The original grand entrance to the Museum of Fine Arts remains the same

When I lived in the Boston area, from 1989 to 2003, I visited the Museum of Fine Arts often and knew the layout and collections pretty well. Returning to the MFA recently was like visiting an old friend who had struck it rich but was as likeable as before. From November 2010 to September 2011, the museum grew by about 200,000 square feet, first with the Art of the Americas wing and then with the smaller but also wonderful Linde Family Wing for Contemporary Art. Everything was familiar, but different.

Glass tower anchors the courtyard

Most visually new and exciting is the Shapiro Family Courtyard, a huge gathering space with café and the 42-foot “Lime Green Icicle Tower” by glass artist Dale Chihuly. The museum appealed to the public last year to help purchase the yummy cylinder of glass for $1 million. They came through, and we’re all benefiting. (I love this time-lapse video of the tower going up.)

Before I go further, let’s discuss the rules, summed up succinctly below in the neon installation “Please” by Danish-born artist Jeppe Hein. Delightful, playful, informative. Love it!

You'll want to follow Jeppe Hein's rules

In the Art of the Americas wing, I gave up trying to find my place and just enjoyed the 53 (!) galleries, including nine period rooms that are like little extra museums. The more than 5,000 works shown more than double objects previously displayed. About 500 are new, 175 are loans and the rest had been stashed in the basement.

The European art was moved around enough that it took me forever to find my favorite Van Gogh, “Lullaby,” a painting of Madame Roulin, the postman’s wife. But where I was when I found it I had no idea. Clearly I’d need to spend many more afternoons here.

In the contemporary wing, which tripled the space of the previous area and shows 250 works in seven new galleries, I was thrilled to find my favorite Kiki Smith, “Lilith,” hanging from the wall as always, along with many more purchases and loans. The last rooms we entered held a special show, 30 of Ellsworth Kelly’s wood sculptures, spanning his career. (It’s up through March 4.) Unlike his colorful paintings, these are natural wood tones, sparse and elegant.

Alas, time has run out for 'The Clock'

Before we left, we watched 30 minutes of  “The Clock,” a 24-hour video by Christian Marclay that apparently is no longer at the MFA. (FIND IT AND SEE IT!) The compilation of thousands of movie and TV clips of clocks and watches tells the current time at any given moment and is synchronized with real time. While there’s no plot, we were hard pressed to leave our seat, waiting to see how, for instance, 1:42 p.m. will be depicted. While we were constantly reminded of the time, it still got away from us.

The Galloways say goodbye to Frank

It’s a boy! Actually, it’s an overweight old man! We adopted Frank N. Beans from the Wake County Animal Center in Raleigh, NC, on Sunday. The shelter gave him that name, and we feel compelled to keep it because it’s so ridiculous, plus it fits him. Though Frank had been abandoned at the shelter (left in a crate on the loading dock after hours), he was lucky enough to be taken into one of the shelter’s foster homes, so he recently had been living in the lap of luxury with the Galloways. Now’s he’s at his “forever home,” as they say in the dog adoption world.

The back story goes like this. After finally feeling ready for a second wiener dog after Roxy (the foxy doxy with moxy) left us in September 2010, I laid out my requirements: a miniature female, younger than five, black and tan coat. (I’ve adopted all seniors lately, and wanted a dog that would, hopefully, be my sidekick for a long time, like Roxy was.) So what did I adopt? Mr. Beans, a standard, weighing in at 22 pounds, at least a decade old, hard of hearing, arthritic and with bad teeth. Well, he is black and tan.

Sabrina and Frank get to know each other

When we got home, Frank N. and Sabrina met without incident and had a major getting-to-know-you-back-there session, learning all sorts of things about each other. Frank then tried to assert his will by mounting Sabrina many times over, but she finally put her paw down. The next day, he didn’t even try once. So I think that little dance of dominance is done.

Practicing the ramp to the couch

Sabrina then decided to show Frank how the ramp to the couch works in the living room. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it, but he’s getting there. He also is still figuring out where to best jump off and back onto the low deck to the back yard. He loves the yard, fully fenced in and filled with new sights and smells. He also loves Q-Kitty, but she does not yet love Frank, though they did get nose to nose briefly. Frank has not barked yet, but I assume he knows how. All in all, he is very laid back.

The first weigh in: 22 pounds!

Just as Sabrina was, Frank is a big block o’ dach, and needs to shed a few pounds. He’s several inches longer than ‘Briner and his paws and head are about 25 percent bigger, so I’m not sure what he should weigh. But 22 is most definitely too much. Whoa! We will start shedding the ounces slowly and safely until Frank is at his fighting weight (16-18?). We’ll keep you posted. (UPDATE: His healthy weight is around 20. He’s a big boy!)

Meanwhile, if you’re in the ‘hood, come say hi!

Ozymandias by Douglas Kornfeld

I hadn’t been to the DeCordova for almost a decade, and couldn’t wait to see its expansion both inside and out during a trip to Boston last month.  Formally the DeCordova Sculpture Park and Museum, it’s adjacent to a large pond in the lovely, historic town of Lincoln, northwest of Boston. Somehow, even though the DeCordova is listed in various guides, it remains a best-kept secret. Below were some of our favorite sculptures, but you must also go inside to see current contemporary exhibits, check out the cafe, and do not miss the gift shop, one of the best places to buy craft in the Boston area. If you’re feeling ambitious (we didn’t have time), take a walk along the Sandy Pond Trail, which circumvents the pond. It’s a great place for lady slipper viewing in the spring. Whatever you do when you get there, just get there!

Diane (right) and friend Vicki have a heart to heart in front of Two Big Black Hearts by Jim Dine

One piece from Armour Boys by Laura Ford

Eve Celebrant by Marianna Pineda

Testing a World View (Again) (left) by Tory Fair, Humming by Jaume Plensa

Original and still-grand entrance to Museum of Fine Arts in Boston

We’re tooling around New England the week of Thanksgiving, and while we won’t be in Plymouth channeling the Pilgrims, we will be on the move. Here’s what I can’t wait to see (not counting my friends, of course!) Downtown Brattleboro, Vt. Specifically I’m curious about the after-flood effects, hoping that recovery has been going strong. The expanded DeCordova Sculpture Park and Museum in Lincoln, Mass., long one of my favorite spots in metro Boston. My old house in Quincy and downtown Quincy, which I’ve read is being redeveloped in a major way. The mightily expanded Museum of Fine Arts in Boston; I’m really eager to see that one. Finally, in Portland, Maine, the ever-evolving downtown. We’re also taking the ferry to Peaks Island, which I managed to never do when I lived in New England. Away we go!

Green chile peppers roasting

Update: So apparently there’s a big debate about this east vs. west and the Associated Press stylebook says “chili.” But food publications use chile and so does anyone west of Missouri. So I guess we’re both right. But since I’m writing about New Mexico, I’m writing chile!

ARGH!!!!!!!!! So I wrote this story for the Boston Globe about New Mexico chiles. Green or red? Yep, that’s the Official State Question. And I even pointed out how New Mexico barely recognizes the concept of East Coast “chili” stew. And I talked about the differences between chili and chile. The  peppers are chiles. The dishes they make are chile dishes. The class I took at the Santa Fe School of Cooking was about chiles. The photos in the paper are of chiles. Unfortunately, from what I can tell, and I couldn’t even see the whole story because of the paywall, the story has “chili” every place it should be “chile.” The text is wrong. The headline is wrong. The captions are wrong. First, I let the copy desk know, and they informed the online folks. Then I RAN to my computer to make sure I’d used the correct spelling in text and captions in the version I sent in. I had.  From what I can tell, it’s all been fixed online, but the printed version is out. And it’s wrong. And, wow, do I feel like an igit.

Am I mad at the Globe? Well, no. I used to work on that copy desk. I know how difficult — and thankless, too — the work can be.  And mistakes happen. And, guess what? An editor called me last night with a question on that story. I’d made a bonehead mistake, and she saved me from myself. So, no, I’m not mad. But I’m sure not happy! This is a pretty bad mistake, but the good thing is that it didn’t hurt anyone or damage their reputation. Well, other than the Globe’s and mine, but that’s the newspaper biz.

Onward and upward. I’m going to go chili, er chile, I mean, CHILL OUT!

Chaco Culture National Historical Park is in a remote region of New Mexico

We’ve been home from our eight days in northern New Mexico for a month now and I have two strongly lingering images – our meals and our night of camping at Chaco Culture National Historical Park.

I’ve already written my piece on chile peppers, with a recipe, for the Boston Globe food section (to be published soonish), but could not sell anyone on the idea of a story on Chaco. Which is crazy! But it was just as well because that meant I could enjoy myself instead of run around interviewing people and taking notes about everything I saw.

Instead, I inhaled it all in slowly – the history, the breathtaking terrain,  the up-close petroglyphs, the unbelievably intact Indian ruins and, oooohhhhh, those dark star-saturated skies.

See the blue dot straight ahead, near the canyon wall? That's where we camped!

Thanks to Southwest Airlines’  humane luggage policy, we each got two bags for free, so used our extras to stash camping gear for our one night at the park, at Lina’s urging. (Thank you, my ever-adventurous mate!)

We loved almost every minute of our 20-hour blitz. We arrived midafternoon, enjoying the minor thrill of the eight-mile-long dirt road that leads to the park. (Take the north entrance if you don’t want to get stuck.) First we picked out at campsite in the tent-only area, amid boulders and backing up against a cliff. Heaven!!

Pueblo Bonito is famous for many things, including its intact walls and doorways

Next we high-tailed it to 2 p.m. tour of Pueblo Bonito, a Native American “great house” that was lived in from the mid 800s to the 1200s. It once towered four stories high, with more than 500 rooms and 40 kivas and is one of the most excavated and studied sites in North America, as well as one of the most intact. Although our guide went way over the scheduled time, he was fantastic and brought the history alive, and the archeology history was as interesting as the Indian history.

We toured a few other sites and then reached the petroglyphs just as the late afternoon sun was spotlighting them. They were the most intact and closest I’ve ever seen!

Up close and personal with petroglyphs

We had just a little time to set up camp and share a beer before we zipped over to the visitor’s center for what we thought would be the dark-sky talk and a chance to look through the telescopes. Chaco is the only national park with its own observatory. Well damned if the astronomers weren’t at a conference – um, thanks for letting us know? A ranger gave an interesting presentation on the Civilian Conservation Corps’ involvement in the park in the 1930s and ‘40s, but we were feeling very pouty and whiny about the whole star thing. Until….

We returned to the campsite around 8 p.m. and the sky seemed to go from dusk to black within minutes. I looked up and – WAM, BAM, LOOK AT THOSE STARS, MA’M! I told Lina, who needs astronomers? Of course I would have liked a walk-through of the skies, but wowie, zowie, they were amazing — Milky Way, of course, and shooting stars and dancing constellations. We each laid down on a bench of the picnic table, wrapped up in our blankets, and watched in awe.

Lina's "just one more," Kin Klatso great house

That night we heard the eeriest sound. The only reason I knew it was coyotes is because a ranger had warned me. Wow.

After visiting a few more ruins in the morning (“Just one more” is Lina’s motto in life), we were back on the long dirt road, headed back to the big city.

Those visits got me in the mood to read Sarah Murray’s new book, “Making An Exit: From the Magnificent to the Macabre — How we Dignify the Dead.” I’m ready to sign up for a worldwide death tour. (I’ve already done the Chapel of Bones swing through southern Europe.)

I first learned of Sarah’s work through her book “Moveable Feasts: The Incredible Journeys of the Things We Eat.” Sarah, a Brit and a longtime Financial Times writer now based in New York City, is a quintessential journalist — curious about everything and a terrific researcher and story teller.

In Ghana, you can have the fantasy coffin of your choosing (photo Sarah Murray)

In her introduction, she writes of her father’s death and wonders how she would like her own handled. “Writers often tell us about places we must see before we die. I want to explore some of the ones we end up in when we’re dead.” Her research took her to Hong Kong, Mexico , Ghana, the Philippines, the Czech Republic, Iran, Sicily, and Bali. So this is as much of a travel book as a survey of funerary practices, all the way down to its souvenirs — Sarah ordered a coffin from Ghana, famed for its wild vessels of death. Hers is in the shape of the Empire State Building and rests in her living room.

Check out her book and her blog (with death-themed photos that are full of life) and if you’re in New York, she has events on Oct. 20 and Oct. 30. Wish I could be there, dead or alive.

Giethoorn isn't Venice, but it is cute

We were so lucky. We had to change the day we’d designated for cycling in the Netherlands and the weather cooperated. We had only one rainstorm, and the wind, well, the wind is omnipresent, hence the country’s proliferation of windmills. For hill-loving cyclists like us, it compensates for the flat terrain. And, finally, I made it to Giethoorn, which has been on my list for a while. It’s called the “Venice of the Netherlands” (no comparison) and also got a little attention via a viral email hawking pictures from a Dutch town that has no cars.

 Well, yes and no. Only about a mile of Giethoorn is carless and it’s very, very touristy. But it was indeed cute, and has several places to eat, drink and shop, along with rent bikes and boats. (Bikes were an affordable $10.50 a day.) We enjoyed it, but were also happy to head out for less-populated areas.

Kalenberg was favorite stop of the day

Our 30-mile loop first took us along a very rural bike path (paved, of course) with no traffic and then through marshland and finally to Kalenberg, which I’m guessing Giethoorn resembled before the tourists descended. All houses were along a canal (this one was wider and more open) and one side of town was reachable only by boat or walking. The houses were adorable and everything was tidy and attractive. A little drawbridge joined the two sides and a café there overlooked the canal.

17th-century Blokzijl used to be on the sea

From there we headed for Blokzijl, a 17th-century city with a nice harbor on the former Zuiderzee, aka the South Sea (not to be confused with the South Seas). After they created (in 1942) a polder there, i.e. they reclaimed the land, the city became landlocked. Fascinating!

Lovely Lottie is a touring tekkel

On the way there, another highlight – greeting Lottie, a long-haired tekkel (dachshund) in a rear bike basket. My third tekkel of the trip! The wind about did us in, but we made it to town and thought it was lovely. Even lovelier was the tailwind back to Giethoorn, and the little bike ferry of Jonen that took us over a bridge-less canal. The price of $1.50 seemed reasonable at the time, but when I think about it, for a 30-second ride it was pricey.

All these towns are in the region called De Weerribben in the Overijssel Province. It’s a couple hours east of Amsterdam and a heck of a lot less crowded. Something different!

Stormproof Matches lit easily in the wind during our test

I’ve had Industrial Revolution brand Stormproof Matches to test for quite a while and, well, what better time to do it than during a hurricane — i.e. today, when Irene visited us here in North Carolina. I was sent the paper-container version pictured here, not this fancy kit that you can buy for $6 and which I recommend if you’re a big outdoorsperson.

As promised, they were very easy to light — even when the matches and striker were wet. I lit several during wind gusts of maybe 30 mph. But here’s the thing — when it’s really windy, the regular 15-second burn time goes much quicker. So you have to act fast. But still, they lit, unlike traditional matches, and they stayed lit once they got going.

A fancier carrying case is optional

The marketing information claimed the matches “are so water resistant they even remain lit after being submerged in water.” I was most excited to see this, but it didn’t work for me. Three times I dropped blazing matches into a bowl of water and the flame died immediately. So that claim went up in smoke, at least for this tester. OK, UPDATE: Got this from PR person after posting. “If you still have matches left, dunk them in water, take them back out and they should relight! It’s quite fun!” Unfortunately I’m now far from the matches for two weeks, so will try that when home. That makes more sense, I have to say! OK, NEW UPDATE: After submerging in water, the match did re-light, but it wasn’t a steady or smooth flame. Still, cool!

Industrial Revolution isn’t the only brand on these heavy-duty matches on the market, and I don’t know how they compare to others. I will say this — I will always have these kinds of matches with my camping gear from now on. I just hope I don’t ever need a submerged flame. Then again, who would?

The Sun Goddess is one of our favorites.

Last night’s showing of “The Serpent’s Egg“ was our seventh time seeing Paperhand Puppet Intervention, and it was my favorite show since our first, in 2006. (So sad that we lived here in Durham, NC, for two years before we discovered one of the country’s most amazing big-puppet performances!). Paperhand is a summer highlight, and we love the stage at Forest Theatre on the UNC campus. This year the visuals (more photos below!) were mind-blowingly stupendous in every act, and I appreciated that the “teaching and preaching” — all good stuff — came at the end instead of throughout. The music was particular stellar this year, as was the female vocalist, Claudia Lopez. Here are a few scenes:

Poignant and hilarious was "We Are All Just Babies," no matter our age.

Paperhand always turns a little dark, as in this macabre death dance.

These creatures are athletic and technically challenging. The "riders" are on stilts and their horses/birds (?) buck and stomp. Amazing.

Eleven puppeteers operated the serpent, which has a ferocious roar.

Paperhand cofounder Donovan Zimmerman steers the serpent toward the outreached hands of mesmerized children. Magical and moving.