'My painting carries with it the message of pain.'

So, I'm reading in front of the fire at Caribou Coffee yesterday when I see a jolly old guy bending over, looking at me closely. 'You looked just like my daughter sitting there and I just had to make sure. She'd have been reading a book too.' I apologized--because that is usually what I do, and I had a mouthful of pumpkin bread. [why?] That's what he asked too. 'Because I wasn't your daughter, I guess,' I mumbled. He assured me it was o.k. to be me [what?] and that in fact, he had just seen her on Thanksgiving; just didn't expect to see her here. Long, boring story short, it pays to look people straight in the eye to see if they are who you think they are. Incidentally, a corollary to 'don't believe everything you think.'

Turkey Day has come and gone, now just a sweet/savory memory. Sadly, our table was short one place as Erica had to stay in D.C. to prepare for exams. Audrey arrived on Thanksgiving Day and spent 4 more days. While here she and I made a pilgrimage to view the travelling Frieda Kahlo exhibit at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis in honor of the 100th anniversary of Frieda's birthday. Not only were there many of her unique self portraits but there was a collection of never seen before photographs from her personal albums. Some of them showed her in traction after her accident when she was 18 as well as other candids with Diego Rivera and even Leon Trostsky. Seeing her works, born out of her pain--

“I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best.”

with her signature tiny brush strokes and sometimes surrealistic landscapes and still-lifes was such an emotionally charged experience for both of us, sending us straight away for tea and cookies.

While I write, at 5 am, this is the weather report in our part of Minnesota:

10 °F / -12 °C

Windchill: -5 °F / -20 °C

Wind @13 mph from the West (from Julie in N.Dak.!)
Clear