It’s a smoky morning, natürlich

A dense fog rolled in this morning. Much like rain, a good fog awakens my soul. It reminds me of Germany and baking bread and hot coffee and walking around with coats and mittens on-while hoping this next ancient church might let me use the bathroom.


And due to the fact that I’m a German-born woman, with thick German blood, who married a German, who speaks (broken) German and loves a good Weinerschnitzel, fog is the memory catalyst into my mind bank.

(A memory trampoline, if you will.)


A long walk on the top of an Austrian mountain-in the wrong direction-brought Biceps and I to this gorgeous churchyard. We rewarded ourselves by eating at a local restaurant, enjoying pommes fritas und bier. The fog blanketed the cemetery as we ate, reminding me simultaneously of bad horror movies and the hovering of the Holy Spirit. (Is that possible?)


After hours on a train, in a cab and then on a boat, we made it to Hallstadt, Austria. It was a silent and foggy morning-no motor cars, no tourists and no one awake yet-making us feel as if we were the only two people in this quaint town.

However, once the townspeople woke up, they proved us wrong-hollering out their “Guten Morgens” und “Kaffee?”. But for a moment, it was just us, the cows and the fog.

It may be weird, but fog wraps me up in a cozy blanket and makes me feel protected. What’s your favorite weather change?

Read more

And so the week begins. Or does it?

Last week, I kept thinking Wednesday was Saturday, Sunday was Tuesday and so forth and so on. I was-what you would call-jacked up. There was a lot on my plate, on my mind, and on my to-do list. Most of the week, I didn’t feel like myself.

I felt like this.


Crazy Rebekah
Wigged out, freaked out and out of my mind. Ever had one of those weeks? So, I did what any normal person would do.

At every stop light, or between each meeting, I went into my happy place-my home away from home-to have what I call, a “Rebekah-day”.


I dreamt about our month long vacation (“vay-k” for you hipsters) to Europe-the lovely places we visited, the foods we ate….the complete lack of responsibility I enjoyed (which drove Biceps nuts).


I dreamt about the mornings where we walked around with coffee in one hand, pastry in the other and got to know another new city. We were surrounded by natives speaking their own languages, creating a cocoon between us and “them”. I felt like we were the only two people in the world-unless of course, I needed a bathroom (which was often) and then I had to interact with aforementioned natives.


Europe-Guten Morgen
I dreamt about staying at “Rose’s Haus” in Austria; after we asked for a refund from the non-air conditioned, communal offered bathroom, cheap hostel we had originally booked our two nights with.

The morning we awoke at Rose’s Haus, I was greeted exuberantly by her husband (the bearded man above), arms ready to receive a hug, who boomed out, “Guten Morgen!”. After hugging, he led us to our breakfast table and told us stories in German. I understood about 45% of it, but that seemed enough for him.


I loved the quietness of the car-free cities. Hallstadt was foot friendly only-save one or two market days when produce trucks wound around the precarious road attached to the side of the mountain and thanked their lucky stars they made it, one more time.


And, then there’s Paris (if you want to get fancy, say- “Pair-wee”). Biceps, Eiffel Tower, carousel, coffee, the Louvre…I was in heaven.


I could escape right now to Salzburg-with the only sounds being the train a mile below and the cow bells in the backyard. The morning was spent watching the mist rise from the mountaintops while enjoying a Nescafe.


Right now, this Monday morning-I’m in Venice in my mind. I can smell the bakery, hear the quartet in the background which is accompanied by the thousands of pigeons warbling and forget that I’m in Tulsa.

Hot, sweaty Tulsa. Wonderful Tulsa, but hot and sweaty nonetheless. And, suddenly it’s not Monday. It’s Rebekah-day.

Read more

Sassy Pants Art: Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art

I have been uber bogged down with obligations. (Blech.) Life tends to get in the way of my passions-and one of my passions is this blog/site, while another is observing amazing art.

Enough is enough. Time for some fun-and time to observe life/art in a new way-a sassy way.


Hey, “Eyebrows”. I mean…seriously. Even back then they had scissors and ways to bleach hair. Do something about it.


“A ticked-off cat”. I know this. I feel this. I’ve seen this. Life is art.


Mr. Abs: “Yes, I do Paleo. Yes, I do Crossfit. Yes, I wear coolouts. Yes, I shave my head into a weird pony tail. Why do you ask?”
Me: “Um. No reason at all. You look…awesome?”


Lady on the left: “Don’t pretend you were ‘caught’ in this pose. Get some friggin’ clothes on.”
Lady on the right: “All I could find was this 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton sheet. Geesh. Don’t be such a prude. I’m just as God made me.”


Oh! That’s where I left it! My trusty old, Indiana Jones backpack. I was hankering for my PB & J, my orange and thermos of milk…

That’s all the sass I will expose you to today. And, since I’ve deprived you for almost a week of my sass-I hope you can handle it.

Am I the only one that ever feels this way in an art museum?




Read more

Sunday Culture and a little weirdness

Ah…Kansas City-you have done it again. You successfully avoided being named both “Possum Trot” and “Rabbitville”, progressed past just being a cow town and into a cultural mecca. However, I can still wear cowboy boots and not be judged (hint, hint New York).

I cannot deny my love for you.


I shucked my heels and wore sensible flats this time, knowing I would be at the Nelson-Atkins Museum forever. My first stop-this lovely Eames chair. Can a chair be more pure, more beautiful, more simple? Sure, you could have some fancy throne covered in lambs wool and overstuffed to the gills. And you may argue that it is indeed more comfortable. And, you might be right.

But, I would still choose this chair every time.


Turning the corner, I ran smack dab into this Jackson Pollock painting. Be still my coffee-beating heart. I have loved this artist since my first encounter with his work and have not lost my affection yet.

I see a wolf and a lady. What do you see?


This painting had my attention for a solid 15 minutes. The vibrant colors were gorgeous and the darkening sky was beautifully ominous. Some amazingly talented human, with only a brush and some oil paint created this on a white canvas.

I’m happy if I can draw a straight line.


This Subodh Gupta Egg was made exclusively of silver utensils and objects-and signifies the new India.

For some unknown reason, I was drawn to it. I’m a girl. I like shiny things.


I call this one, “Fancy Peas”. It was untitled, so I took liberties with it. Hope that’s alright with Mr. Alexander Ross. (Mr. Ross, maybe you should name your pieces and morons like me wouldn’t take liberties.)


This, of course, reminded me of a cat-a Native American cat. Possibly of the KittenMeow tribe.
(Brad Kahlhamer: Bowery Nation)


I saved the best for last. This installation-”Chromoplastic Mural” by Luis Tomasello (who was 96 at the time) was bold and unique, and the perfect resting spot for my little feet.

The floor is an acceptable place to hang out in a museum, right?

Read more