"What I Did on my Day Off"

Rarely do I take a day that doesn't involve ARLO or another family occasion.  I did yesterday - almost a whole day - and thoroughly enjoyed it.  Definition of a day off:  I did something, but of course I was connected to my cell, making appointments, setting up others, working on closings.  I just wasn't home or in the office or showing/listing property.

I have heard Realtors over the years talk about what they do.  Several mysteriously disappear into Turning Stone for the day.  They wouldn't appreciate my naming them, so I won't.  Others go to the movies rather than wait for weekends or evenings.  Shows are less-filled then.  Others hike or bike;  one woman actually lived out of state and came back only a few days a month - I guess she talked more about her rare days "On."  Because of technology, who knows where anyone is at any given time?

My day was indeed rare.  I went to Carlo's on West Genesee in Syracuse for my regular hair appointment and then took off from there.  Destination:  Utica, and the Munson-Williams-Proctor Arts Institute and Museum.  They had been showing a collection of French Impressionism (Monet to Matisse) and it was due to leave on the 29th.  With all the focus on France this past week, it made it especially important to me.

The art institute is lovely, and the paintings were beautiful.  I found myself drawn to less-known artists who painted seasides and tiny details.  There were several timelines that put the era in perspective with what was happening in the world in the mid to late 19th century.  I wandered over to the Fountain Elms, the home built in 1852 and owned by the family that gave the grounds to the art institute.  There I was, on my day "off," admiring the home with several rooms preserved in the fashion of the day, all ready for the Christmas holidays.  What Utica must have been like when homes like this lined Genesee Street!

I passed on the Terrace Cafe, filled with mid-week diners, and returned to the art institute.  I wanted to re-visit a painting I had fallen in love with the first time through earlier.  This is "A Coach Stop on the Place de Passy" by Edmond Georges Grandjean.

In the Museum it is huge, and certainly loses quite a bit here.  The horses shine, there's a small French flag displayed in the rear, the building is so "French."  (Reminds me of our old Paris Flea, now the corner bakery.)

I ate pumpkin Chobani in the car followed by a great macintosh apple, considered putting the top down, and then sped away to the Thruway.  In an hour I was back in Syracuse, turning up the heat for a friend who had been away a couple weeks.  A homeless man asked me for money and I gave him some (rare) and a woman approached me for a ride to the grocery store as I stopped.  I ran her over the few blocks to Tops in Westvale.  I felt generous and filled.