If you ever find yourself in the Westmoreland Museum of American Art in Greensburg, Pa. you will likely be impressed by the variety of things to see and appreciate.
There’s one in particular piece you should look for while exploring. In a rather unremarkable stairwell, there is a large Dale Chihuly glass chandelier. You can stand under it on the stairs or you can appreciate it at eye level from a hallway.
Chihuly’s work is recognizable because it’s so different than what most glass artists are doing. He mimics shapes found in nature, the colors are brilliant even when he’s using a monochromatic scheme, and the scale is typically quite large.
A lot of places would be tempted to hang this piece in their lobby so you can’t help to see it. They would want to show it off . At Westmoreland, it’s placed somewhere quiet, somewhere that you feel like you’re discovering it, and where you can quietly contemplate how the glass handles the light.
Tucked away in Greensburg, Pennsylvania is an art museum that exists because a woman nearing the end of her life decided her city needed one.
The Westmoreland Museum of American Art opened in 1959 thanks to a gift from Mary Marchand Woods that established the Woods Marchand Foundation ten years before.
We spent a wonderful Saturday afternoon there admiring artwork but also contemplating the thought and ingenuity that went into using space to tell a story.
They have a permanent collection as well as space that rotates. There is a Chihuly installation in a random stairwell and a permanent collection them at celebrated the industrial and working class origins of Pittsburgh.
Some favorites include this piece of gorgeous stained glass from Tiffany Glass around 1905.
Pieces that celebrate the blue color workers who built Pittsburgh are incredibly moving.
Artwork on baseballs was a fun surprise that I liked. I don’t care about baseball at all but thought these pieces of art created by minor league umpire George Sosnak were pretty great.
That’s the thing about museums. if you go with an open mind, you never know what amazing new favorite thing you will find.
Next up I’ll tell you about a special exhibit that, unfortunately, has ended but that I think you might enjoy hearing about!
I’m home after a few days of adventures with my Pittsburgh pal. She gives me the insider tour of her city and, this time, we also took a day trip over to historic Bedford, Pennsylvania.
This was my first real adventure of the year and it didn’t come a moment too soon. I was feeling restless, deprived, and yearning for something more interesting than my own four walls. I have a good life but it’s better when I step away occasionally to see what else the world has to offer.
We did a book crawl, ate at a historic tavern, and looked at art and historic buildings. We shopped, contemplated the sacrifices made by our veterans, and browsed a middle eastern food market near her home.
It is never lost on me how different her life is from mine because of where we live.
There are about three dozen independent bookstores in the Pittsburgh area. There are radio stations that play more than top forty country and pop music. I listened to some jazz radio while in the area and was sad to lose the station as I traveled away from the city. There are markets and restaurants that cater to ethnic cuisines and her very nice neighborhood of tree lined streets is filled with people who have come from afar. There are more jobs, more money, more educational opportunities, more museums, more of everything really.
The contrast between urban and rural is surprising sometimes.
Yet, where I live is beautiful. We have a shared sense of community that comes from everyone attending the same high school, shopping at the same grocery store, and being so small we tend to know each other.
Where I live in the country, there are no sidewalks or streetlights. There’s also no traffic unless you count school buses, farm equipment, and the occasional road construction.
I can hear a variety of birds and frogs in my yard and my closest neighbors are far enough away I don’t really hear them.
Quality of life is awfully good in many ways here but it’s also nice to leave and to have different experiences.
At one point, I stood before a mirror in the ladies room at Bedford Candy. My hair was a mess and I had the wild eyed look of someone who was so busy running around and looking at stuff that time didn’t matter.
It’s true, I spent almost the entire trip without any idea what day it was or what time it was. I was in my element and didn’t give a gosh darn what the clock said.
I have missed that version of myself. Planning and schedules have nearly crowded her out.
Yet, all good things must end. I’m home safe. The people in my life are thrilled to have me back. My little house panther couldn’t be happier. I keep catching him staring at me like he just wants to make sure I’m really here.
I am really here, a country mouse tucked away in my country house with a few stories to share and a mess to clean up. Not only do I need to unpack, there are groceries and fun purchases that still need to be put away today.
For now though, I can take my time, enjoy my little cat’s company, and savor the memories of experiences that helped me remember who I am.
This is just a three day workweek for me since I had a long weekend out gallivanting. No offense to my job or other aspects of my regular life because I’m grateful for all of it…. but … TGIF.
It’s so easy to get sucked back into everyone else’s troubles, bad work habits, and all the daily annoyances that tug at our brains and demand attention.
For this week, though, I have been working to mentally pull myself away from all of that at least for a moment or two at a time. When my brain starts to latch on to something negative, I take myself back to one particular moment on Saturday night.
After a glorious day of exploring the shores of a fairytale land called Presque Isle State Park, some light book shopping, and sipping milkshakes, we headed back to the beach to witness the sunset.
We left our shoes in the car but took towels and jackets. We took books in place of troubles. We took cold drinks instead of worries.
We staked out a spot on a small peninsula where the waves might trick you into believing you’re at the ocean and not at the Lake Erie shore in Pennsylvania. We dug our toes into the sand and I used my bag as a pillow while reclining to read.
As the sun began to descend, lower and lower against the horizon, the pleasantly warm day began to feel pleasantly cool. I stood to put on a light jacket. That’s when I noticed a large gathering of gulls on the rocks. All faced the western horizon as though they too were excited to see the cotton candy sky, colors so special that they can only be created by the setting sun.
And then, without warning, all those gulls simultaneously took off and left us alone to focus on the sky.
There was a slight breeze and the sand was turning cooler beneath my feet. I shuddered when a young woman waded out into the lake for one last dip in the golden hour.
I wondered aloud about the water temperature but she was happy doing her thing and I was happy doing mine.
And this, my friends, is where I am disappearing to in my brain when too much of the real world tries to crowd in this week.
We all need a happy memory, something with lots of sensory details that we can grab hold of and escape to when the world gets to be too much. I’m grateful for mine and encourage you to dig through your memories for one of your own. If you don’t have one, better go out and make some!
When I arrived at my Pittsburgh friend’s cute Mt Lebanon neighborhood last week, I was a little bedraggled and lugging a duffle bag so large you could stuff at least one grown adult inside.
I was supposed to prepare for just a few days but was ready for at least two weeks. Lacking the discipline to figure out what to pack, it seems I just took everything.
I called it the manifestation of all that was happening inside my brain as her husband lugged it inside.
And so began our annual Labor Day tradition.
Sometimes we go places. Last year we took the train from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia and hit all the historic sites. Sometimes we stick around Pittsburgh and she gives me the insider’s experience all over her city.
This year we did both – running away for a bit to soak in the beauty of Presque Isle State Park at Lake Erie.
It was somewhere in the middle of that park that I began to breathe better and to remember who I am. Was it when Nichola told me to turn around just in time to see a bald eagle glide across the trees? Was it when we rounded the bend of an overgrown path to unexpectedly find ourselves on shore line? Was it on a striped blanket on a chilly August Saturday as we waited for the sun to set?
I suppose it was in all of these places that I felt true joy and a connection to nature. Verizon doesn’t work great at the island so my phone barely made a peep, making it possible to enjoy life without distraction.
It has been a while since I have been able to hike consistently and comfortably. It has been a long, hard summer with the heat, humidity and a meniscus tear slowing me down.
To stand beneath a blue sky and simply breathe cooler air was such a gift. Sand between my toes as the water lapped at my ankles felt like therapy. To hear the chirp of an osprey as it soared overhead felt like a reward for good behavior. A pocketful of tiny shells and pebbles felt like presents from nature to help me recall the windswept day on the beach when I found myself again.
I’m not sure how many times I have to wear myself out and lose track of my own identity only to rediscover it while adventuring but I’m grateful every time I make my way back to me again.
