Note to self: Never underestimate the strange workings of the Unconscious. . .
In case you're curious about what I wrote, on the actual anniversary of my mother's birthday, I'll transcribe my tough-to-read handwriting for you. Centre left, at an angle, I've written: Stopped now for coffee -- at Barista -- mostly because I need to use a toilet. On the right: Walked up to Nob Hill again, this time in the rain. My destination: a lovely stitching-supplies shop In Stitches -- two tables full of women working on gorgeous needlework projects, talking and laughing. I would have loved to join them. Must find something like this at home.
Then vertically, from the bottom of the page upwards, on the left, On my way to meet Paul for lunch, walking a route through the Pearl District I happened upon Oblation, a very seductive shop beautifully stocked with papers and pens and ink. Ooh-la-la! Top of the list for a future visit.
Here are some photos I took of Oblation's storefront -- I went inside for a quick peek at their selection of fountain pens and ink. So hard to pull myself away, but Pater was waiting, my tummy was growling....
Now that I've shared that journal page with you, it's almost time for my breakfast, but first, one more look at that wall I so admired in Portland, and below, an interpretation I painted of it while practising what I learned in that watercolour class last weekend.
I hope it's clear I wasn't trying to copy the wall, but mixing up the various yellows and brick and mortar colours was a good way to apply some of the principles I learned and to get more comfortable (not quite there yet!) with how much water and what size brush and. . . .
Oh, and by the way, I've forgotten to mention lately that I've posted recently on my reading blog -- if you're interested in finding some mysteries to read, check out my last two posts here.
Now for that breakfast. . . .
Comments about travel journals or creative efforts or wandering new-to-you cities or peering in shop windows or the way your travels inspire you to try new things at home. . . all welcome, as you must know.