Subhutti: Is it at all possible, O Lord, to hear the perfection of wisdom, to distinguish and consider her, to make statements and to reflect about her? Can one explain, or learn, that because of certain attributes, tokens or signs this is the perfection of wisdom, or that here this is the perfection of wisdom, or that there that is the perfection of wisdom?
At MMoA, we spent a good portion of time in the Knights in Shining Armor galleries, H.o.p. ogling metal and me taking dozens of photos for him since he’s been knight crazy for a year and I knew he’d want to be able to later study the different styles of armor…which is amazingly wrought but insane stuff dedicated to the game of battle as prescribed by the self-aggrandizing elite. At least that’s what kept running through my mind, the metal screaming at me the huge chunks of change devoted not only to their physical protection but the aesthetics of it. Fashion! These weren’t just tin cans.
My plan right now is uploading all these pictures and coupling them with links to essays at the MMoA website so H.o.p. will have them on hand for study. And doing this as well with many of the other things we saw. Which will take me some time (really is a labor, working on the pics then seeking out info at the respective museum’s website and linking to it) but seems a good way of integrating this wonderful trip and all its museum excursions into his homeschooling. We did some preparation before going up, but over the next few months we can can return to, for instance, the American Museum of Natural History website and review the literature and podcasts on the special Mythic Creatures exhibit which he’s seen and his experience will augment the material just as the material augments the excursion. Which is what we did the other day, reviewed the material on the Mythic Creatures exhibit.
Then H.o.p. came down WHAP with what seems to be the same cold that his grandmother and one of his uncles picked up while we were in New York. I had planned on an outing to the High Museum on Saturday (as I learned that Fulton county residents get free admission the first Saturday of every month) and hopefully that will still happen. He was over the low fever in a day but is now all congested.
By the way, before our trip I had looked up visitor info for each museum, for directions and what they allowed concerning photography, what special exhibits were going on, and I had read that a couple of the museums didn’t allow backpacks of ANY size, they must be checked. So our first day in New York I ran to Duffy’s (before our Macy’s outing) and found a huge purse, one that wasn’t all gaudied up with metal studs and buckles, because I certainly didn’t want to waste time standing in locker lines. I’d wanted a messenger bag but not finding one that I liked (in other words, not finding one exactly like I saw on the shoulder of a guy when I was getting my ID renewed the day before heading up to New York…and I still want it because it looked great for carrying around camera stuff) I settled on a great big bag that would house all my junk and camera etc. The bag is larger than my small back pack, but since it wasn’t a back pack I didn’t have to check it in. We were at MoMA and women around me were being stopped and asked to go check their back packs while I sauntered right in with my bag which was every bit as large, but by virtue of its being a BAG didn’t have to be checked.
This is like the first purse I’ve purchased in decades. I’m not joking. All for sake of museum going.
So at around 12:30 to 1:00 am, the first night there, I’m lying in bed looking up at the Empire State Building, right outside the window, and here comes this plane and buzzes the top of the Empire State Building, then does a U-turn and flies out of sight again.
I didn’t know people were allowed to do that.
Marty happened to be awake and saw it as well.
When I’d heard how high up we’d be staying, I wasn’t thrilled. But it turned out not to be unnerving…once I got used to the fact you could open the windows four inches.
I wondered how many high rise windows have seen engagement and wedding rings fly out them at the height of arguments.
What was wild to me was that here we were over forty floors up and yet we could clearly hear people talking on the street below.
We ate at Ali’s Kabab Cafe in Astoria on our last night in New York, a tiny place that consists of a kitchen squashed in with a few tables. Marty’s brother, Rob, a frequent patron, has raved about it to us for years. And for good reason. Ali’s made me love food again.
Below is a Bourdain and Zimmern video on it at Youtube.
We walked blocks through sleet and rain to Kabab. And emerged hours later, happy and satisfied with life.