Holding Still

trip notes

New mothers of any sort, run away if you can!

I was only gone for about 24 hours, but it was heavenly. Low-key and probably a tad dull for most people, but, oh, how happy I was!

And I missed the guys, too, for which I was relieved. I'm not a total monster, after all!

I got in around noon, and made my happy way to the Met. I saw the African Art Exhibit, which I was glad to have caught, and met my oldest friend and her man (just had a year anniversary, yay!). He had never been before, so we took him to see Egypt -- boys of all ages LOVE mummies and temples. That and armor. One of my museum co-workers from years ago in Baltimore suggested dressing a mummy up in armor and suspending it over the main drag in town to attract museum-goers. It would totally work.

He loved the mummies, and texted while walking through the American section. We got hungry and I ate mistakes #1 and 2 -- bad pizza and root beer. What was I thinking? I never eat either of those things at home -- pizza, yes. Bad pizza, no. But the bad pizza was so GOOD. And the root beer made me feel so nostalgic. Until I was on my way down to the beauty salon. I prayed that they wouldn't mind if I stayed in their bathroom a bit too long. The subway stopped inexplicably, as it will do in Manhattan, so I breathed carefully and evenly to keep my insides from taking over the subway in a terrorist gas attack.

I made it to the hair place, was able to smile and make pleasantries to my hairdresser, the receptionist and shampoo guy (none of whom I have seen in 2 years), used the bathroom in respectable time, changed into the luxurious rayon robe they gave me, and sighed in relief. They even gave me a cup of tea, which seemed to calm my internal northrax (anyone see 30-Rock last night?).

We had a great time, reminiscing and trading photos. Me of my boys, she of her new cat, Dick, and new A-frame in Mass. It was indulgent and comforting. I almost felt like I was being treated at a hospice, everyone was so nice. And I got a great cut. It's one of those cuts that's not too noticeable at first, but then you swing your hair around and notice that it always falls into place. And not the same place, either. Any place it lands, it looks good. It bounces and swings, like in the old Pert commercials. It also cost me much more than I expected. Gulp. No wonder they were so nice.

I later met my friend at a nearby corner and we went to that BIG healthfood store you all know about, where I stocked up on oregano oil and got a cup of jasmine tea. We went to a my favorite fabric place, and I got some fabric for the boys' Christmas stockings, which I'll post when I'm done with them. We applied the glitter today.

We looked at her photos from her trip safari-ing in Africa, and had dinner here. You should check it out if you like Indian food and are visiting the Upper West Side. What we like about it is that you don't have to make any decisions. They have one menu each day, that's it. You do have to work a little and choose between brown or basmati rice, and pick your beverage. That was a bit of a strain. But we managed all right. All perfectly balanced for every dosha, apparently. And it's yummy, too.

We chatted and I slept like a giant redwood, never mind a log, and awoke to be served scrambled eggs and english muffins with butter and jelly. Ahh... I left in the afternoon, had a seat to myself on the bus, and worked on a crossword from March. Happiness is...

she's leaving home...

As Lire would say, "Mommy, FUN!"

Tomorrow I'm leaving home for the first time since April, when we went to Ethiopia. Wow. I am atwitter with anticipation. Is atwitter a word? I'm going to visit a great friend and her handsome, sexy-voiced boyfriend, see some art, and get a haircut. I'm not quite sure, but I don't think I've gotten my hair cut since... February? I remember that I had my nose surgery at the end of January, and my hair was longish, then there are pics we gave to the boys in Ethiopia, and my hair is quite short. It's been a while. I have extraordiarily slow-growing hair, so it's not as bad a rat's nest as it could be. But the fact that I've been wearing it under a hat or tied up with a scrunchie is message enough. Cut it off!

As for art, I'm going to go to my former employer and my symbolic "home" away from home, to see this. Ever since I read From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler in the 4th grade, it has been a place I yearned to live in. I went there with the flu that same year to see King Tut -- vomiting in Grand Central Station was not going to stand in my way. When I actually got to work there at the age of 32, well, it was a geek's dream come true. An art geek's dream come true.

My friend and I will hopefully enjoy tea somewhere, and I hope here, because they have scrumptious scones and real whipped cream. And then I'll visit my previous life's hairdresser, who will exclaim with dismay when she sees my hair, but hopefully with admiration when I show her pics of the boys. I will spend the night, and then return at some point on Sunday... I hope I remember to come back!

ciao!

nyc

Drowsy after the cloudy day drive into NYC ala the bus, I surfaced onto the sidewalk, struck, as always, by the change in speed, color, and volume.

Also, as always, my own speed fluctuated. At first there was the dazed, "here I am again," noticing the faces of people as if I've never seen a human being before. Then my body starts to acclimate, and I speed up, and my rhythm starts to match that of the others around me. I went at this speed as I walked across 53rd St. heading for the MOMA. All the while imagine the song "New York, New York!" from that Gene Kelly sailor movie On the Town. The song muffles a bit as I enter the store, shop, pay for my wares (love to show you what I got, but we have no camera...), and then the volume grows as I come back out onto the sidewalk. But now my bags are more numerous and heavier. The music slows down... until... rrrr.... the needle skids and scratches the record until it comes to an abrupt stop.

Fortunately, there is a cool bench made from a tree trunk and various chairbacks outside the store so I can sit and rearrange my bags. I get up and walk more carefully. I can't get sucked in by the speed of the city, there's no way I can keep up with it, why pretend -- oh! the subway station. I've got to get a Metrocard. Down the stairs, money in the machine, card spits out -- "Wahoo!" For whatever reason the Metrocard has given me fuel, cue the music, here I go -- "New York, New York!"

And so it goes pretty much all day. Speed up, fed by the energy of the city, found in very strange places (Metropolitan Museum bathroom, anyone?), then sapped beyond reason (downtown trains not stopping at my station, must walk to bus stop, fight exasperated commuters to find a place to stand...).

The entire time I kept hearing that song in my head, speeding up and then slowing and skidding to a halt depending upon my energy levels.

I suppose I should have put the ipod/phone in my ears.

Despite my bipolar energy levels, it was a great time. LOVED Dream Girls. Eddie Murphy and Jennifer Hudson received applause DURING the movie, and when the credits rolled. The Ziegfeld is a great place to see a movie like that, if you ever get a chance. Huge screen, good sound, and a sink in each of the stalls of the ladies room!

The room Beckmann and I rent there was rather, uh interesting. The apartment is great -- incredibly clean and well-appointed. The woman from whom we rent is nice and keeps to herself, pretty much. But our room is, I kid you not, about 50 feet from the elevated train. I could see the trains' wheels as they sped by, and whenever they stopped, there was the fuzzy voice of the conductor and the "ding-dong" of the closing-door warning bell. Not to mention the occasional screech of brakes.

You just have to laugh. Or buy earplugs. Which I did. But boy were they uncomfortable. It felt wrong sleeping with something stuck in my ears. They didn't last the night. I got used to the sound of the trains, and I guess I was fortunate the trains didn't make downtown stops at the station -- fewer screeching brakes.

Art-wise, I saw Americans in Paris at the Met, a German expressionist portrait show, and an amazing display of spirit boards from Papua, New Guinea. I took a few camera photos of those, which I hope to post another day, but Beckmann has the phone at the moment, so it must wait. In the Americans exhibit, I was wooed by a series of seven small oil sketches by Maurice Prendergast, a portrait bust of Henry Ossawa Tanner by an artist of whom I'd never heard, Charles Grafly, two oils by John Singer Sargent (Madame X and a portrait of 4 daughters), and a few by Mary Cassat. I think Cassat is often taken for granted. Maybe because her works are seen in reproduction so much, or maybe because of the subject matter of mother and child -- I've seen many a male art-student friend of mine walk quickly past her paintings just because of the subject matter (what is up with that?). But when you see them in the flesh, as it were, you see what a prodigious and painterly painter she was. Not only was she the only American to exhibit with the Impressionists, but one of only three women, too. The one of the little girl on the blue chair is really wonderful, and then there is another of a mother about to bathe a sleepy baby. The heft of the child's body is so tangible, you can feel the mother's arm straining to keep the sleep-laden child from slipping onto the floor in a puddle of babyness.

All in all, a wonderful trip, made all the more special by my friend Lu-lu, whose new beau I got to meet. He did not disappoint. Totally attentive to Lu-lu, cute, and has a lovely Spanish accent. Mmmm....

The best part is that she looked so happy and comfortable with him. And that makes me happy. Now please spend some time enjoying the art!

new york, new york!

So I'm off to NYC tomorrow. I lived there for 7 1/2 years, and boy was I ready to leave. But I still get SO excited when I return. I don't think I'm alone here, I mean, it's an obvious tourist destination, cultural mecca, food mecca, museum-lover's paradise...

It always brings me back to the times we went when I was a kid. We'd usually take the train, but sometimes a more intrepid friend of my mom's would drive in. On one of these trips we went to a Broadway show (Eubie, I think), and it rained. POURED. It was the 80's, so puffy down feather coats were in, and I still remember the wet feather smell as we sat in the theater waiting for the show to start. I was a kid, so weather didn't bother me then. The more extreme the better. Now, not so much. And for some reason the sub chain Blimpies stands out in my memory. We didn't eat there, so I don't know why. I've never eaten there, in fact.

Another visit that stands out came earlier, during the King Tut exhibit in the mid-70's. I think it was the first time Tut came to the U.S. Steve Martin had released a single singing Tut's praises ("...had a condo made of stone-ah!"). It was a big deal. I had awoken that morning with a stomach ache, but the family had bought the tickets, it was a day off school, and it was TUT! So we went on with the show. We took the train into the city, saw the exhibit, ate something (can't remember what), and I was holding steady.

Until we waited on the platform for the train home. I remember telling my mom I was going to puke. "Are you sure?" she asked. When I nodded, she said, "Well, this is as good a place as any." Following a trend that would continue through my school days to an infamous field trip to the Peabody Museum of Natural History where I tossed my cookies in the car on the way there (my terrified classmates leapt into the way-back of our station wagon to escape), I vomited on the platform. Commuters scattered like roaches when the lights are turned on. Yep. All over the place.

I was done with my purge, though some of the businessmen sharing a car with us weren't quite sure. I remember one skeptical guy looking askance at me as he read his folded-up newspaper. I also remember being impressed at how he had folded the newspaper so neatly. Mom wasn't afraid. She held me and cuddled with me the entire way home. I was in 4th grade at the time, and I had just started eschewing mom's hugs. But not this time. I needed me some mama-comfort. It's one of my dearest memories of my mom, actually.

I feel fine tonight, so I think NY is in the clear. Let's hope there aren't any weird smells to turn my stomach.

Itinerary: MOMA shop to use precious $50 gift certificate given by great friend. Then to the Met Musuem to visit with some of my favorite friends art objects. Then off to dinner and to see Dream Girls at the Ziegfeld with my pal Lu-lu.

As the Pointer Sisters said, I'm soooo excited.

Will report back later.

Oh, and photo credit to Helen Levitt, some time in the 40's in NYC.