pietra implied and another friend pointed out, the week was less about chronos time than Kairos time. Chronos, of course is measured time, the root of chronology. It is seconds, minutes, days, years, a life, then a death. Kairos time is made of magic. It is made of moments, opportunities, a fruit that is perfectly ripe for the picking, a synchronicity (well, there's that root word again!) a blessing. It may, of course, be some shadowy version too, wrong place / wrong time. But this week felt full of the former - a week which went by quickly, but seemed full of magic and mystery and ah-ha moments that changed us. Changed me, certainly.<br />
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On the second day of the garden tours, we started at La Pietra, just a mile from Florence and the villa that was owned by Arthur Acton, an antique dealing Englishman and his wife, Hortense Mitchell, an heiress from a Chicago banking family whom he likely married for her money and status, all the while having a passionate affair with another woman, all very juicy and laid out diary-style in the book <u>My Mother, My Father and His Wife Hortense</u> written by the granddaughter of the paramour. And, Grandma was a massively sexually liberated woman for her time or the writer has taken grand poetic license to make the book all the more juicy.<br />
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The highlight of the week for me were the interiors of La Pietra, left as they were when son Harold Acton died in 1994 - and left the way they had been before that for years. The will states that nothing can be removed, so there is a bottle of rubber cement still sitting at the desk in the Library! But the furnishings and art and accessories and wall coverings and fabrics almost made me weep. There is great emphasis on the Renaissance period, but Acton (the elder) had the most amazing eclectic taste - perhaps the first to display that? He arranged things with humor, with repetition, by theme and I felt at the end that everyone studying interior design has to see this home! It is the most perfect lesson in color study, texture, scale, pattern, the use of antiques both fine and common and all with an appreciation for beauty that surpasses anything I have seen before. Sadly, we couldn't take photos.<br />
I'm just dying to get in there with a camera!<br />
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But where I could take photos, I will share them with you here....Villa La Pietra is a favorite of mine - for all the drama and romance and love of beauty for which it was created. Then, on Saturday, I spent the rainy day jumping puddles over the stones of Florence seeking refuge in restaurants, antique shops and cafes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Villa La Pietra - NYU Florence Campus. Could you go to class here?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Limonaia at Castello. I just love the citrus trees!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard Ginori Porcelain Shop. Seriously, I wanted a lot of this.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ridiculous antique shops. I wanted pretty much everything here, too.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Country style.<br />
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Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-27011367010169347052016-04-21T11:49:00.002-05:002016-04-21T11:49:55.737-05:00Gardens above Florence and that great concept: OTIUMCosimo di Medici (admitting we ALMOST named our pup after him) built the first "cabin" in the Western world. Of course it was a villa and it was near Florence. It served one purpose. <i>Otium</i>, a Latin word meaning something like the following:<br />
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A time and place for leisure, rest, communing with nature, reading, writing, engaging in conversation, thought, philosophy, poetry, music. Today we might add meditation - though <i>otium</i> is a bit of an active meditation, it seems.<br />
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Cosimo di Medici states: "I don't come here to till the soil. I come here to till my soul." This was the purpose of the Villa Medici, built around 1460 on the hillside in Fiesole, overlooking Florence. This is where we went today - then on to 2 other villas, with notes about each here below!<br />
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But first , we started at Gamberaia, the garden that Edith Wharton described as "the most beautiful garden in Italy." I might argue that Le Balze, a 1910 interpretation of a Renaissance villa tops it. But we'll let you see what you think. Today...photos from Gamberaia. Tomorrow...from the other villas.<br /><br />I realize as I sit here in this palazzo in Florence writing this post that I, too, am engaged in <i>otium. </i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Allee to Gamberaia in Settignano</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amazing cool cupboard with chicken wire and curtains covering contents.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bedroom at Gamberaia. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the House</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another lovely bedroom!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The garden from the loggia. I want a loggia. Even more than a garden!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Florence from the Piano Nobile</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifs0x2_dEt-314rdw26rWMUmEUjYph5g1OdCyKgBqghtOyVSQ6i_6Z36fCKmP9_4jg1IV8nald8mOYxCMioEIjg385Z5MHigGJinx0Q1F52p-8CPUMBofSRIBOBaYPgeBpHYM1CS3mpxV1/s1600/IMG_8487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifs0x2_dEt-314rdw26rWMUmEUjYph5g1OdCyKgBqghtOyVSQ6i_6Z36fCKmP9_4jg1IV8nald8mOYxCMioEIjg385Z5MHigGJinx0Q1F52p-8CPUMBofSRIBOBaYPgeBpHYM1CS3mpxV1/s640/IMG_8487.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piano Nobile -Living Room on what we know as the second floor. Amazing! No rugs....hmmmm...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6CKxFCDrWsmj7PMgUvNyqoSs5XrOm8n12GPk9hqyFOZsfi2lNI32q63OC6nJTZzhNqcdT-jjP8VRelk2sOrHSvPQvGqtH9UWbTruAL-XE-brBFK45kSK70zlJsVXjWh4gPb1O9dNwItW1/s1600/IMG_8513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6CKxFCDrWsmj7PMgUvNyqoSs5XrOm8n12GPk9hqyFOZsfi2lNI32q63OC6nJTZzhNqcdT-jjP8VRelk2sOrHSvPQvGqtH9UWbTruAL-XE-brBFK45kSK70zlJsVXjWh4gPb1O9dNwItW1/s640/IMG_8513.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Library with shelving and doors in brass chicken wire. Well, why do I think the Italians don't call it chicken wire?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYD_gd7TUuKj5fZEU-B2xNEoLkmQSJo3q4uyvefuN0W66RhyoFt09LtZEL_C9KOxx9rWZS-ObQLOe-QVkttHoVQwYeGuFiIUIQwFsRmuY290_vjwf0rF4ThJ_wKvhiyrUUHblePbOXP4sE/s1600/IMG_8529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYD_gd7TUuKj5fZEU-B2xNEoLkmQSJo3q4uyvefuN0W66RhyoFt09LtZEL_C9KOxx9rWZS-ObQLOe-QVkttHoVQwYeGuFiIUIQwFsRmuY290_vjwf0rF4ThJ_wKvhiyrUUHblePbOXP4sE/s640/IMG_8529.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The house from the garden - through a green window. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3LBd-pvJPxH8wl9JtfStRWCFJRZmveFkNUY6d2wFD8pVbc7739TpkfXgPtI521hvGsSRjNltmCNNXCKMm1Q2rjs4uR6uIQH3weYMOCu3WINJeM22TVt-pnOb7rfg-nLr2btBl-LeG2NZ/s1600/IMG_8593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3LBd-pvJPxH8wl9JtfStRWCFJRZmveFkNUY6d2wFD8pVbc7739TpkfXgPtI521hvGsSRjNltmCNNXCKMm1Q2rjs4uR6uIQH3weYMOCu3WINJeM22TVt-pnOb7rfg-nLr2btBl-LeG2NZ/s640/IMG_8593.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The limonaia - the building where they store the citrus plants during the winter to protect from freezing.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Mo1s8wjnbo_M9Oz9dcHbuJCNOgQPnom51RclO0rWAGwkJXLcNPf3kiHOIOOcMJ9SR_m8cRZDz0h82b2tHZKSl8QkC8Aemwt_xRuCA1aeeJlL9Ie2maDKJl78Wuqylh00eBdUbf2R3WVq/s1600/IMG_8598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Mo1s8wjnbo_M9Oz9dcHbuJCNOgQPnom51RclO0rWAGwkJXLcNPf3kiHOIOOcMJ9SR_m8cRZDz0h82b2tHZKSl8QkC8Aemwt_xRuCA1aeeJlL9Ie2maDKJl78Wuqylh00eBdUbf2R3WVq/s640/IMG_8598.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Banksiae Rose</td></tr>
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-46110752753494729452016-04-16T15:24:00.003-05:002016-04-16T15:24:58.978-05:00Brain dead for words, but got it in images - arriving in Firenze<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqJyH7RNAGoMnlA6Q6uigKVrdlN2_zdB1HN78pnNReaLHUsPMb9xGXYMZ6evaWzBx3I0A74vwozQ2R1dZau1Jwa0toXvhg3qrwb34zZnkg_sOs-dQS9AoUHH3J8USP7_zidVSbk4iN6EwM/s1600/IMG_8137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqJyH7RNAGoMnlA6Q6uigKVrdlN2_zdB1HN78pnNReaLHUsPMb9xGXYMZ6evaWzBx3I0A74vwozQ2R1dZau1Jwa0toXvhg3qrwb34zZnkg_sOs-dQS9AoUHH3J8USP7_zidVSbk4iN6EwM/s640/IMG_8137.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The (beloved) Arno. From Santa Trinita - our kissing bridge.</td></tr>
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I love this place. But a bit So funny to be so relaxed now, after 6-7 visits....we just feel at home. I LOVE coming to a place where I can get right to where I want to go, to hit the ground feeling solid and ready and confident. And that is Florence now. Good thing! We are "entertaining" 4 guests from the US starting tomorrow! For now...just some images from the day. Thanks for hanging out here. Ciao!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilMTVPUr5LiULhXIzCGWdaFRN_yL6yz4Pu4zkxcamzi8tyyawRd5GF3SjQbIE7nkiXYZkrJtBmLkBbLskujb68Jc2wyn2BCjTMsdNE6vWHeY_7peafcwxxKT0u_-k9JcI3UCGzRFHmSLNn/s1600/IMG_8132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilMTVPUr5LiULhXIzCGWdaFRN_yL6yz4Pu4zkxcamzi8tyyawRd5GF3SjQbIE7nkiXYZkrJtBmLkBbLskujb68Jc2wyn2BCjTMsdNE6vWHeY_7peafcwxxKT0u_-k9JcI3UCGzRFHmSLNn/s640/IMG_8132.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course, this is Il Duomo with the dome...Giotto's bell tower and the Baptistery in the front left.<br />How did all this brilliance land in one place at one time?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFCr8tCZS6Z6fJtQCOIZrDdY03bZBSg5zVX2vOTi94_r_mYhrUJ_BF8tlXkCfSdtN3wqxBrD-8NmDw0pNtl9CmobOo4mDbTQbofKaWf_VUncS04sCd9eDUP04-Hs3r8XscUiy98_0Tdds/s1600/IMG_8145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFCr8tCZS6Z6fJtQCOIZrDdY03bZBSg5zVX2vOTi94_r_mYhrUJ_BF8tlXkCfSdtN3wqxBrD-8NmDw0pNtl9CmobOo4mDbTQbofKaWf_VUncS04sCd9eDUP04-Hs3r8XscUiy98_0Tdds/s640/IMG_8145.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ghiberti's Doors of Paradise (well, a copy) Originals in museum behind Il Duomo. <br />Said to have been the official beginning of the Renaissance. 1401.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigKLzHuEzfDWtGnR6H-yA014x2z3DuGt7yoz_L6ISvmRuNiG-JTCzH5O9mJ_VNKJK_woz6A3lJARVnmZQlb3A4o_05rRG-ON9kBCFby5Q9FeKZhR7OmOOR1Rp6LP-4-1-TUhUREM6AfJYJ/s1600/IMG_8152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigKLzHuEzfDWtGnR6H-yA014x2z3DuGt7yoz_L6ISvmRuNiG-JTCzH5O9mJ_VNKJK_woz6A3lJARVnmZQlb3A4o_05rRG-ON9kBCFby5Q9FeKZhR7OmOOR1Rp6LP-4-1-TUhUREM6AfJYJ/s640/IMG_8152.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home in Firenze - Palazzo Ginori. In the same family since 1500. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqM-q0eTCL8jDIEsBef1h-9w7uX7YEQz1KMisgnQRyuiVd26EYMfXyrPAQaKCBc0vnYGGCJdDLWe2smwPR93pKZfmmODIaA3jrFBkyJ47jpGkvidp_2ApW3mrw_YiqCmXkJxffVrxt5Kio/s1600/IMG_8171.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqM-q0eTCL8jDIEsBef1h-9w7uX7YEQz1KMisgnQRyuiVd26EYMfXyrPAQaKCBc0vnYGGCJdDLWe2smwPR93pKZfmmODIaA3jrFBkyJ47jpGkvidp_2ApW3mrw_YiqCmXkJxffVrxt5Kio/s640/IMG_8171.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our apartment for a week - Nonna in Palazzo Ginori. How sweet is this?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm skeptical of new places in Firenze, but there is a new restaurant / shop / bar / flower shop across the street - all<br />rolled into one. Kind of reminds me of ABC in New York. Ran across the street to pick up flowers for the apartment when we settled in. Really charming!<br /></td></tr>
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-81663727472678185132016-04-16T15:14:00.001-05:002016-04-16T15:14:10.937-05:00Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-43855941229615030312016-04-15T13:59:00.002-05:002016-04-15T14:01:33.696-05:00Saying Good bye to Querceto. Best trip ever. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT7H-gFp6riJsw0Yd0VoH_9O4nhZPt5eLprqG9OnuonI-L9dIFm0U-p4c5iuc1Z3lG5MAPRLngZyxsjJWZj69NEW2HN_7lUvnfJ60ydAzP-JGr4FqKkoSnBMJX5l5TCi4O4B7YhuHFSydJ/s1600/IMG_8061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT7H-gFp6riJsw0Yd0VoH_9O4nhZPt5eLprqG9OnuonI-L9dIFm0U-p4c5iuc1Z3lG5MAPRLngZyxsjJWZj69NEW2HN_7lUvnfJ60ydAzP-JGr4FqKkoSnBMJX5l5TCi4O4B7YhuHFSydJ/s640/IMG_8061.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're planning how to take the castle over and become squatters. Seems easy with that tower.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBP4LeS3r3TLuvgUgwGtg1pFslQzxU6c1FldVY0QKMNyNOCvPmW9voY8RNLiRR3Y-CGzeAXaC35XQXy2Bh1vBMUjN2lWe8MdcExKtaQ2P-PHHRApSVYds92lq-WNMn-a9BlPgdh0hGCsKO/s1600/IMG_8096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBP4LeS3r3TLuvgUgwGtg1pFslQzxU6c1FldVY0QKMNyNOCvPmW9voY8RNLiRR3Y-CGzeAXaC35XQXy2Bh1vBMUjN2lWe8MdcExKtaQ2P-PHHRApSVYds92lq-WNMn-a9BlPgdh0hGCsKO/s640/IMG_8096.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Terrace for a smoke. :-)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OK3ee2pBTxXMgad47CuopYatOLXPqQtpr35OzFuNmm0NXxzOeBGHu_C5I0f4IuONFofmnKmQhAZlLIYNAhGUrNppAjLQ3qeLBayKFnVEt4fC47BbpL0HPAHrn_8jHwopDVHXVI2ydiDi/s1600/IMG_8010+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OK3ee2pBTxXMgad47CuopYatOLXPqQtpr35OzFuNmm0NXxzOeBGHu_C5I0f4IuONFofmnKmQhAZlLIYNAhGUrNppAjLQ3qeLBayKFnVEt4fC47BbpL0HPAHrn_8jHwopDVHXVI2ydiDi/s640/IMG_8010+%25281%2529.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning at the bar - with locals and their babies<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKIEkN_easAqarEDh2VU4h-sqTkwJVcRrH-J82lOirRqjQ_mIqbFa5Y_IJN7DG6zJlM_zc8wzSIhJqH3drH_pmhtyY7h74MRDEZs3App2nInCjFkHmmU2H-oUYQ6-xOySjtNfeSUJChgj/s1600/IMG_8095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKIEkN_easAqarEDh2VU4h-sqTkwJVcRrH-J82lOirRqjQ_mIqbFa5Y_IJN7DG6zJlM_zc8wzSIhJqH3drH_pmhtyY7h74MRDEZs3App2nInCjFkHmmU2H-oUYQ6-xOySjtNfeSUJChgj/s640/IMG_8095.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unretouched photo! I love the birds here....this is at sunset <br />
with the lavender sky reflecting on the windows and wall.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiKNW4DqcFHOrBhyphenhyphen74jnJ-juaDUbWwjyRAAzKpIIQ1hLkR3yRpabOtgvt0_qxj-B4SeHIn6Olsr4M5fLkEy3NxvG2rVOklr-gUXY0Vis5S3QDKlPNYmh6nVvM7wBxRffyge5en5GuP0zy3/s1600/IMG_8092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiKNW4DqcFHOrBhyphenhyphen74jnJ-juaDUbWwjyRAAzKpIIQ1hLkR3yRpabOtgvt0_qxj-B4SeHIn6Olsr4M5fLkEy3NxvG2rVOklr-gUXY0Vis5S3QDKlPNYmh6nVvM7wBxRffyge5en5GuP0zy3/s640/IMG_8092.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goodnight Tuscan hills. Sleep tight.</td></tr>
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-79360747197883269962016-04-15T12:43:00.001-05:002016-04-15T13:22:43.587-05:00Food and Wine<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpvAl7r2nCMzLKIGjHaI9nDL8qD3VmaSCrhPFk2QhHEfczlhyphenhyphenVCeZywrOb9ARFp3i8IppfufLPusaMA-5qoUOlUiS7zqNAsuZZKBKiqnCP3RMftqVhRyy2Lkatb2wrTP_dni6en16x68Zm/s1600/IMG_7917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpvAl7r2nCMzLKIGjHaI9nDL8qD3VmaSCrhPFk2QhHEfczlhyphenhyphenVCeZywrOb9ARFp3i8IppfufLPusaMA-5qoUOlUiS7zqNAsuZZKBKiqnCP3RMftqVhRyy2Lkatb2wrTP_dni6en16x68Zm/s400/IMG_7917.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Satisfying canellini bean starter with fried proscuitto came gratis. <br />
Served with soft bread soaked in olive oil.<br />
Don't you love the little yin yang bowls?<br />
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We all know that the Italians take their food and wine very seriously. An Italian started the Slow Food movement in 1986 outside a McDonald's in Rome hoping to stem the tide of "faux food", protecting the rights of farmers and consumers to real food grown by real people, then officially signed the manifest in Paris in 1989. Well, we seem to have dropped into the thick of it here at Querceto in Tuscany. So today I will write about food and wine. Two of my favorite things!<br />
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At our arrival we were told that there is a nice restaurant "in the village" which means on the castle property. In fact it is across a "street" from us - maybe 100 feet. We heard a bit on the expensive side, and heavily Tuscan, meaning heavy in game and meat. On Wednesday morning, while having our cappuccino on the terrace we watched the delivery of fresh vegetables and a young slim man taking the wooden box of them into the restaurant. This looked promising, we thought.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4q-U9bwabKu9_lmkyRHV5o8eQe5mBMTBopBYL89EExZ6qssxNLkYbYB289g1PSY3NpxNA6_I9NbGaAr0kdRDErGcUOjZqNeAUluzcNfXDzWU0FwPbeIEQC4fw46uj2TQ0_Fq8X3SCu0yn/s1600/IMG_8097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4q-U9bwabKu9_lmkyRHV5o8eQe5mBMTBopBYL89EExZ6qssxNLkYbYB289g1PSY3NpxNA6_I9NbGaAr0kdRDErGcUOjZqNeAUluzcNfXDzWU0FwPbeIEQC4fw46uj2TQ0_Fq8X3SCu0yn/s400/IMG_8097.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Locanda Del Sole</td></tr>
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At 2:00 we realized we had eaten nothing but Taralli, those cute little round things tasting rather like a delicious breadstick. And even better with olive oil poured over them. I had eaten no less than handfuls. We had taken a three mile hike up the mountain to another farm (agriturismo property) and was hungry as a Tuscan boar.<br />
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We took a seat outside and a lovely young woman who spoke very little English (why should she?) set a beautiful white cloth and napkins on the table and handed us a well-edited menu (always my preference.) It was entirely in Italian, and even though I can generally get buy, I don't know all the foods in Italian. There was only one other man dining and the waitress employed him to serve as translator for us. As much of the menu was serving the local taste for wild meat, I snatched the first thing on the menu that had something fish-like in it! A fettucine with vegetables and anchovy. But our translator said if we liked a beef carpaccio, theirs was the best around and very very fresh and local. Well, you would want that with your raw beef right? So I said, speaking for us, in my very best Italian. We'll have the Vermentino wine and the carpaccio to start. Lee then pointed to the ravioli with wild hare and I played it safe with the pasta.<br />
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Shortly thereafter, the waitress arrived with a bottle of Vermentino, the white wine produced by the family who owns the castle. Now Lee doesn't really drink wine. I meant a couple of glasses of it, one each, but when the bottle arrived, it was clear we would be drinking for lunch. It was so fresh and light and perfect with the white beans and proscuitto which we inhaled, a gift from the chef. Then the carpaccio came. Once again, she brought us EACH an order instead of the one I imagined sharing. The site of a patty of raw beef on my plate made me want to crank up my Bertazzoni range and slap the patty on a griddle for cooking, but as the presentation was so lovely and the praise for the dish so heightened, I decided to dig in. It was very very good. My veggie daughter Isabelle would have left the table. We found the quality and freshness to be the best we've had.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhMrnN8w_JBAhKYphTZ1ZJz05xuaQNwUVeZdAQ8WJPVuckXc03gKbJxLtA1D2ytzIJVVuaRNNDkUeMFaSOlJAMoKwYABz3lB25DIMVdzZ0qhg2BRhZ-F48D_zym9ZXjz4jcxpjTHqEvvdw/s1600/IMG_7919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhMrnN8w_JBAhKYphTZ1ZJz05xuaQNwUVeZdAQ8WJPVuckXc03gKbJxLtA1D2ytzIJVVuaRNNDkUeMFaSOlJAMoKwYABz3lB25DIMVdzZ0qhg2BRhZ-F48D_zym9ZXjz4jcxpjTHqEvvdw/s400/IMG_7919.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beef Carpaccio with Homemade Mayonnaise, Red Onion and Local Olive<br />
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Lee's roasted deer. We were quite adventurous here for our meals.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim0GU9swvcH3PpcZY5cRHjiTD33CRSxH3UuJuKftVKuWvY4V3e_f-KW8Fhg46wqiwUTa__TXjeKDFy8JLNg_tsLDw_a9PPSf7UAt1gKUubUy2RqM8M6z53inpgmBroEAZo69kswIV4TpQL/s1600/IMG_7998.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim0GU9swvcH3PpcZY5cRHjiTD33CRSxH3UuJuKftVKuWvY4V3e_f-KW8Fhg46wqiwUTa__TXjeKDFy8JLNg_tsLDw_a9PPSf7UAt1gKUubUy2RqM8M6z53inpgmBroEAZo69kswIV4TpQL/s400/IMG_7998.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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We didn't know much about Locanda Del Sole, the restaurant in the village of Querceto (really, it's just the castle itself and whatever buildings are tied to that.) But after 3 meals there in 2 days, we've learned a great deal more....about how and why this high quality, beautifully presented food with about 2-3 tables of guests per night even exists here at Querceto. Will write about that tomorrow!<br />
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On to the topic of vino...<br />
In the late 1990s the Ginori Lisci family began to grow grapes and olive trees and produce wine and oil. In 2013, they switched to organic farming and currently recycle even the plant materials in the process. We met with Fabiola yesterday for a wine tasting at 6:00, stumbling there after a late afternoon nap.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdjS8p3YEXSgkC-ddwHjFWCZwD7weBiR0WTBGL2MlPfmVVAQt5G13DKVUlJeUCIrkF45liaiuGxYSt3tpdMNN4_fxMZbgU19R37fRJWhKLxYVOpQKdauiu5DtDQijgbNY-6Z97fjvagjbp/s1600/IMG_7980.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdjS8p3YEXSgkC-ddwHjFWCZwD7weBiR0WTBGL2MlPfmVVAQt5G13DKVUlJeUCIrkF45liaiuGxYSt3tpdMNN4_fxMZbgU19R37fRJWhKLxYVOpQKdauiu5DtDQijgbNY-6Z97fjvagjbp/s400/IMG_7980.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wine tasting at Querceto - Ginori Lisci wines - <br />
count'em five glasses each!</td></tr>
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We were alone in the "dispensa" with Fabiola who introduced tastings of the five Ginori-Lisci wines, from the white Vermentino to the deepest red Castello. For someone who has consumed massive amounts of red wine over the years, I know surprisingly little about it! I'm just a "If its red, I'll drink it" kind of gal. Well, now I know how much work it is to produce wine. They LOVE wine. They LOVE their grapes and their farmers and their plants and the soil and the land and the climate. And they are worried about the changing climate. Winter was very mild and spring is very early this year. What to make of that? All of this can change the quality of the wine.<br />
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It was such a treat to have this little class on Italian wine....have to share this photo. Lee thinks it pretty much says it all about me and wine.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCl_FSGINUaOljyfTP7mWd7hdGN7xPn65MiKm2H1Z1qSFxfn8u5TEVJcgkg-dLKzAV98Cqy3qjsKSlANOnpTMJkv4Z5Q-wVk5BzVHV0ML_XEY3zbMx3g5AQVi-kswHrfiJorFmhO17lpc/s1600/IMG_7905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="545" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCl_FSGINUaOljyfTP7mWd7hdGN7xPn65MiKm2H1Z1qSFxfn8u5TEVJcgkg-dLKzAV98Cqy3qjsKSlANOnpTMJkv4Z5Q-wVk5BzVHV0ML_XEY3zbMx3g5AQVi-kswHrfiJorFmhO17lpc/s640/IMG_7905.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vineyard up the hill from Querceto is our daily 5K walk.<br />
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Tomorrow I'll tell you the connect between Locanda Del Sole at Querceto and this photo of the sea.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFBCwx1hHyrI_d_LFNqf3T5w0DAY33OvtU5E-mtmMiBmO9_l0xJ1yb88vZ26ZVklC8gZrXfKh0vbuWDcIxeDzwUgaPZ0MYiykHq7DcSMN7BA6QRjyaQ_Aiw2wQC6uTDi8Wxr58USPGbEU/s1600/IMG_8052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFBCwx1hHyrI_d_LFNqf3T5w0DAY33OvtU5E-mtmMiBmO9_l0xJ1yb88vZ26ZVklC8gZrXfKh0vbuWDcIxeDzwUgaPZ0MYiykHq7DcSMN7BA6QRjyaQ_Aiw2wQC6uTDi8Wxr58USPGbEU/s640/IMG_8052.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-17999682418395636872016-04-13T16:32:00.000-05:002016-04-14T12:35:56.056-05:00Tuscany - grab a glass of wine .... there's a lot to catch up on here.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhv_KFeGS8uR3LunAq9Hqu0WM-h-jCzwia9EBAhHds49UTX3MJ0N1qo-XygIymaay6H2KL2l9dU6YVMhK-H1j1Xi1DWtsC_34uDekslgqWibYLk5NcqcCEwPSLR5hyphenhyphen7aWedfAtUtUO_T7/s1600/IMG_7890.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhv_KFeGS8uR3LunAq9Hqu0WM-h-jCzwia9EBAhHds49UTX3MJ0N1qo-XygIymaay6H2KL2l9dU6YVMhK-H1j1Xi1DWtsC_34uDekslgqWibYLk5NcqcCEwPSLR5hyphenhyphen7aWedfAtUtUO_T7/s640/IMG_7890.jpeg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Castello Ginori di Querceto, a Medieval "village" in Tuscany. <br />
Pretty much exactly as you might imagine. Took this photo on our walk today. <br />
How did we find this place???? Read on!</td></tr>
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Old habits die hard. I ran into a neighbor at 510 last week, mentioned our trip and Annie said, "Oh, please blog. Please." I'm a sucker for a fan so I said I would. Then I regretted the promise. However, now that I am here, with a gig of photos already, I realize that I would clog the Instagram air waves if I tried to load all those photos and look like an Insta-piggy in the process. So back to blogging. Because I need words to describe this place.<br />
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Logging in to my blog...it looks like a sweater with shoulder pads from the mid-80s- really outdated, but maybe cool if you think in a retro kind of way. I tried Tumblr once but just not cool enough to do that. I don't want to chat with a Tumblr community. I just want to write and show you pictures. So shoulder pads it is.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vpTyQWlDDhn6YpVYIpbx0KDPd4cl4aDNETGYGw_VPVl3-Lc9OKJjJJX5BT3L69tZu5bNMLhB21FJDjRzq_PfY_RhJnrfozDYrRMDdGsP3QDQJiLO8E8Lcoe7J-6sM4GBdxEnSVdqS6QZ/s1600/IMG_7846.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vpTyQWlDDhn6YpVYIpbx0KDPd4cl4aDNETGYGw_VPVl3-Lc9OKJjJJX5BT3L69tZu5bNMLhB21FJDjRzq_PfY_RhJnrfozDYrRMDdGsP3QDQJiLO8E8Lcoe7J-6sM4GBdxEnSVdqS6QZ/s400/IMG_7846.jpg" width="300" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX5gzVeUZg8idz75xBoJqQXY87MPbFMFDIwkrYLWGYe4fYTgqGQNDuYY_h79EQYgiq611etyF1h0kgEbMyLB2DDaFkIMRZEh1bOvTdRfn24gaYFUtwhuI8G7HQZg70u8sE6sPRMXo0_TTu/s1600/IMG_7814.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX5gzVeUZg8idz75xBoJqQXY87MPbFMFDIwkrYLWGYe4fYTgqGQNDuYY_h79EQYgiq611etyF1h0kgEbMyLB2DDaFkIMRZEh1bOvTdRfn24gaYFUtwhuI8G7HQZg70u8sE6sPRMXo0_TTu/s400/IMG_7814.jpg" width="300" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Glq87IXtc3QaxEVCsHeT2Vz8o0nM2bm5gHp5KKFPlz5Zv9ZAt5qt0_ljvAKRagez-0FPQbzkQQ9NU2IdDiJwD9GjxTd1o-RQhh7Ul36MrNjdNWaXYXdyBcbq2xmSNaIQkoaXbjmIh7aQ/s1600/IMG_7913.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Glq87IXtc3QaxEVCsHeT2Vz8o0nM2bm5gHp5KKFPlz5Zv9ZAt5qt0_ljvAKRagez-0FPQbzkQQ9NU2IdDiJwD9GjxTd1o-RQhh7Ul36MrNjdNWaXYXdyBcbq2xmSNaIQkoaXbjmIh7aQ/s400/IMG_7913.jpg" width="300" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFFTLZYtuqtOAsl9JmMATG7h6JNXdKGaVbHoCScUjC_LBkqYdI1Mgdj4JQowt6x0cIoyiVBidmUBPSWHKEgUafTYrtNEv8aQ6lZ0Wm_0bL3wBsdxI-7JwzW2G8xfIUNcKXO1GgoLnEMvX/s1600/IMG_7823.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpFFTLZYtuqtOAsl9JmMATG7h6JNXdKGaVbHoCScUjC_LBkqYdI1Mgdj4JQowt6x0cIoyiVBidmUBPSWHKEgUafTYrtNEv8aQ6lZ0Wm_0bL3wBsdxI-7JwzW2G8xfIUNcKXO1GgoLnEMvX/s400/IMG_7823.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
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Now...down to business....I"m drinking, eating, sleeping and walking in nature. Maybe in that order. As I think of it, covering all the basics here in Italy. Happy to have Lee with me - so add love. But, really it is rather stripped of all the stuff we add to life. And yet, it seems pretty much perfect in its simplicity. The wine and food is all local. They don't really even think of doing anything else. Ate a plate of raw beef for lunch - raised up over the hill. Lee had wild rabbit (hare) ravioli. Tasted like it, I guess. Wine is from the Ginori-Lisci estate, the family who own this castle. Yep, a castle. I grew up on a farm. They grew up in a castle. We grew soybeans and they grow grapes and olives. Right here. Right now.<br />
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And about the sounds. Well, there aren't any. The loudest thing around here is the tinnitus in my ears. We hear the doves making that sweet lovemaking sound, the swallows whirring by, a buzzing in the ivy on the stone of some very busy critters, and the lilt of the Italian language a few times a day as we run into the handful of people either working or living here in the "village." But let me start from scratch. How did we find this place?<br />
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Ten years ago this summer, Lee and I came to Italy - to Florence - for the first time to celebrate our tenth anniversary. It was my first trip to Europe at 52 years old. (Farm girl from Iowa that I was, sudying abroad meant I could go to the University of Iowa in another part of the state.) But I did study abroad that summer, spending a month at the British Institute of Florence taking a class called The History of Renaissance Art.<br />
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We stayed at the Palazzo Ginori on Via di Ginori in Florence, near the Palazzo di Medici , in a Renaissance home built around 1500 and, most impressive, remaining with the Ginori descendants today. They have maintained the palazzo in the most beautiful Renaissance form (while adding modern convenience, of course.) The palazzo is divided into 5-6 apartments - it is not a hotel. The Marchese and Marchesa Ginori-Lisci live in the palazzo, another relative lives next door with her two children and others - some family, some not - rent either long term or short term as we did. We have returned five or six times, staying at Palazzo Ginori every time we are in Florence.<br />
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We are always welcomed with a bottle of wine that I noticed was produced by the Ginori-Lisci Estate in Tuscany. So we asked about it a few years ago and learned that, well, of course, they have a castle in the country! A Medieval castle that has also been in the family since they inherited it in the early 1800s. We've gathered information about it and finally, this time, Lee said we should go. We are meeting friends in Florence this coming weekend for a week's visit there, but he thought we should go alone to Querceto for a romantic and adventurous week together. So we did. Now here's the little sidemark: I think we are paying something like $150 per night! There is a divine restaurant on the property that I will write about later. It is incredible and I am a very harsh critic of food. We can't really understand how it manages to survive here other than to think it is simply a part of the offering of staying at this lovely place. Tonight, there was one other couple at dinner! More later....<br />
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On arrival, we were shown to our charming apartment - I believe I have read that the castle was built around 1200 so who knows how old these walls and floors and beams are! Let's just say it's older than the suburbs in Minneapolis. A bit chilly but warmed by an electric heater over a door, we are happy to have our Patagonias! But outdoors, with the sun shining, the Spring is lush and full and explosive.<br />
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Here's the funny - or not - thing about Italy. They take a lot of time off. Every day. Every week. Every year. So, even though there is a restaurant on the property, it was closed yesterday all day - the day of our arrival. Now, this castle isn't exactly around the corner from a Starbucks. It's a long and winding road to the castle. If it wasn't it would have been pillaged many times over. That's the point of a castle, right? Up high on a hill and hard to reach. So, there really wasn't anything to eat without trekking out. We had passed a restaurant about 20 min from the castle and Anna, the lovely concierge at Querceto, agreed it was very good and would make us reservations.<br />
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We were sufficiently tired after our travels to warrant a nap so we tucked in around 5:00 and napped for an hour or so. At 7:15 we left for the restaurant. We got lost, but made our way back and when we got there, realized the chairs were stacked, there were no other cars around and the front door wa locked! Another restaurant closed on Tuesday! As we were getting back in the car, the proprietor came to say hello and explain they were closed, but she was going to get a pizza in the nearby village and we could follow her there and pick something up. We did. Lee dropped me off with her and went to find a parking spot in this Romeo and Juliet of a Renaissance village.<br />
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She and I went to the pizzaria and saw that it was also closed!<br />
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In the meantime, Lee asked Siri about local restaurants. (This was a VILLAGE, not a town!) and he heard about something, so he came to find me. The very nice woman went on her way - going to forage in her refrigerator, I guess. Lee and I set out to find a place to eat! We were famished by now - having only eaten airplane food for a day. We found a place and when we went inside, we were greeted as if we were long lost cousins with a great deal of money to divide among the relatives. They said, "Are you from Querceto?" "Si," I replied. (All of this in Italian, btw.)<br />
"And are you the Stevens?"<br />
"Si" again! "How did you know?"<br />
"Anna from Querceto called for your reservations."<br />
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How does the universe work that we were led to this little village - I still have no idea what it is called - that we were led to this little restaurant and they were waiting for us! I have decided this is how we should just do our lives. just put the intention out and let the universe lead the way, only to be welcomed the minute you arrive. Isn't that just it?<br />
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We had a wonderful, very, very, very large Italian dinner. Lee had six courses including two meats and three desserts. I did my best to help him out. But my lasagne and a walnut / pear / cheese puff pastry was more than I could manage. We later learned that Anna had put a note on our door when she discovered the first restaurant was closed to tell us about the reservation, but in our sleep-deprived stupor we missed it and simply went bumbling out into the world, and a fairly complicated, undulating one at that, to find food. And the world was waiting for us.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhRgrExWhWkyZjcSISXTD7DR08627qlQZWepPz1oOgpv7Xf-EEi4RRSbcfO5iYs5EmiICdI_byOR-1s4iOdHj1bY4SqHPV5U5OKigf1T5oz4rnpfvc_7C4j22FjMYXCoS-WHYxAS5blvb/s1600/IMG_7860.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhRgrExWhWkyZjcSISXTD7DR08627qlQZWepPz1oOgpv7Xf-EEi4RRSbcfO5iYs5EmiICdI_byOR-1s4iOdHj1bY4SqHPV5U5OKigf1T5oz4rnpfvc_7C4j22FjMYXCoS-WHYxAS5blvb/s640/IMG_7860.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-21957429839253799172015-11-15T19:56:00.001-06:002015-11-15T20:01:25.350-06:00Liminality<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDLdCW7C3WdD0fiGmpUBtgQOotTMHFPEf5pxmVN7wKTRU72758r65migEz0r9-rj7hrlCfbb_p3d8hqNOW-t2RildnfKSKYQdQUBE8cT-d6TtUT1-mi7BxuXQry9be0dQv2bgAh7Kb6Ep4/s1600/about-img02-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDLdCW7C3WdD0fiGmpUBtgQOotTMHFPEf5pxmVN7wKTRU72758r65migEz0r9-rj7hrlCfbb_p3d8hqNOW-t2RildnfKSKYQdQUBE8cT-d6TtUT1-mi7BxuXQry9be0dQv2bgAh7Kb6Ep4/s400/about-img02-1.jpg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in front of my own personal Mecca (not a very appropriate metaphor today.)<br />
Shakespeare and Company in Paris</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Oh, what the heck, let's go straight to Wikipedia for this. It's a good description:</span><br />
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I<i>n <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthropology" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Anthropology">anthropology</a>, <b>liminality</b> (from the Latin word līmen, meaning "a threshold"<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-1" style="font-size: 11.2px; line-height: 1; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liminality#cite_note-1" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[1]</a></sup>) is the quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs in the middle stage of <a class="mw-redirect" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rituals" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Rituals">rituals</a>, when participants no longer hold their pre-ritual status but have not yet begun the transition to the status they will hold when the ritual is complete. During a ritual's liminal stage, participants "stand at the threshold"<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-2" style="font-size: 11.2px; line-height: 1; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liminality#cite_note-2" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[2]</a></sup> between their previous way of structuring their identity, time, or community, and a new way, which the ritual establishes....</i></div>
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<i>More recently, usage of the term has broadened to describe political and cultural change as well as rituals.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-4" style="font-size: 11.2px; line-height: 1; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liminality#cite_note-4" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[4]</a></sup> During liminal periods of all kinds, social hierarchies may be reversed or temporarily dissolved, continuity of tradition may become uncertain, and future outcomes once taken for granted may be thrown into doubt.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-5" style="font-size: 11.2px; line-height: 1; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liminality#cite_note-5" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[5]</a></sup> The dissolution of order during liminality creates a fluid, malleable situation that enables new institutions and customs to become established.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-6" style="font-size: 11.2px; line-height: 1; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liminality#cite_note-6" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[6]</a></sup></i></div>
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Do you think we are in a liminal space in the world...generally? Do you think the Parisians feel as if in a liminal space tonight? </div>
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In Depth Psychology, to be in a liminal space is almost as if being baptized. You will be different when it is complete. You are lost, disoriented, maybe terrified, in an unfamiliar place. It can happen during the most profound life passages - birth, death, a job loss, a divorce, a spiritual shift. It can happen when it makes no sense. It happens when "the gods" think you need it is the way I look at it. We are all likely to experience liminal space in our life - maybe many times over. I have. If you pay attention, it is a growth opportunity akin to winning the lottery. But you have to walk straight into the darkness and, then, beg for help.</div>
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I feel like we, humanity, need to do this tonight. Beg for help. From the gods, the angels, all higher beings who must be gazing down upon us and shaking their heads. </div>
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Please, God, show us the way.</div>
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Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-85485407309973570182015-11-08T12:16:00.000-06:002015-11-08T12:29:58.712-06:00What's Important Now: My Husband and My Bag<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVC9o-yPa4FgIkbWTtEulCYApDVdpiDZ6iAV6eDATqrgvpG2vL1_nJP38Fda1jl99YK5WwL66PDw-b2MUg-fa0U4l9_RYIe8M1XkM22GrtCV8_TXXwVYyoLJEhHjkdHJw0X8yFBatuu22F/s1600/IMG_5393.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVC9o-yPa4FgIkbWTtEulCYApDVdpiDZ6iAV6eDATqrgvpG2vL1_nJP38Fda1jl99YK5WwL66PDw-b2MUg-fa0U4l9_RYIe8M1XkM22GrtCV8_TXXwVYyoLJEhHjkdHJw0X8yFBatuu22F/s400/IMG_5393.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My water-stained, Velveteen rabbit of a tote / satchel I almost lost.</td></tr>
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<br />Just back from 6 days in New York and, for the first time in several years, I can say I'm really happy to be back in Minneapolis. Home. Especially with Lee. That corny thing...it's home wherever he is. Charleston, New York, Minneapolis. Well, okay, not L.A. But pretty much anywhere else.<br />
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He was so happy to have me home, too. I could feel it. Didn't help that I texted him as we were literally on the tarmack ready to take off - 3rd in line - when the captain stopped the plane and announced a problem with the flaps. I know enough about airplanes to know you don't want a problem with your flaps. You don't even want a potential problem with the flaps. You don't even want a problem with the computer that records the functioning of the flaps. So, I had to tell him I wasn't taking off on time and I know he started to worry.<br />
<br />
They fixed the flaps and we took off 2 1/2 hours later. So he worried even more when I told him we were taking off in the plane with the flap problem. But all's well that ends well because I landed, he picked me up, swooped me into his arms and I promptly forgot to pick up my satchel off the sidewalk outside Door 4 at the Minneapolis airport, so happy I was to see him. He had loaded my extra heavy bag into the trunk and I followed like a puppy into my seat. When I got to 510 and we were unloading the behemoth of a bag from the trunk, I realized I had left my satchel (which sounds kind of weird, but I don't know what else to call it) with MY BRAND NEW MAC BOOK PRO WHICH HAS THE MOST COMPLETED VERSION OF MY BOOK sitting there on the sidewalk. WAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!<br />
<br />
I know you are thinking, "Are you stupid? Your book isn't in the Cloud?" Well, I don't know for sure. I have a very recent version in Dropbox, but I changed something a couple weeks ago, a change I really like - the kind where you go "whew!" and I am not sure I put that in Dropbox. So....yes, I'm stupid.<br />
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So tired was I from a couple restless nights of sleep, I had to ask Lee what to do. He suggested I call the airport police, which I did and, bingo....they had my bag. So we drove back to the airport. I say "we" because I was clearly a little loopy / spacey (ya' think?) and he didn't trust me to park the car and ever find it again. So, he was a complete gentleman by driving me back to the airport, parking the car, walking into the airport with me at which point I met a policeman at Lost and Found and retrieved my bag - but only after he informed me that I had committed a misdemeanor and (probably if I'd been any younger or more sassy) he could have slapped me with a ticket and court date!<br />
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That's what he said, anyway. I was practically kissing my satchel when he handed it to me, so I'm pretty sure he could see I didn't intend to leave it around to cause anyone harm. Besides, if that was my intent, I would NOT have sacrificed this particular satchel. I get compliments on it wherever I go. It is so practical and chic and made by a colleague of mine - Talin Spring whose company is SpringFinn. <a href="http://www.springfinnandco.com/" target="_blank">http://www.springfinnandco.com/</a>.<br />
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Back to Lee. As we drank the cappuccino side by side with that beautiful sun shining in from the Southern sky - the cappuccino which he makes perfectly for me each morning - I felt a spring of gratitude for him. I remembered how he polished three pairs of my shoes as I was packing for the trip. And as he walked out the door today, the look of relief when he said, "I'm so happy you're home. So happy."<br />
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So am I.<br />
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-54450552873157957512015-11-01T21:21:00.000-06:002015-11-01T21:28:00.364-06:00Turn on, tune in, drop out<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2bba9cHn4vD4f5fiqel-rj3apZqR6ITwecfq01KuETIwsE3kxsTUcU3889wpxthR_5KR5-rDZHk2pVLJMkoXAD5adhQPffahKoDt2jnqe6eIYKWhvxy-Yp4iuJBdc3kgTC0dssEqd324n/s1600/IMG_4988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2bba9cHn4vD4f5fiqel-rj3apZqR6ITwecfq01KuETIwsE3kxsTUcU3889wpxthR_5KR5-rDZHk2pVLJMkoXAD5adhQPffahKoDt2jnqe6eIYKWhvxy-Yp4iuJBdc3kgTC0dssEqd324n/s640/IMG_4988.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Opener to the show Hippie Modernism at the Walker Art Center, Minneapolis</td></tr>
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Whoa. So about it. Born in 1953, grew up in the 60's and 70's and it was just so much fun then. So Lee and I couldn't miss the Walker exhibit - Hippie Modernism. I even noticed that our ages gave us a special entry fee price.<br />
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"Yeh, we're totally hippie modernists," Lee said, slightly teasing the very cool looking woman from whom we would buy our tickets - who looked approximately our age.<br />
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"Oh, you're artists with the exhibit?" she asked.<br />
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"No, not artists. We just want to see it. We lived this. We're old." Lee said. Deadpan.<br />
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Then, I noticed, "Wow. We both qualify for the Senior rate. Yep. I'm 62 and he's 64," I said.<br />
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"Get out. You're not." she smartly said. I smiled.<br />
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"Yep. Wanna see our id?"<br />
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"No, we don't need to see that." She laughed and handed us our tickets. And we tripped off to the show.<br />
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Well, not literally tripped.<br />
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We meandered for the next hour through the later 60's during which time I was slightly too young to get my head around what was happening. But by 1971, when I graduated from high school and headed to college, then moved to San Francisco in the summer of 1975, I had begun to absorb all the ways "the times, they are a changin'". <br />
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I realized that I had parents who allowed my moderate exploration into this alternative world - why, I can't explain. I suspect it was less conscious that I might fantasize and more about just having four mouths to feed and a small mortgage to pay.<br />
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The only real alarm I set off was when, during the summer I was 17 I decided I would wear hot pants. And they couldn't stop me. God. So embarrassing. I could have been fighting for civil rights or protesting Viet Nam.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX8Y1lKMs9d8AqbSnFcVNDQtCJsOy-X9fQZW48FcKp2_KnmiE08qE0XspnWlMt7-X_mGXjWMmbUkHP-rEh_qvG_Ehym6qd_PxoW19v5lyca7doJUYmzI4md0zj0S_VFhAVNA9cW1IlkN5h/s1600/1971_fashion_hotpants_new_york_1973.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX8Y1lKMs9d8AqbSnFcVNDQtCJsOy-X9fQZW48FcKp2_KnmiE08qE0XspnWlMt7-X_mGXjWMmbUkHP-rEh_qvG_Ehym6qd_PxoW19v5lyca7doJUYmzI4md0zj0S_VFhAVNA9cW1IlkN5h/s400/1971_fashion_hotpants_new_york_1973.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty much what I was wearing the entire summer I was 17 - just before heading to college.</td></tr>
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What is so astonishing is the innocence. We had ideas about how the world could be different. We had words. We had print. We had paper. We had our actions. We had love-ins and sit-ins and be-ins. We marched and raised our fists and raised our consciousness and raised our hemlines. Then dropped them again. We went barefoot because adults didn't like that. We started swearing for the same reason. Especially using the word "Fuck" whenever another word was actually a more intelligent choice.<br />
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We innocently believed we could change the world. And we did. You know that phrase. "Thoughts become things." Our thoughts became civil rights and women's rights and sexual freedom and a return to nature and an awakening to the fragility of the planet and the horror of war. All those things were thoughts first. And it's never been the same since.<br />
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In this life, I got my timing right.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMjtN4mLhngfNDdKfybjHDakxU4lFcEKMOicOFnLF_uH3KKyqfVp_zob1TkM2qKaHpkjFCnVoatVhYsMlda5vAxiPuVoDanTrO5IRO92QQv9XvnhGgHXOUo0-SvTj4uC3MYeS414jVj1C/s1600/1960s-fashion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieMjtN4mLhngfNDdKfybjHDakxU4lFcEKMOicOFnLF_uH3KKyqfVp_zob1TkM2qKaHpkjFCnVoatVhYsMlda5vAxiPuVoDanTrO5IRO92QQv9XvnhGgHXOUo0-SvTj4uC3MYeS414jVj1C/s400/1960s-fashion.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1960's bathing suit</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0xaqUVabDvI8KJgxeYZjy4rVEPXzSJrn_H-FomwX98uz9iSJqlyvE9DPcJj8oXRXLkwITH3NO-dOWS5gyPkKkHuU1xPPA0P4AiT_4kC-afmNQChPwwxO-R3ILpf-rp2AGuxJRSgGPILGN/s1600/IMG_4990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0xaqUVabDvI8KJgxeYZjy4rVEPXzSJrn_H-FomwX98uz9iSJqlyvE9DPcJj8oXRXLkwITH3NO-dOWS5gyPkKkHuU1xPPA0P4AiT_4kC-afmNQChPwwxO-R3ILpf-rp2AGuxJRSgGPILGN/s400/IMG_4990.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self-contained architecture was a new idea</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpK0XEFxEFVeYhw_C3zGzwAFDjNyPGlNdbgT1bLKO2Eqpx0p5gUdK0ABMK8Wn4Y2DhG4GliMjxrDJK_Hx5f4-kthVMkfWKuW8aYRDem1y44hU46W6jvXDrMYu-zpBMJj423QlrEPeMjSO/s1600/IMG_4993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpK0XEFxEFVeYhw_C3zGzwAFDjNyPGlNdbgT1bLKO2Eqpx0p5gUdK0ABMK8Wn4Y2DhG4GliMjxrDJK_Hx5f4-kthVMkfWKuW8aYRDem1y44hU46W6jvXDrMYu-zpBMJj423QlrEPeMjSO/s400/IMG_4993.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And in person...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmW70E51tTrgYV511ZsT6fa4hgKR4uDlvG_duVMGIZ4fTdfWc_Mnx7SZ9DZluDx9o8D9BdiQTmil2xqhbiYiUR8G7e-nu7fh0ynQ7VtTkkHHoA0QVJsxwEVLQz7zFWA4SviFOGErco6T9B/s1600/IMG_4998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmW70E51tTrgYV511ZsT6fa4hgKR4uDlvG_duVMGIZ4fTdfWc_Mnx7SZ9DZluDx9o8D9BdiQTmil2xqhbiYiUR8G7e-nu7fh0ynQ7VtTkkHHoA0QVJsxwEVLQz7zFWA4SviFOGErco6T9B/s400/IMG_4998.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John and Yoko</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remember Buckminster Fuller and the geodesic dome????</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Someone had an idea to create a self-sustaining citrus garden.</td></tr>
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-18262172400661208022015-09-28T20:56:00.001-05:002015-09-28T20:59:32.321-05:00Best Boots Ever<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlEFB7_OpZ5dI3fzsb4PrR4xYxfBMKtznefQP-e6ceNs2m5KSpZf4XRVLr0FPEzpL8hoOnmgOPcHoh_XoCwbQArXXNzt_dF8JFeNd1GlmXopCpCQxAaDB-5fpELqwm9uM31QuyTNvjagBy/s1600/images1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlEFB7_OpZ5dI3fzsb4PrR4xYxfBMKtznefQP-e6ceNs2m5KSpZf4XRVLr0FPEzpL8hoOnmgOPcHoh_XoCwbQArXXNzt_dF8JFeNd1GlmXopCpCQxAaDB-5fpELqwm9uM31QuyTNvjagBy/s1600/images1.jpeg" /></a></div>
Ten years ago, I was flat broke. Lee was living in L.A. teaching sixth grade at the Westside Waldorf School and going to graduate school in Santa Barbara once a month at Pacifica - working on a degree - or two - in Depth Psychology. I was living in Minneapolis, completing my assignment as mom to Isabelle, age 15 that year and a sophomore in high school. I wouldn't leave her for the world. Not even for Lee. I was a big girl. I could fly to L.A. if I had to. If I could come up with the spare change. Long story about how we got to this juncture. That story is in my book. (Smiley face.)<br />
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So, I had been what I call, in probably offensive terms, an education Nazi. I'd begged, borrowed and had stolen for my kids education. Well, not stolen. But you get the idea. I had a public school education in Iowa and when I saw what was alternatively available in Minneapolis - especially at the Waldorf school in Minneapolis, then at Blake for high school - I drank the kool-aid.<br />
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What this meant as a very middle class family experiencing divorce and change - and sometimes with my head just under the water line of middle class - choking for air - is that I had no money for a wardrobe. But having been a woman who had spent my entire life loving fashion - like, since I was six!! this was not an easy pill to swallow.<br />
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But, kiddos first, so I figured out that I could spend several years wearing about four items. Gap men's 1969 button front low-rise jeans, J. Crew long sleeved perfect cotton T (in black of course) and, voila! my big splurge.....Black Frye Harness Boots. Thankfully, one of my awesome clients gave me a black nylon Prada bag for my birthday in 2005 and that made the whole thing work. In a New York kind of way. Not in an L.A. kind of way...which is where I was going on occasion of course. But I got very superior about it all in a fuck you L.A. kind of way.<br />
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I woke up this morning, this September 28, 2015 and put on my boots. The same boots. Not a new pair. They are still just perfect - albeit more sexy, more broken in, more formed to my feet. Ten years later, I still feel like I stride in these boots with a confidence that no other shoe provides. Just the right heel, just the right slightly ass-kicking attitude.<br />
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I don't even remember what they cost. But they are the best money I ever spent on a piece of clothing. Ten years later, I feel this lift when I put them on with my now AG or Citizen jeans. I've replaced the men's Gap. I toss on an Equipment silk shirt. I've replaced the J. Crew t-shirt. But I haven't replaced my Fryes. Life is good.Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-31644948973355735632015-09-20T19:31:00.000-05:002015-09-20T20:38:46.349-05:00On AgingFeeling like this is my new topic. You just have so much more time to think about this when your kids are gone. Instead of asking them if they've done their homework or going shopping to keep the frig filled for their unbelievable appetites or filling out the college financial aid forms, you just have all that time to think about getting older. Not like you try. It just happens. Because the fact that they are gone means you are definitely older. I should know. My youngest left home in 2007 when she went to college. So for eight years, I've been thinking about this and I have a lot to say.<br />
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There is plenty that just plain sucks about getting old - wait and see all you Gen x-ers. But today, I'm going to talk about when it's really great because that is what I'm thinking about tonight.<br />
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Tomorrow I'm heading to NY to work on just the most spectacular happy-making beautiful project, one so sublime I feel like I'm in a movie about a designer working in NY on a Hollywood-worthy home. Now, lucky me....I have so many great clients and projects right now that I could write a blog-post about each and every one of them. Well...maybe not one.<br />
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But for this little farm girl from Iowa who wanted to go to New York at eighteen to study fashion or acting but who had no foreseeable way in the world to make that happen, I now feel like I am living that dream - at sixty -two. Yep, sixty-two. Really, I always wanted to live and work in New York. I lived there for a couple years when Lee was teaching and dipped myself so deeply into that ocean of beauty and design that when I was finally asked to do a project there, I could, with modest confidence say, Yes! A holy Yes!<br />
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But, this is not all about me. It's about age.<br />
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On Tuesday morning at 9:00 a.m., I will walk into the site / townhouse on East 78th for a meeting with the two architects from Nate McBride and Assoc. (including Nate and Jack Bales), and three people from the contractor's team including the owner of the company, the project manager and the site supervisor. The contractor is Taconic, and a little bird told me they did Madonna's incredible double townhouse on E. 81st. Nate and Jack have become dear friends; we've pulled at the bones of this project for three years together now. We eat together, drink together, sigh together and solve together. Taconic is newer to me. We've worked on this project for about a year together, but adore what I see. We laugh in our meetings, get good work done, and Artie, the project manager, likes to keep the end in mind. He once said to me, "You know, I don't like to hurry a project at the end. It's always a mistake. I'd rather lose a little money to get it right. No one will remember the money or the extra week five years from now. I want it perfect for the client." Now, this is the attitude of experience.<br />
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In August I sat in the room that will soon be the Master Bedroom around a table with all the same people I mention here above as well as Hilary Finn from Hilary Finn Gardens, the landscape designer and Gordon Roth from Roth Painting. At some point, with seven or eight beautiful faces in this circle, I realized that not ONE of them was under fifty! Most were humming along between 55 - 68 if I had to guess.<br />
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It was so inspiring to sit with this group of talented people at the top of their game, playing hard, creating a massively complicated thing of beauty for our clients - with quiet confidence that comes from years and years and years of experience with challenging work and that lovely thing called wisdom. Not much ego in the room - outgrown that - just a lot of feeling lucky to be working together in a way that is good for all of us financially and artistically and good for the client in the end.<br />
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So, welcome to something past middle age - when you finally have earned what you've worked for, including any reputation that goes with it. A time when you get to hang out with and hopefully work along side other people just like you, people with wisdom, who've listened to the same old music, knew the same old political jokes and shuffled their own kids to the same grand tours of colleges during their Junior year. The familiarity of age is a comfort, a recognition, a shared language that makes the work together a bounty of joy.<br />
<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-65627618621196942592015-09-13T12:10:00.003-05:002015-09-13T12:11:52.329-05:00The season of St. Michael - Michaelmas - and what it brings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Children play-acting at Michaelmas</td></tr>
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Just read friend Wendy Brown's post <a href="http://www.brownink.com/" target="_blank">www.brownink.com</a> - my fellow Virgo, Wendy's birthday is the day after mine...she writes of rhythm and ritual and order, of slowing down and this inspired me to write. I think of of slowing down like the animals, preparing for hibernating - knowing what is ahead of us - chilly nights, drying leaves, darker days here in the heartland.<br />
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Don't get me wrong. I love fall. It is my favorite time of the year. A sweet romantic melancholy fills my heart when I walk through Kenwood, see the drying hydrangeas turning to that golden pink, see the brittle stems of the lavendar, the children running freely in the park now, still in shorts and t-shirts knowing how different that will be in only twelve weeks - more likely bundled in down and mittens and tugging at a sled.<br />
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I love the change of it all. When I lived in Charleston in the late '70's for the first time, I recall September coming around and instead of Fall, it is "the Hurricane Season." It is warm and moist and turbulent. And a bit exciting for a newcomer to have to evacuate the island I was living on the first year and head to Columbia, a part of that great snake-like chain of cars winding its westward way along I-26. But I missed the signals to pull out my sweaters and change up my closet, to pack away the thin embroidered cotton Indian shirts and flip-flops and replace them with cashmere and boots.<br />
I did that last week here in Minneapolis and, in doing so, saw the holes in my closet where I needed another pair of jeans and another pair of boots and another skirt. Well, not need. Wanted....let's be accurate.<br />
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But this change is more than seasonal, more than about changing out wardrobes and storing up wood for the fire. In 1992, as a new parent at the City of Lakes Waldorf School in Minneapolis, I attended my first Michaelmas Celebration at the end of September. Celebrated since the Middle Ages in Europe, it honors St. Michael, the highest of the archangels. Michael is known for his courage in fighting Lucifer, the protector through the darkest days and the administrator of cosmic intelligence. Waldorf schools, founded in Europe in 1919, all celebrate Michaelmas as a festival on or around Sept 29, taking note that we are coming into the darkest days, of the gratitude for the bountiful harvest, and of change that is sure to come.<br />
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Lee tells the story this way: as Michael battles with the dragon (he is most often depicted having slain a dragon) we see signs of it in the leaves, the fire-y breath of the dragon burns them and turns them to golden and red all around us. We can then be sure that the battles are raging in the heavens. This is the story for the children. But for us, as adults, the battles rage within at this time of year. The bittersweet melancholy is so often more than just about the change of seasons. It is change in us. We are aging, we are needing to grow, to continue to grow intellectually, spiritually, emotionally, socially and this also means loss. Saying good bye to something that no longer serves us.<br />
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I find myself a little less patient, dogged with what is ahead of me, what it is I need .... if I am lucky enough to know what that is. I think it is also a time of confusion, of not knowing what is next. Of uncertainty while still knowing that "change is gonna' come."<br />
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May your Season of St. Micheal be a meaningful one.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This St. Michael watches over us in our Library.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A drawing from A Waldorf Main Lesson Book of St. Michael slaying the Dragon</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9SwfiK_01h5cPhbn7ei1RY7owbz_K3HUCqLCsFqAqWZ9sygrAJ08tvmWwTQq1GNHJtKCLE2FW6SDc9RV9MLCeRk5fw4thOnj7VzxR8J-u6PxzR6MYfJgDoit4ENFfJVyyyMWjr4nFTYpk/s1600/michael.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9SwfiK_01h5cPhbn7ei1RY7owbz_K3HUCqLCsFqAqWZ9sygrAJ08tvmWwTQq1GNHJtKCLE2FW6SDc9RV9MLCeRk5fw4thOnj7VzxR8J-u6PxzR6MYfJgDoit4ENFfJVyyyMWjr4nFTYpk/s400/michael.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Micheal slaying Lucifer</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The classic St. Michael image: slaying the dragon</td></tr>
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-30281704479258126812015-07-19T18:05:00.000-05:002015-07-19T20:04:02.563-05:00So retro....The Artist's Way<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My '90's-era guide to finding my inner artist.</td></tr>
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Even though I was born in the 1950's, I have always been a late-bloomer. When I sit in the dentist's chair and am given free reign on what satellite music station I want to listen to, I pick the '80s for the later music of Ambrosia, Stephen Bishop, Hall & Oates, Earth, Wind & Fire. It makes me think of boyfriends and beaches. Like I was born 10 years later than I actually was. Still slightly flakey.<br />
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So I grew up a little delayed and by the 90's - turning 40 and already having blown through a marriage and looking for my calling - I was needing a bit of introspection and direction and I came upon <i>The Artist's Way </i>by Julia Cameron at some point in the middle of that decade, a 12-week "recovery" program. Originally published in 1992, <i>The Artist's Way </i>is subtitled, "<i>A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity.</i>" This was right up my middle-of-life-needing-to-find-myself-in-a-Jungian-kind-of-way alley.<br />
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In earnest about finding the meaning of life, Joseph Campbell did that blockbuster of a series, "<i>The Power of Myth</i>" with Bill Moyers for PBS in 1988 and I think I saw that at least five times on TV, then bought the videotape set. Lee, my husband bought his own set. (Must say: If you haven't seen it, do.)<br />
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I was hungry for insight and bliss and a path.<br />
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Then, at some point after 1996, the year I married Lee, I found <i>The Artist's Way. </i>I bought it. I opened it. I inhaled it. I needed to recover my wounded artist.<br />
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I had kept a journal most of my life - especially during my 20's, writing almost daily mostly about life and love, with the occasional note about how I felt about my weight. The currency of beauty! Yuck. So writing was not foreign to me. But to do so in a focused, guided way felt like being taken over by angels who just tell you what to do.<br />
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Now, some 16 - 20 years later (depending on when I actually did it the first time) I am doing it again. With Lee. Which is just the greatest, sexiest, bonding love thing for me. I'm a total sap for artistic men. He's doing his writing. I'm doing mine.<br />
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The point of the book is that we have, for a potluck of reasons, abandoned our artistic, creative selves. Not like everyone wants to be artistic - or be an artist - but for those of us who do, there are so many lame excuses for why we can't pursue those dreams. The process is simple and brilliant and lasts for twelve weeks - more than enough time for that changing a habit idea to take root.<br />
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Step One: Write every single morning - three pages - just a brain dump if that's all you got.<br />
Step Two: Take yourself on an artist date every single week. Like a child. Take it out for ice cream and a trip to Disney World. But, really, it doesn't have to be Disney World. It can be anything that makes your heart sing and takes you away from the battery of voices in your head that tell you why you can't be an artist.<br />
Step Three: Do the weekly "tasks" - just guided writing.<br />
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For my Artist Dates, I have taken a walk to Loring Park, sat on a bench and looked at the summer flowers. I have spent the night looking at the stars over Lake Sylvia, the kind of stars I remembered from growing up on an Iowa farm - holy and present in a way they never are in a city.<br />
Today, I decided "No work! No balancing checkbooks! No checking delivery dates for furniture!" to set free the right side of my brain. But, for this to happen, I had to leave my apartment. So I went to Northfield to visit my mother, eat deviled eggs and a salted, sliced tomato with her on her patio, then to the new bookstore, Content, on the main street in Northfield to browse the employee's recommended selections laid out on the displays. I bought five books, so happy was I to be in the presence of real words on real bound paper. Not a photo of a book cover on the Amazon website. I signed up for their reading program. I pulled out my debit card. I signed on the line. I did not "click" anything on a computer screen. It was mind-boggling to buy books while interacting with an intelligent, thoughtful human being.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwE0rqGQF4iIiP2poJzwez1U8dbKlfWLUmHZAVJWjn4_5Y2tZ5dcfbvuJTDxo1nox5KI0hUK-Kye_qXZwuISzkWq1Kqu-zlEs1GbsqqUhk_zQKr0KdTFmgCeCyiPFDsknQEwRvZzrtFSoU/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwE0rqGQF4iIiP2poJzwez1U8dbKlfWLUmHZAVJWjn4_5Y2tZ5dcfbvuJTDxo1nox5KI0hUK-Kye_qXZwuISzkWq1Kqu-zlEs1GbsqqUhk_zQKr0KdTFmgCeCyiPFDsknQEwRvZzrtFSoU/s640/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer Reading.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Then I went across the street to get coffee at Blue Monday, the kind of coffee shop I wish we had in Minneapolis. Maybe one still exists...near the U? Anyone know? Most have been "done." Even the good ones. Lots of old barns torn down to make them look cool and not contrived. But, really, they end up looking contrived. Because....barns. Sure. Urban Minneapolis has lots of barns, right?<br />
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I diverge.<br />
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These "dates" and the writing are proving to be profound in their capacity to create a kind of emotional / ideological shift. Like an earthquake - or more to the point - a tectonic shift - a small one, ideas start popping out of the crevices, released from the movement of the work. Tonight, after writing for two full weeks, my mind is trying to catch the yard of fireflies of ideas zapping around me. It's both inspiring and overwhelming. Which one do you catch?<br />
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-32121357613852484872015-06-20T21:30:00.002-05:002015-06-20T21:43:56.737-05:00Mother Emanuel church in Charleston, SCI was taking a photo of the moon over over church when I was there a few weeks ago. Just walking home around 10:30 at night after hearing Madeleine Peyroux at the College of Charleston Cistern (a beautiful outdoor starry night setting) Here, the church still had a lovely peace about it, just a simple white, classic African American church in the middle of Charleston. Always a city quiet at this time of night with the college kids (thankfully!) gone for the summer.<br />
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I'll write more, but just found this innocent photo moments ago. It is taken from the back of the church where the assassin parked. This is 1/2 block from our home - the site we pass when we walk toward Meeting or King Street or Marion Square for the Farmer's Market. The front of the church supports the beautiful steeple.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZiU8sTw7RkUtRdbEFJXOHDOMcm2HMD5ZmFuk2y0NDevMRSTrAZ2mbSw1USppgbXpizUsA-UTAJ_4yPSQ2CHDjKYXzJb3u8oor40Neoi6W8ErGmic2P503COsvT8vefGYyaReORK-R5YJ/s1600/2015-05-31+20.53.04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZiU8sTw7RkUtRdbEFJXOHDOMcm2HMD5ZmFuk2y0NDevMRSTrAZ2mbSw1USppgbXpizUsA-UTAJ_4yPSQ2CHDjKYXzJb3u8oor40Neoi6W8ErGmic2P503COsvT8vefGYyaReORK-R5YJ/s640/2015-05-31+20.53.04.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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God bless you, Mother Emanuel.<br />
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-86227998823475017342015-06-13T10:19:00.002-05:002015-06-13T10:22:52.563-05:00Heart-break: Moment of beingMy writing coach, Patricia Francisco, worked with me on the lovely, lovely concept of "moments of being." Virginia Woolf used the phrase in her work "Sketches from the Past" to describe those times / moments when we experience a deep knowing, understanding, insight or reality. She was, at the time, working with her own memories, especially from her childhood.<br />
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Little, big, in-the-middle sized memories of moments that are not forgotten because they become the architecture of a life. I appreciate how small the moments can be.<br />
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What I think is profound is to notice the moment as it happens - to be in the experience and to be observing the experience at the same time. Is that what forms memory? Do we have to be consciously observing to have it become memory? I don't know the answer to that.<br />
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I just know that this morning I had an experience that felt like that, and I wanted to write it down. Here it is:<br />
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I’m in my blue
chambray pajamas. They are too big for me, but I like feeling smaller than I am
because of that. They drag on the floor and the sleeves fall at my fingertips
without rolling a cuff. I stand at the stove, stirring the spinach and onions
in the black cast iron skillet. I’m making an omelet for Lee. He cleans out the
Italian stovetop espresso pot, which is always a mess. He makes me cappuccino
every morning. Today’s cup was perfect. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And now, from the
area of my heart, I start to quake. A feeling begins to erupt, like a little
bird nosing its way out of its shell, cracking softly. The spinach and onion
blur as my eyes fill with tears. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“I feel so much
emotion,” I say, naming the obvious. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Lee turns my way
and smiles. “Here, making an omelet?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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“I know I won’t be
able to make you an omelet forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know the day will come when we won’t do this together, here in the kitchen,
quietly working side by side. Each of us just doing the simplest thing. For
each other.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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He moves to put
his arms around me and holds me there with my pajamas dragging on the tile
floor. Then I go back to the stove and pour the eggs into the pan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-15539307613276930882015-05-23T20:42:00.003-05:002015-05-23T21:01:10.203-05:00SPOLETO: Art in the City<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've learned that a lot of people haven't heard of Spoleto; I'm sure I wouldn't have if I hadn't lived here in Charleston years ago. So I'll start with a tutorial right from Wikipedia...they say it well:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><b>Spoleto Festival USA</b> in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charleston,_South_Carolina" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Charleston, South Carolina">Charleston, South Carolina</a>, is one of America's major performing arts festivals. It was founded in 1977 by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pulitzer_Prize" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Pulitzer Prize">Pulitzer Prize</a>-winning composer <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gian_Carlo_Menotti" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Gian Carlo Menotti">Gian Carlo Menotti</a>, who sought to establish a counterpart to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Festival_dei_Due_Mondi" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Festival dei Due Mondi">Festival dei Due Mondi</a> (The Festival of Two Worlds) in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spoleto" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;" title="Spoleto">Spoleto</a>, Italy.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>When Italian organizers planned an American festival, they searched for a city that would offer the charm of Spoleto, Italy, and also its wealth of theaters, churches, and other performance spaces. Charleston was selected as an ideal location, with Menotti saying of Charleston:</i></span></div>
<dl style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.2em;"><dd style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.1em; margin-left: 1.6em; margin-right: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i> It's intimate, so you can walk from one theatre to the next. It has Old World charm in architecture and gardens. Yet it's a community big enough to support the large number of visitors to the festival.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-1" style="line-height: 1; unicode-bidi: -webkit-isolate;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spoleto_Festival_USA#cite_note-1" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap;">[1]</a></sup></i></span></dd></dl>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i> The annual 17-day late-spring event showcases both established and emerging artists</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i> in more than 150 performances of opera, dance, theater, classical music, and jazz.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, there you go. That's what we are up to these days. SPOLETO!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEMI5bYTWqoM6zJ57PMiweAOxibE2BHlGKieSC-9vGTXsTndJ5jAJRDjfY4g8QY2s-CBmyEKceFkvAg3xMl424B58TzPzmNn38iP2wCUIbyTRcRYE1FrW4q63x7cFb0YOUe6X7LlM2UT9/s1600/628x471.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEMI5bYTWqoM6zJ57PMiweAOxibE2BHlGKieSC-9vGTXsTndJ5jAJRDjfY4g8QY2s-CBmyEKceFkvAg3xMl424B58TzPzmNn38iP2wCUIbyTRcRYE1FrW4q63x7cFb0YOUe6X7LlM2UT9/s640/628x471.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Opening Day Event</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">It started last night and our first performance was Romeo and Juliet at the Dock Street Theater - a spectacular small theater built in oh who knows when, but considered the first theatre in America. It is sooooo beautiful and of the sweetest scale. And for me, it has the lingering memories of the days I actually acted upon that stage in a couple of plays here in Charleston and created the costumes for other plays. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lee and I agree that the play, performed by the Globe Theatre of London was a bit of a let down. The acting was fine. But I am such a fan of Romeo and Juliet, I just don't know how you can do this play without enough passion to almost burn the house down. But, i<span style="line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">t is exciting to see people actually choosing to be performers for a living. I love this. I appreciate this. And there were several especially fine performances! It just didn't sing as a whole.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But, all that said...they were really cute! And here they are performing in the streets earlier in the day.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4D8o_kHjTIELCKJD-ChpagrW0p2gjLpZghWeFW3-krVXa2suXQump8RhamRz5Tx3b_m3UxeKHNPO2vmCPlptF5AiEyQbJTYH1speo3vfY70yALUnil4dcBFWAfNwqROP-JmRa6NjhXaW2/s1600/628x471-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4D8o_kHjTIELCKJD-ChpagrW0p2gjLpZghWeFW3-krVXa2suXQump8RhamRz5Tx3b_m3UxeKHNPO2vmCPlptF5AiEyQbJTYH1speo3vfY70yALUnil4dcBFWAfNwqROP-JmRa6NjhXaW2/s640/628x471-1.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Players from the Globe Theater of London </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">Walking home at 11:00 at night, the moon lit the way and the stars sparkled. The big dipper hung over us in the navy night sky. The steeple of St. Phillips was a monument of limestone pointing to the stars. So the night, as a whole, was so charming. To get dressed and look at my husband in his Italian linen suit with the pocket square, his cropped beard, his Ray-Bans as we walked to the theater in the sunlight, then home, hand in hand after the play. This was all sweet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today we went to a chamber music concert - again at the Dock Street Theater - the same LOVELY 15 minute walk from our home - and it was fantastic. The moment it began with eight musicians on stage, featuring oboe, violin and harpsicord, a thrill moved through me - through my heart - and I was so happy to be in that seat. The second piece was contemporary, experimental and probably will be forgotten next week, but the first and third pieces - Vivaldi and Dvorak were so very beautiful and to think that you are spending a Saturday afternoon with these musicians who are so enjoying their lives in this moment, so into it, so generous.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0o1YlYxhyphenhyphentnNKgJGMt4Rh8zNEWi1SziUNuqk-NTPAauUzmJLoKafev2Q4R6qi-qoN59hqa4eH7fWKDqhZNqhm48ax8LjrbY0ZlGCzgVOIkpK1kyczJ9cCYYcxqCDECzlWGClLXy4vpSUH/s1600/images-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0o1YlYxhyphenhyphentnNKgJGMt4Rh8zNEWi1SziUNuqk-NTPAauUzmJLoKafev2Q4R6qi-qoN59hqa4eH7fWKDqhZNqhm48ax8LjrbY0ZlGCzgVOIkpK1kyczJ9cCYYcxqCDECzlWGClLXy4vpSUH/s640/images-2.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Performers from the Chamber Music Performance today</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Walking out into the afternoon, 75, dry, blue sky and breezy, we walked the long way home to take in the view of the harbor. Then I settled into my chair on the porch (working on that word "piazza" but it just doesn't stick for me) and dozed off in the breeze off the Ashley River.</span><br />
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Next week: Emmy Lou Harris. Madeleine Peyroux and Westminster Choir!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_JxR1tASNUPxXbfs9-yOzHB8USnmwX4io3St-5Ezav9SQu0EtAbNEkSKblIulxUDqeVdmx9-8du9ORmNyUeqmK135QW5vArJEzIFQzrEr9uHt5hcbRFunaZBOg71nX2BCA3Bp9em7U3U/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_JxR1tASNUPxXbfs9-yOzHB8USnmwX4io3St-5Ezav9SQu0EtAbNEkSKblIulxUDqeVdmx9-8du9ORmNyUeqmK135QW5vArJEzIFQzrEr9uHt5hcbRFunaZBOg71nX2BCA3Bp9em7U3U/s640/images-1.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Madleine Peyroux - next week!</span></td></tr>
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-90120054744799473792015-05-17T19:22:00.001-05:002015-05-17T19:47:23.014-05:00Slow Living in CharlestonI've had this slow living thing on my mind lately. Well, I arrived in Charleston yesterday, catching up with Lee who had been here since Thursday to work on the the school. Arriving on a Saturday was brilliant, and I will take note. It meant I didn't feel one ounce of compunction to work! The most "work" I did was thoroughly enjoyable. Buy flowers for the apartment, throw a table cloth on the piazza dining table, fluff the cushions, fill the frig.<br />
<br />
Today we started the day with Lee's most excellent cappuccino on the piazza. When I walked out this morning in my p.j.s to have coffee I almost cried. The morning was still and sweet and 72 degrees and I couldn't tell my outside from my inside except for the fragrance of jasmine that permeated the air floating around me. That, and the morning swallows out for their own breakfast.<br />
<br />
By 9:00 we decided to drive to the beach for our walk. And in no time, only 20 minutes later, we were trekking on the boardwalk to the beach. We planted our beach chairs, then set out to walk 3 miles, enjoying the children up early and digging in the sand, the dogs, dogs, dogs playing catch with balls and prancing in the water, the pick-up softball games with kids and dads and a metal rod for a bat.<br />
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The rest of the day was so slow. I have not been able to say I've had a slow day in years. Decades? Today passed slowly. After walking on the beach, we came home and, except for walking to King Street for an errand, I spent the day on the porch (piazza!) in the big old wicker chair with feather cushions reading my book of essays, working on my book and talking to Lee.<br />
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I did take a shower. And walk to dinner. Then walk home. And discovered a flower I've never seen or remembered seeing. And am now waiting for Mad Men to start.....at 10:00 p.m. here on the East Coast! But who cares? What else is there to do?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-j-LInnCgPLXAYMELSDC-XMPmiFkhnsZSiHD_SrJWniUINqKCyGwITrSwprHu50xjgrR3ZUZ2LjHbrvVeVx6AEEGb-jTDFbcGHSBlEGCPZ4pPN_ot3pKODScjc6CrE904dWgnR_2eNa3h/s1600/IMG_2220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-j-LInnCgPLXAYMELSDC-XMPmiFkhnsZSiHD_SrJWniUINqKCyGwITrSwprHu50xjgrR3ZUZ2LjHbrvVeVx6AEEGb-jTDFbcGHSBlEGCPZ4pPN_ot3pKODScjc6CrE904dWgnR_2eNa3h/s400/IMG_2220.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where I spent most of the day - in that wicker chair on the right.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our beach chairs on Sullivan's Island.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRet4aoobDt2uOKeCYa56Bnd-JrLgTEO97Sx_YXPIkuiifc4fr7VSVmJ9hjxohPmyJpbrsWtkPxXrmj3lzMLKI1y7mGhb9kDOSAaEXakDwknuj8I0g-VZIYUzOixFqAOdsXzha86ad2zh2/s1600/IMG_2235.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRet4aoobDt2uOKeCYa56Bnd-JrLgTEO97Sx_YXPIkuiifc4fr7VSVmJ9hjxohPmyJpbrsWtkPxXrmj3lzMLKI1y7mGhb9kDOSAaEXakDwknuj8I0g-VZIYUzOixFqAOdsXzha86ad2zh2/s400/IMG_2235.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lee. Reading. Beach. Three of my favorite things.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is real. I took this photo today. Can you smell it? A magnolia.<br />
A Southern magnolia. Not the kind we have in Minnesota.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Opening. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCGgQh4QNW7v7CxOQx3vdYzVAk5HJf7YhZ1Ffv0ZScrsolnqz2XbVCcA1dNh7UU16KIukzccKgKoaFVITmaZYR0Xbsj3ZwT9n9w9-xdAlYdKVzSZ7p02tbXy7PfVXXFUAxnS1RAHCNutNi/s1600/IMG_2243.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCGgQh4QNW7v7CxOQx3vdYzVAk5HJf7YhZ1Ffv0ZScrsolnqz2XbVCcA1dNh7UU16KIukzccKgKoaFVITmaZYR0Xbsj3ZwT9n9w9-xdAlYdKVzSZ7p02tbXy7PfVXXFUAxnS1RAHCNutNi/s400/IMG_2243.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We saw this on our way home from dinner. What the heck beautiful flower is this???<br />
Hint: It is a creeping flowering plant....like jasmine.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz68srWn719A4EKea2Fe5seQKqlfBHgVWNTKZYGZTe5UNpCsxzSPaxVQtFUTyhLh7QoCLaH6iF2YVJT4ogaK_JgDDQ_-cmp2bjzXQhG2k2le_qwpS-AzT1rj_w_eVBRVF1ygREttRHdsDO/s1600/IMG_2245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz68srWn719A4EKea2Fe5seQKqlfBHgVWNTKZYGZTe5UNpCsxzSPaxVQtFUTyhLh7QoCLaH6iF2YVJT4ogaK_JgDDQ_-cmp2bjzXQhG2k2le_qwpS-AzT1rj_w_eVBRVF1ygREttRHdsDO/s400/IMG_2245.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what it looks like tucked among its leaves and other flowers. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-87823029070229552812015-05-16T20:47:00.003-05:002015-05-16T20:52:44.171-05:00Back in Charleston - and building its first Waldorf School<img alt="Header final2.jpeg" class="" data-image-dimensions="2000x820" data-image-focal-point="0.5,0.5" data-image-resolution="1500w" data-image="http://static1.squarespace.com/static/5518513ae4b0ef9291b4a2c2/t/5526fb09e4b0ab26ec1af98c/1428618003872/Header+final2.jpeg" src="http://static1.squarespace.com/static/5518513ae4b0ef9291b4a2c2/t/5526fb09e4b0ab26ec1af98c/1428618003872/Header+final2.jpeg?format=1500w" data-src="http://static1.squarespace.com/static/5518513ae4b0ef9291b4a2c2/t/5526fb09e4b0ab26ec1af98c/1428618003872/Header+final2.jpeg" height="260" width="640" /><br />
<br />
Joined Lee in Charleston today. He came a couple days early to work on the Waldorf school we are going to create here....The Acorn School of Charleston.<br />
<div>
Yep, going to happen.</div>
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And just in sync...the New York Times publishes this piece for the Sunday paper. This was the topic of Lee's presentation today at an information meeting. </div>
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I feel so frustrated by our educational system in this country. We use our children as guinea pigs - let's try this, let's try that. And then, worst of all, we project our own fears onto our children. OMG....what if they aren't reading at 6! Are they damaged? Do they need special help? Are they on the "spectrum?"</div>
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So much pressure on kids. So much garbage. </div>
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I feel so happy to be working on creating a Waldorf School with Lee here in Charleston. Waldorf's attitude is "the later the better" - not "the sooner the better."<br />
<br />
Slow food? Why not Slow Childhood?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/17/opinion/sunday/let-the-kids-learn-through-play.html?action=click&pgtype=Homepage&module=opinion-c-col-right-region&region=opinion-c-col-right-region&WT.nav=opinion-c-col-right-region" target="_blank">http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/17/opinion/sunday/let-the-kids-learn-through-play.html?action=click&pgtype=Homepage&module=opinion-c-col-right-region&region=opinion-c-col-right-region&WT.nav=opinion-c-col-right-region</a></div>
<div>
<br />
Oh, and in service of shameless self-promotion, here is the website for the school:<br />
<a href="http://www.acornschoolcharleston.org/" target="_blank">www.acornschoolcharleston.org</a><br />
<br />
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Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-48872426939857855102015-05-09T21:00:00.001-05:002015-05-09T21:03:13.060-05:00Longest Hiatus Ever.....but back for Mother's Day. "Motherhood: The Default Setting"<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<u>Motherhood: The
Default Setting</u><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Written Spring 2007</span></div>
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My default setting
is “Motherhood.” It is in the “locked” position and takes clever technical
maneuvering to change the setting. Like, sending my almost independent children
away for long periods of time to faraway places so that I don’t have to feed
them or edit their English papers. Only then can I unlock the setting for a few
days…survive on salads, soup, wine and work. Until they return – when I predictably
head for the grocery store, ashamed of the depleted refrigerator, and rev up
the nagging about the state of their bedroom and the cat box and hover over
what is going into their mouths. “Don’t drink sodas. Please. I didn’t raise you
to drink soda.” This kind of hovering sometimes even keeps me from working,
which I do from home, in full view of too many of their activities. And,
working is not optional. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I am 53 years old,
working hard for a late-blooming career I love, but today I was involuntarily
drawn back into the drama of motherhood: where will my 17-year old daughter go
to college? Earlier this week, we returned from a two-day pilgrimage to
Madison, Wisconsin in hopes of finding the Holy Grail of College Educations at
the University of Wisconsin. It’s affordable. It’s highly ranked. Sounds
promising and easy. I drove the 5 hours there and the 5 hours home listening to
the Dixie Chicks singing about how they are still “mad as hell” and we both got
sufficiently worked up over the heated lyrics, joining in on the chorus. Until,
we couldn’t stand it any more. Then I turned on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">All Things Considered</i> and she took a nap.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hiked around the campus of 40,000 students
for 2.5 hours in wind and cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drank
more than our share of cappuccino, observing the packed house of slightly
alternative college students doing whatever they do in coffee shops, the whole
setting looking like an ad for Mac laptops. She bought a UW trucker’s hat and
felt right at home in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans. Things at Madison are
“chill,” according to her. I think I know what that means and I had to agree,
although I would have used a different adjective. I was served wine at the
local Mexican restaurant out of a massively over-sized wine glass. If this is
what they mean when they say it is a drinking school, I am officially worried.
This wine glass was larger than the water pitcher and we have photos to prove
it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have wondered if
the school is too big for her, that she will get “lost,” too much anonymity.
So, we visited a class, the large lecture with over a hundred sleepy-looking
students called “Communication and Human Behavior.” The professor asked a
question – one of those things you might know even if you hadn’t read the
material. No one responded and that annoyed her. She raised her hand, was
called on and answered the question. Clearly, she’ll be fine at Madison. We
thought it was settled. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Finally, I can get
back to work.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then
today, she heard from five more colleges. She applied to this vast number of
colleges with the philosophy “Cast a wide net,” because she needed to increase
her chances of a strong financial aid package. And she got in to all of them.
We are mostly just stunned. And so, once again, I am derailed by demands for
decisions, travel plans, discussions about preferences, financial aid, climate
and fashion at each of the said schools.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
I have work to do.
I support my children and myself. I have magazine stories I should be pitching.
I should be at the tile store, selecting tile for my client’s bathroom. I
should be filing papers and balancing checking accounts and doing my job. I
should be working. But I am so absorbed by the energy surrounding her right now
– some of it flattering, much of it overwhelming – that I cannot concentrate
and I see some modest need for keeping her focused on one step at a time,
except that I am not very good at that myself. There are calls to make about
campus visits, flights to book, budgets for all this to consider, bosses to
email for time off (for her), and friends to tell. We walk around the lake
together to talk it out. I should be returning emails.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
how many more days will I have to walk the lake with Isabelle? She is 17, a
senior, leaving home in a few months and never coming back in the same way. How
many more times will she show me the prom dress she thinks is cute and what do
I think, should she buy it on the Nordstrom website? How many times will we get
silly taking photos of the mammoth wine glass at the rinky-dink Mexican
restaurant? How many more times will she ask me if I think there is pork fat in
the refried beans, meaning she cannot eat it, the vegetarian that she is and
has been since she was five? I will miss her. For three years, I have missed my
son, Zan, who went to D.C. for college, to Paris and back, and who, thankfully,
still emails me his college papers for review on occasion, but is really gone
for good, I can tell.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am a mother
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begin to arrive soon. But, I wouldn’t miss this for anything. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-80797570714747035192014-11-14T20:01:00.000-06:002014-11-15T08:00:16.583-06:00The new chicWell I must be writing for myself since I haven't written in two months. Do six posts a year a blog make??? On to the topic.<br />
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I just received the new book <i>LouLou De La Falaise</i>. I transports me in the most beautiful way to the 1970s, 1980s, to Paris and London, when people were chic in a way we almost never see today, to a time when no one had a cell phone attached to them. At some point, "chic" was derailed by "sexy." LouLou, for those of you who don't know because you are oh so much younger than me, was born to mid-level European royalty in London in 1947 to an English mother who was a Parisian model, and who became a Parisian model herself in the 1960s with a striking resemblance to Twiggy - then went on to become the muse to Yves St. Laurent in the 1970's and a spectacular jewelry designer.<br />
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LouLou was a star. She was a star to the world. She was a star to me, a young aspiring fashionista, merchandiser, designer. She was everything I could ever imagine being. Fun, happy, expressive, not so much caring what others think because what she was doing was so much more!<br />
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The book is full of beyond belief photos and here is my point....there was not a cell phone in the entire book.<br />
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After I finished paging through the whole book with Lee next to me, attempting to explain the magic, I went online to Sartorialist, which I do every day or two, to see where Scott Schumann is hanging out. Of course he's been around the world - in Dubai, in Milan, in Paris. But sadly, MOST of his photos are of people with a cell phone. Not all! But most. It's like a pacifier, I have decided. People with a cell phone don't have to deal with reality, with other people. We can totally fake that we are busy with our phones or on a phone call to get out of interacting with another human being.<br />
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You couldn't do that in the really very fun 1970's and almost just as fun 1980s. Nope. No hidin out. Just you and the world. No pacifier.<br />
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So...here's my idea. What if we said, fine, use your phone during the day for work. But, man, in public, at a restaurant, out with friends, at a dinner party...ditch it. Just don't even bring it. What are we missing? A message? I'm changing my cell phone message to say the following:<br />
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Hi, this is Alecia and this is my cell phone which I never answer when in a meeting or out with a friend or driving, which seems to be alot of my life. So use it like an old fashioned phone. Leave a message, then I'll call you back when I get a chance. The fastest way to reach me is by email. Happy day.<br />
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Then, I'm going to get busy on chic. Since sexy is out of the question. Here are some images of LouLou.<br />
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-10840481516737887182014-08-25T08:11:00.003-05:002014-08-25T08:11:55.055-05:00For myself, maybe?I've been struggling with the whole idea of blogging since the beginning of the year. Here's the deal: someone close to me implied (STRONGLY) that blogging and Instagram and Facebook and all the yadda - yadda -blah - blah social media stuff is just TECHNO NARCISSISM. And man oh man, the air just went out of my sail because I am so fricking sensitive to criticism: I just stopped blogging. I've been struggling massively with this whole thing. As it gets more run of the mill, I find myself less interested in participating, too. Is it a cliche? But I am sitting here in Charleston tonight - I love writing - but I'm not quite in the mood to do the serious manuscript of a book kind of writing - just missing the more casual putting observations from the day on a page kind of thing.<br />
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So...who cares what anyone else thinks about my narcissism? Lee would say it was projection, anyway! I'm feeling like noodling around on my blog....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHiX00T5lCEXVvWg8TIwUZFPFX83q7Hu0UqMQL0GidniR1lsdng74Wg-_74N4jyQrxchboYGwwGZa_Pvk0Slx7S53YuijZnMmtUxzPV_h8LUKc37d1qzSO7eOfeQzxaS-ZY2EzWwgrZnTy/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHiX00T5lCEXVvWg8TIwUZFPFX83q7Hu0UqMQL0GidniR1lsdng74Wg-_74N4jyQrxchboYGwwGZa_Pvk0Slx7S53YuijZnMmtUxzPV_h8LUKc37d1qzSO7eOfeQzxaS-ZY2EzWwgrZnTy/s1600/photo.JPG" height="361" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flounder Ceviche at 167 Raw....my new favorite food. I think I slurp when I eat it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the bar at 167 Raw.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrE9VJTH0jHKU12VWVSVmIbGueUsxcmzL7od3GBRMPqMf1Jr0FZlf2LBLfFiSSkG8DhNbwqDoQ9U5Fzu1JefHjA6_2fPLtFFy1wm_6NqTCJBdIznKRBi1ygLXJ_AZ3brJYdd4vwvPiEcKn/s1600/photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrE9VJTH0jHKU12VWVSVmIbGueUsxcmzL7od3GBRMPqMf1Jr0FZlf2LBLfFiSSkG8DhNbwqDoQ9U5Fzu1JefHjA6_2fPLtFFy1wm_6NqTCJBdIznKRBi1ygLXJ_AZ3brJYdd4vwvPiEcKn/s1600/photo.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking home on Thursday night. This wonky cross caught my eye. Lovely.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaYuDXnnVQpyaI6KP4zRjI5l7DXfR-p4vYpqThRr-wnCLXdGe6FKGKFcovjOsDIXLsiH-DZeSdAvlsf5okc7veNTB7zmMmwGUaDN18ROaCuynffb6-ptbfOBWy-V0EfTZxY6o1Vgp-I3f9/s1600/photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaYuDXnnVQpyaI6KP4zRjI5l7DXfR-p4vYpqThRr-wnCLXdGe6FKGKFcovjOsDIXLsiH-DZeSdAvlsf5okc7veNTB7zmMmwGUaDN18ROaCuynffb6-ptbfOBWy-V0EfTZxY6o1Vgp-I3f9/s1600/photo.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butler's Tray with new "Spanish wine glasses" from Foundry Home Goods!</td></tr>
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It's Sunday. I arrived on Thursday. I am so madly in love with the ordinariness of my life here I can hardly contain it. I love sitting on the porch doing pretty much nothing but sweat and checking a text now and then. I love walking on the beach just at the edge of where water and earth meet. I love sleeping in the dark silence that defines this small town at night. I love the food that I find here: shrimp and oysters and flounder and grouper just out of the sea, ceviche raw. I love the fans whirring whirring whirring overhead, moving the westerly breezes off the Ashley River down the length of my piazza (porch) with swallows swooping around the steeple ahead there on Meeting. I love the palm tree in front of my house, the berries creating opportunities for the local squirrels to perform acrobatics; hanging by their feet from the telephone wires to pick the berries. I love the nothing expected of our days. I love the African Dance class Isabelle took me too. Something moving and profound and weepy-making about it in this place. I LOVE 167 Raw, the seafood restaurant and market that our upstairs neighbor Jessie just opened, patterned after his family business in Nantucket. If you say your family was in the seafood / fishing business in Nantucket for a couple generations, that seems like the real deal to me. So we checked it out and were there 2 x in 24 hours. Can't get enough of the ceviche - made fresh PER CLIENT ORDER! Or the Flounder Fish Sandwich - which they had for the 2 days the flounder was fresh - who knows what they will have next week. Then there is the Lobster Po'Boy. A couple from Boston were sitting next to us - repeat visitors - claiming better than anything in Boston! They specialize in "organic" and humanely caught seafood and, with the added benefit of having a great sense for presentation, flavor and seasoning, who could argue with that platform? It's our new #1 spot in Charleston. We are groupies. (That is not related to grouper, the fish.) Maybe a favorite part is that they don't yet have their liquor license - they are kind of being stonewalled by finicky Charleston neighbors, which is pretty wacky. But because of that, you can BYOB! How fun is that? Well, you can bring your own beer and wine...but makes for a cheap night and great picnic!<br />
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I heart Charleston.<br />
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8458209172050870245.post-90676978341516456122014-06-08T20:59:00.001-05:002015-05-09T21:11:41.793-05:00A Home in CharlestonI am going to write about the making of a new home. We bought a home (condo) in Charleston last month. Charleston is our happy place. We have no idea what we will do with this. I love that city and really have since I left there in 1985. I've been able to live without it, obviously, but more recently, have longed to return. Happily, Lee gets it, too. Walking, green year round, a palm tree in front of our home, antiques, 18th and 19th Century architecture, a remarkable food culture and people who love to be helpful.<br />
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Icy, cold winter here has gotten the better of me. I no longer want to live forever in a place I have to remove my shoes at the door. Still this is a terribly complicated matter. We ADORE our friends in Minneapolis. I LOVE my work and my clients and this is where my work is. So, I imagine doing something flexible and creative and seamless when it comes to serving my clients. And, still, I don't know exactly how that will work. But, I've done it before when I lived half time in NYC. We are keeping our beautiful 510 apartment as the home base for my business. Mostly I am hoping and expecting to enrich my life and my work by spending time in Charleston. For now, we'll rent the condo on VRBO except for the times we'll want to be there.<br />
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******Just this week I purchased 4 pieces of furniture from Charleston for clients in Minneapolis and arranged to have them shipped here. Antiques ROCK in Charleston!*******<br />
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A few snips and snaps:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWWidWLink0lvPaol9QQ2q0aHa4tiobNTmptlvYSwWhmQd2r917Ff91xGc9MY54XfVx6FCrHwscY55dYBXIfL-6zvcekQmKHFKKcClkyGWuStAI0gkd6nb2swx5RuoB0f81P6-Utal1DJZ/s1600/14+Elizabeth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWWidWLink0lvPaol9QQ2q0aHa4tiobNTmptlvYSwWhmQd2r917Ff91xGc9MY54XfVx6FCrHwscY55dYBXIfL-6zvcekQmKHFKKcClkyGWuStAI0gkd6nb2swx5RuoB0f81P6-Utal1DJZ/s1600/14+Elizabeth.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1860 Greek Revival - the first floor is our home - with that GREAT PIAZZA <br />
( Charleston's name for the more pedantic "porch". )</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGKuzjn61gaJ1OEaB52fBOTn01NLX9WsBFF1uNE1rwfCfzO7XxM9a6hUYQDoNZ0rOEfVwHoPHY5pg5m_6IfGGoWJlOaFkADVqgb_z_yHZF441sgiLTnOVbcbRs48abQl_tQGvgOo2Z1hRG/s1600/IMG_3856.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGKuzjn61gaJ1OEaB52fBOTn01NLX9WsBFF1uNE1rwfCfzO7XxM9a6hUYQDoNZ0rOEfVwHoPHY5pg5m_6IfGGoWJlOaFkADVqgb_z_yHZF441sgiLTnOVbcbRs48abQl_tQGvgOo2Z1hRG/s1600/IMG_3856.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image with the blow up mattress and nothing else. Original heart pine floors c. 1860 and fireplace.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVH4-nSjGCgLdbrMQgSyTC7uGTsaXGJaKBIW6PzrU-n39oiR-w4LeXgOEmZVpiMfetL8Dzx08uP7H6IOcwL3p6z-dRiINF7d_lr7HVgLn3sUoG2EHoU8UrZaxTHnI9cvqKcD9l_TF_7MGs/s1600/IMG_3863.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVH4-nSjGCgLdbrMQgSyTC7uGTsaXGJaKBIW6PzrU-n39oiR-w4LeXgOEmZVpiMfetL8Dzx08uP7H6IOcwL3p6z-dRiINF7d_lr7HVgLn3sUoG2EHoU8UrZaxTHnI9cvqKcD9l_TF_7MGs/s1600/IMG_3863.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll be painting the walls - oh, I am such a just want it white gal! (Though this white will be<br />
Ben Moore Navajo White to match the existing trim.) Again, the gorgeous heart pine floors, another fireplace in the Living Room (this would have been the original dining room probably. 12 foot ceilings! Woo hoo!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVBvcO5IKwesFnFTtQc36H-7ne7UB_dobREXhmo6xN1b_4HrWsJVRCgcvieNZI04jR1Dn9GVRlDGD4jbww5BWXDrJLT9TCiNjbN2L7Sau96SeyZh2V62w2qtxpff24chRKsyXgb9DX0eQ/s1600/IMG_3864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVBvcO5IKwesFnFTtQc36H-7ne7UB_dobREXhmo6xN1b_4HrWsJVRCgcvieNZI04jR1Dn9GVRlDGD4jbww5BWXDrJLT9TCiNjbN2L7Sau96SeyZh2V62w2qtxpff24chRKsyXgb9DX0eQ/s1600/IMG_3864.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piazza with great view of Palmetto tree and church steeple. <br />
This is furniture the owner's left for us - perfectly useful for now!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XXiKgXgP8fxESKF4aDoL9eII2D5KGuXdLi-1mZlU1zrhxTVCdTx1Bxqxe3eYlVTNilUPdhXYAOEWzPF91n27o2o1nThUreP7iVceDgybk4VhKK6w2mwf7JDZVWT9H6lWn7P-SqHexzNM/s1600/IMG_3866.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XXiKgXgP8fxESKF4aDoL9eII2D5KGuXdLi-1mZlU1zrhxTVCdTx1Bxqxe3eYlVTNilUPdhXYAOEWzPF91n27o2o1nThUreP7iVceDgybk4VhKK6w2mwf7JDZVWT9H6lWn7P-SqHexzNM/s1600/IMG_3866.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">French doors in both of the main rooms onto the piazza. Crazy beautiful indoor - outdoor living.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtL0MrmAhaxnAGJM13zjtdS_9EnBzjIJRTAliioDaP_cYKtlim5TN8FkgMXOAHxt9I_85jHQeLWzidg-ToT4lWUO4xcHor7hO0ydWNCwt1kkzhNrNdniB8SVwqTxmnSR4o4_KLy776WBU/s1600/IMG_3874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGtL0MrmAhaxnAGJM13zjtdS_9EnBzjIJRTAliioDaP_cYKtlim5TN8FkgMXOAHxt9I_85jHQeLWzidg-ToT4lWUO4xcHor7hO0ydWNCwt1kkzhNrNdniB8SVwqTxmnSR4o4_KLy776WBU/s1600/IMG_3874.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the in process bedroom after some the antiques were delivered and before<br />
room is painted...But after I was trying out the colors on the walls!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYl1Q6KpscQGs6dh_rQ-n7CP7bbI1LJw1fJpEQ8WFRWGlhx1BC5fIW4P8AuirQic8_SxeIhYqo8e0U6lXfnYQH3ILlFU5troVViHfqNxpFc0m5hgZuAm1JJ81DpgQrTPcHoZbG42qsr4gp/s1600/IMG_3876.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYl1Q6KpscQGs6dh_rQ-n7CP7bbI1LJw1fJpEQ8WFRWGlhx1BC5fIW4P8AuirQic8_SxeIhYqo8e0U6lXfnYQH3ILlFU5troVViHfqNxpFc0m5hgZuAm1JJ81DpgQrTPcHoZbG42qsr4gp/s1600/IMG_3876.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another view of the Bedroom - with great old vintage wingback chairs I found<br />
in Charleston in musty green leather. </td></tr>
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<br />Alecia Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00426487983534237960noreply@blogger.com0