Rick comes to visit!

Jet-lagged and exhausted from the 45 hour journey from the other side of the globe, Rick and I started his few days vacation here with a culture shock:  pasta without chopsticks!  ("where are they?  I can't eat pasta with a fork anymore!")

From there, we went all-American and made both chex mix and puppy chow for the next evening's festivities in the Penthouse.  Life?  Deliciously American.  

On Tuesday, we ended up walking across the bridge (hello, arms, you so white!  No worries, mom, the 15 minute walk gave me the only sun I'll be getting sans sunscreen this summer). 

Symphony Hall, decked out for the Pops

Boston Pops + 1812 Overture + howitzers = I love America.

The MFA entrance, highlighting the Chihuly exhibit.

So here's the thing.  Rick and I met long ago at band camp.  Ha.  This was also about two years after American Pie came out, much to the chagrin of flute players everywhere.  Anyways, we were up at the University of Minnesota, Duluth for a week, a time that felt Extremely Grown Up.  We shared dorm rooms, we made our own decisions about free time, we ate what we wanted to, ah, freedom.

And oh goodness--we also played unsanctioned ultimate frisbee at midnight, propping doors open to make sure we could.  There was also the fact that the boys playing were shouting random things for the charge after every point (kind of like the kick off in football) and this degraded into shouting about one of my friends  "---- is hot!" as well as applying this to other young ladies in the crowd, even yours truly.  I can't remember, though, exactly why.  My memory is obviously fading in my old age, for I can't remember if Gena told one of the guys to do it to make me feel better, or if I made some smart aleck comment, or if they just cycled through the names of the brave young lasses who decided to join them for the fun.  Ah well, that is one story lost to time.  (in trying my best to remember what actually happened that night, I did some checking into old emails and my word, what gossip I have forgotten.  Ha!)

Rick, in particular, was a character.  He walked around with a little black book, taking down funny stories, addresses, people, soaking it all in.  He and the other percussionists had a great time together, and in their exploring found the University of Minnesota at Duluth Art Museum, which just happened to be showing an extended documentary about Dale Chihuly.  And then they watched the entire thing, no joke.  They invited us all to watch with them, and we kind of looked at them like they were nuts.  (and they were).  Since then, Chihuly has been a great joke between Rick and I, hence the visit to the MFA's exhibit being of paramount importance. 

Shadow of a chandelier

The thing I love most about Chihuly is that he is completely without artistic pretensions; when asked to describe the boat piece he said, "Well, I was dropping my glass pieces in a stream just because, and I was paying some local boys to put it back in the boat for me.  I liked how they all looked in the boat." 

He also loved Pendleton blankets.

It's impossible to really show this room to scale.  It was incredible.

These are details from the Persian ceiling.  I want them in my bathroom.  (when I marry a zillionaire, obviously).

photo credit:  MFA, my camera batteries died.  The story behind this one?  "So I was in the glass factory in Amsterdam that had really high ceilings, and I just wanted to see how tall I could make them!"  Excellent.

The night ended with dinner at the Cambridge Brewing Company followed by a couple rounds at Drink, a local establishment with somewhat Prohibitionist decor (the guys wear suspenders, be still my heart!)   Drinks are expensive, especially for a grad student that doesn't go out much.  But, they are worth the money, and the bartenders are wonderful. Knowledgeable and friendly, I don't think they'd do this job unless they loved it.

All smiles in front of 77 Mass Ave before heading back to Minnesota.