Author: Marlys Lawry Page 49 of 55

A man named J. Paul Getty assembled an impressive collection of art and artifacts. In 1954, he opened his Malibu home three afternoons a week as a museum. Because he wanted to share the beauty. And then in 1968, Getty recreated a first-century Roman villa on his property to display his growing collection of art. And now the Getty Museum has expanded to two locations with the Villa housing Getty’s Greek and Roman antiquities.

One of the things I appreciated about the Getty Villa was how the exhibits flowed between indoor and outdoor spaces. In some cases, instead of moving from room to room, one must exit one room into the inner courtyard before entering the next room. How lovely is that, says the outdoor girl.

Read More

When he died, it surprised even me how quickly I sorted through Hubby’s clothing. I’d read where widows put this sort of thing off for months. Years. But we were heading into winter in central Oregon and there were men at Shepherd’s House—the men’s shelter and rehab program where Hubby volunteered three mornings a week—who could use warm outerwear and thick wool socks and gloves and backpacks.

But I saved a few shirts and a red-and-black silk tie for a memorial quilt.

Read More

Usually sometime around Tuesday or Wednesday, he’d ask, “What are we doing for date night?” I loved it when Hubby talked that way. Even after he didn’t feel like leaving the house, I’d make a dinner run—anything that sounded good to him, anything that would entice him to eat—and we’d watch something on Netflix, which he usually dozed through after not eating his dinner. But I loved that he still wanted to keep date night alive.

And so last evening being Friday, with Hubby in my heart, I rode my bike to the beach for those fabulous fish tacos on the boardwalk.

Read More

Author Mark Batterson writes:

Don’t accumulate possessions; accumulate experiences.

This was one of the lessons of cancer for us. Even though Hubby and I were both still working full-time, we decided to make more adventures and take road trips and create more memories. While there was still time. While Hubby felt like it.

Read More

Found the perfect Valentine for Hubby. I love the story of us. The inside reads: “I love our details – our music, our code words and all the memories we’ve made together. I love our friends, our friendship, and everything else that connects us heart and soul.”

Hubby and I didn’t have any code words, but we had our own private signals. Like when we squeezed the other’s hand three times, it meant, “I love you.” And Hubby rattling his keys in his pocket meant, “Are you ready to go?”

Read More

I received this card from family and its message gives pause for thought: “Hope believes anything is possible.”

The inside reads: “Hope for the best, plan for the best, expect the best. You have every reason to keep moving forward … closer and closer to your dream.”

Read More

I promise not to blog about bike riding to the beach every day. (Maybe just every other day.) This afternoon I turned right on the bike path instead of south past the marina. Apparently north is where all the action is. Of course it helped that today’s high was a balmy 73 degrees.

Today was just another beautiful sail-boating, surfing, showing-off-your-strength …

Read More

This is my pink ride for the next few months. Well, it’s actually DIL Denise’s bike, but she and Son Jeremy are working on the east coast. And she entrusted me with the key to the lock. Which she may or may not regret. Because I’ll be putting in a lot of miles on these tires. Because there’s no place to snowshoe around here.

Read More

I was escorted off the Pacific Coast Highway. By two California Highway Patrol cars with lights flashing. Son Jeremy recommended I jog over to the PCH from the 101 on my drive south to their place. Beautiful scenery, less traffic, he said.

He was right. There was absolutely no traffic. None ahead of me. None behind. None coming from the opposite direction. And then these two guys in uniforms with flashing lights showed up, pinning my car so I couldn’t make any fast get-aways.

Read More

Hubby would have been proud. Sort of. On the first leg of my journey moving from Oregon to California, I didn’t stop to photograph any tumble-down barns. Didn’t stop at the Paul-Bunyan-and-Babe-the-Blue-Ox tourist trap. Didn’t pull off the road to Crater Lake (maybe because it was snowed in). And didn’t stop at Carson Mansion. Although I did have to pay tribute to the last of the Oregon Cascades before saying hello to the California redwoods and the Pacific north coast.

Read More