I had a fantastic time in Montreal—truly one of those trips that leaves you feeling both refreshed and a little wistful when it’s over.

As I always do, I spent some time in the Village, which never disappoints, but I made sure this trip wasn’t only about nightlife. One of my favorite stops was the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, where I saw The Torlonia Collection, a remarkable exhibition of Roman sculpture.

Of all art forms, sculpture has always been the one that speaks to me most, and this exhibit did not disappoint. What fascinated me most was not just the ancient works themselves, but the visible history layered onto them. Many of the sculptures had been damaged over time—arms missing, hands broken, features worn away—and then “repaired” during the Renaissance.

These restorations were not neutral. Renaissance artists interpreted what should have been there, and in doing so, they left their own mark on antiquity. One statue in particular stood out: an athlete whose original form had lost several parts, including an arm, a hand, and his penis. When these were restored, the additions reflected Renaissance ideals more than Roman ones—especially the rather substantial size of the newly added anatomy.

That detail might sound amusing, but it actually reveals something deeper about cultural values. In ancient Greco-Roman art, the ideal male nude was typically depicted with relatively modest proportions. A large penis was often associated with foolishness or lack of restraint, not heroic virtue. Bodies were idealized after gods—balanced, controlled, harmonious.

By contrast, the Renaissance reinterpretation leaned into a different aesthetic, and the difference was striking—especially when this restored athlete stood beside an intact Roman sculpture. The contrast was immediate and, honestly, a bit jarring once you understood the symbolism behind it.

It was also a reminder of how art is never entirely fixed. Even ancient works continue to be shaped—physically and intellectually—by the cultures that encounter them later.

I’ve visited the museum before, but this exhibition made the trip especially worthwhile. If you ever have the chance to see it, I highly recommend it.

I also stopped by a temporary exhibit on M. C. Escher near Place des Arts. His work is endlessly fascinating—those impossible staircases and mind-bending tessellations never really lose their charm.

That said, I found myself less impressed with the exhibit itself than with the art. The lighting felt off in several areas, and the layout didn’t always serve the pieces as well as it could have. It’s funny—I don’t think I would have noticed these things as much before working in a museum. Once you’ve been involved in installing exhibits yourself, you start to see all the little decisions that shape how visitors experience a space… and when those decisions don’t quite land.

Beyond the museums, I did a little shopping, wandered the city, and simply enjoyed being somewhere that feels vibrant and alive. Montreal has a way of offering just enough of everything—art, culture, nightlife, and quiet moments when you need them.

All in all, it was a wonderful trip. I just hope it won’t be another seven years before I make it back—and next time, I’d like to stay a bit longer than three nights.

The drive up to Montreal was a pleasant one. Even the Canadian border guard was nice—unexpectedly so (and, I have to admit, very easy on the eyes). In all the times I’ve made this trip, I’ve always found it a bit odd that the Canadian guards tend to be the stern ones while the Americans are usually more relaxed. I suppose I’ll find out on the return trip whether that still holds true. One can hope for consistency… or at least a repeat of yesterday’s good fortune.

But enough about border crossings.

It felt wonderful last night to wander through the Village again and to be reminded what it’s like to be in a real city—energy, movement, people everywhere. It’s something I don’t get nearly enough of, and I’ve missed it more than I realized.

My hotel room also came with an unexpected gift: a beautiful view of the St. Lawrence River. There’s something calming about watching the water, especially in the early morning light.

And speaking of morning—I actually slept in. That alone feels like a luxury, and it’s why this post is a bit later than usual.

Now, it’s time for a proper start to the day: breakfast, a good cup of coffee, and then out to explore more of Montreal.

Finally, the day has come. I’m leaving for four days in Montreal.

It’s been too long—since 2019—and I’ve missed the city more than I realized. This trip feels like a long-overdue chance to step away, relax, and just enjoy myself for a few days. I’m looking forward to wandering through a few museums, doing a little shopping, and spending some time in The Village. From what I’ve seen, it’s changed a bit since the pandemic, but I’m still excited to revisit some of my favorite spots, maybe check out a few bars, and just have some fun.

More than anything, though, I’m looking forward to something simple: being a visitor.

For once, I won’t be thinking about programming, planning events, or representing the museum. I won’t be teaching, guiding, or organizing anything. I’ll just be another person walking through galleries, taking things in at my own pace, enjoying the experience without responsibility.

That alone feels like a vacation.

The weather is supposed to be sunny and cool—exactly the kind of weather I love—so everything seems perfectly timed. After a busy stretch of work, I’m ready for a few days to breathe, explore, and recharge.

Montreal, here I come.

When this posts, I should be on an airplane—either taxiing down the runway or climbing to cruising altitude (around 35,000 feet, give or take)—on my way to Charlotte, North Carolina. I’ll have a three-and-a-half-hour layover there before continuing on to Montgomery.

Being on one of the first flights out of Burlington should mean we’re on time (knock on wood). But even if we aren’t, I’ve built in plenty of cushion in Charlotte—hopefully enough time to grab breakfast at the airport. A little after noon, I’ll be back in Alabama… God help me.

At least we should be going somewhere nice for lunch. I never quite know what my parents have planned, but since I’ll be getting in right around lunchtime, I’m hopeful. One thing Montgomery does well is food. There are a lot of great places to eat, even if the quality seems to slip just a little more each time I’m there.

Still, three full days with my family should be just fine. Honestly, what I’m most looking forward to is my family seeing how much weight I’ve lost. Knowing my luck, they either won’t notice at all or will assume I’ve lost weight because I’m sick or something equally dramatic. I’m fairly certain it’s noticeable enough.

Last Thursday, I ran into the former president of the university as I was heading out for a dentist appointment. He loves the museum and was on campus for someone’s retirement, wandering around the galleries. He asked how I was doing, and I said, “I’m doing good.” He smiled and replied, “And thin!”

He started asking me about my weight loss, but I couldn’t linger—I was already running late for the dentist. Still, I’ll take it. If he noticed, surely my family will too… right?

However your week is unfolding, I hope it’s a gentle and joyful one. Wishing you all a very merry Christmas week—full of warmth, good food, and moments of peace wherever you find them. 🎄✨

I’m thankful I got to spend time with family, if only because I can tell how bad my mother’s dementia is getting. I want to be able to see her while she’s still doing relatively good, even though I can see the decline. We watched as her father slipped into dementia and that was hard enough, but this is my mama. She may have her faults, but no matter what, she’s still the woman who gave birth to me.

My father has actually been on good behavior. I still have another day to go here, so hopefully I’m not jinxing it, but he hasn’t started an argument with me over some perceived slight, which is usually what he does. If I can make it one more day, then I’ll be on my way home. 

I’ll fly back to Vermont tomorrow afternoon. I’m ready to be back home with Isabella and sleeping in my own bed. I have a two hour layover in Atlanta and should arrive back in Vermont just before midnight, as long as there are no unforeseen delays. As it is, the trip back will put me getting home at about 1am Sunday morning. Tomorrow will be a long day, but I least I should be home at the end of it.