"The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco."
It turns out Mark Twain did NOT really write or say this. Nevertheless, I can vouch for the statement’s veracity. I spent the day shivering in The City (capital letters – very serious). Destination: The Palace of the Legion of Honor. Exhibit: Women Impressionists.
Driving up the coast from Santa Cruz provided many lovely vistas of the deep blue sea. Progressing north, it darkened, cooled, and darkened some more. By the time we three happy teacher-ladies emerged from the car at Lincoln Park, it was down right frigid.
There were no cold temperments in the images we viewed in the museum. Each of the lovely paintings by Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassat, Eva Gonzales, and Marie Bracquemond is gently warm, pink, and glowing. In these images, life is calm and quiet. Children are sleepy and chubby. Ladies are extremely well dressed, never stressed. I could almost hear the music of a pianoforte, and smell the tea wafting from the drawing room. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that Jane Austen was just down the hall, writing with a quill pen. Of course Austen lived a hundred years earlier than these painters. Still, the world depicted by the impressionists seems to have changed not at all from the one in which my dear Ms. Austen lived.
You may ask: why these photos with the above blather about pink ladies? No photos were allowed of the impressionists' work, but I was free to snap away at Chihuly's giant blown glass masterpieces. They are stunning, beyond beautiful.
My new hero is Mary Jo. Formerly of the wilds of South Dakota, she is currently a resident of the coolest city on the California coast. 
