EITELJORG

We met friends for the afternoon at the Eiteljorg yesterday; the exhibit of weapons from the cowboy-and-old West era had piqued the interest of our guy friend, and he asked Chris to join him for a stroll through the various gunnery, to explain things and answer his questions about calibers and uses and such. Guy Stuff.

We two ladies decided to just take our ease in the tearoom, since we’d toured the art and weavings and baskets and most of the other museum displays several times already. It was a gorgeous sunny afternoon, and just walking up to that vast browny/tanny edifice, with its great expanse of grounds and all the huge bronzes on the lawn---deer and buffalo roam indeed. You go into the parking garage, and stash your vehicle in the cold depths, then take the elevator upupup, walking out of big glass doors onto the sidewalks leading to the immense doors.

Those doors, huge and heavy and bestrewn with great black ironmongery, befit a fort or a castle or one of those strongholds so aptly named a Keep; you stand there in another place, awaiting your permission to pass, almost smelling the hot sand of early Texas or Arizona, feeling the great PEACE of the place in the afternoon sun.

She and I meandered down the halls, through some sort of unannounced bazaar: interminable stalls of wares just-for-the-buying---crockery in glorious colors and intricate moldings, paintings and sculpture and some of the most beautiful stone jewelry. I’m not a jewelry person, myself---one little gold ring is about it for me, but the sheer artistry of the necklaces was so wonderful that I just walked slowly by each and every display board, admiring and sighing. My friend has a great knowledge of rocks and crystals and such, and she engaged the artisan in a discussion of various stones and polishing techniques---they named rocks which sounded to me like flowers and constellations and maybe even Biblical tribes. My favorite was “dragonsblood”---a heavy string of chunky squared beads of stone, with gold beads between, and a shining oval pendant of the stone, all the green depths shot with wine-red markings. Just lovely.

And we remarked to each other that our tastes and styles are so different: she’d have twelve of the necklaces hanging from all the nice hangers in her dressing room, and wear them with dash and elan. I’d use them as curtain tiebacks and garnishments around the fronts of lampshades.

We sat over tea and coffee out in the big bright atrium, just chatting of things since we’d seen each other last; we discussed teaching little ones to read, her own putting together of chapters of math classes she teaches, in using all the rhomboids and dodecahedrons for illustrating the problems. Fascinating. I just love talking to her---they both are just brilliant, and such fun and so witty that the time just flies.

The guys came back and sat with us for a bit, then we said our good-byes out on the lawn. Chris suggested we run by Shapiro’s for a pound of corned beef and a loaf of their wonderful rye. We went into the takeout end of the restaurant, looking out over the big cafeteria space, which was filled, even at four, with lots of the basketball fans---we’d forgotten about Final Four, and the town is filled, especially the area around the Museum/Convention Center/Stadium/Victory Field.

We came home, got into comfy clothes, and had lovely warm corned beef sandwiches and dill pickles. We’d also had a look into the magnificent pastry cases, as well, and I’d chosen a little bar marked “Pear-Apricot Bars.” It looked juicy and luscious, with all the colors of both blended atop a nice nutty crust.

He’d also picked an Espresso Brownie, a cannoli with chocolate cream filling and each end dipped into ganache, a strudel-type thing like a cannoli with nuts and apples and a caramelly filling, and a tiny diamond of Baklava.

So we took a little knife and sliced off a wee bit of each and made the prettiest little dessert plates to go with our second glass of tea. He’d asked when we sat down with our trays, “Do we have any OLD movies recorded?”

And I obliged with two I’d TIVOed the night before: Jason and the Argonauts and Clash of the Titans (original version, with Olivier, Harry Hamlin in his Dreamsicle Days and Dear Maggie Smith, perfect as always). Almost TOO MUCH action, those incomparable Harryhausen special effects, and heroics enough for any six movies---a DOUBLE FEATURE, no less, with my Best Fella.