Driving into The City (it's always going to be The City to me) on a $12.50 comfy shuttle bus to Grand Central and then a free van to the Hilton on 6th Avenue (which will never be Avenue of the Americas to me) fed my inner Scrooge as it afforded views like this
which I never see in Tucson.
I didn't mind the signs and the narrow lanes and the grit.
It felt like home.
I closed my eyes and Daddooooo was driving and G'ma was grumbling and we kids were trying to see just how much mayhem we could accomplish before someone noticed.
It was bumpy and noisy and grimy and I loved it.
I took myself to MOMA (Museum of Modern Art) after the conference ended on Saturday. It was only half way down 53rd Street, after all, and I have a membership. My walking stick and I cruised right past the lovely ticket taker who smiled at my pretty membership card and clicked me through the turnstyle.
There are certain places I like to be, like between Van Gogh's Starry Night and Cezanne's The Bather, standing on the cool rocks below that nearly naked man's feet. It's an odd picture and I have spent more time than I did that Saturday contemplating the perspective. That day, his right side's disconnect did not seem much different from my own.
which are Little Cuter and SIR's wedding colors and if I'd been smart enough to notice the artist's name I might be able to do something wonderful but, alas......
It does make me smile, though.
With that smile on my face, I entered and exited an elevator, turned a corner or two and saw these
My smile was a little bit harder to find for a while.
I looked down from the third floor
and was entranced.
As soon as I caught my breath I went downstairs where I saw Giorgio Boetti's embroidery on fabric, six years in the making, world maps
and those remarkable rugs.
Handwoven in Afghanistan, the artists were given a simple instruction.
Using two colors and a 10x10 grid, count to 100.
Take your time... start at the bottom right corner and track to the left.
Some had colorful borders.
Some made fanciful shapes and designs.
The whole squares and boxes thing was everywhere
and I do mean everywhere.
I am certain that there was a point to all those televisions in one room but it was making me a little nutty so I left before I figured it out.
There was an exhibit on The Century of the Child in design but they wouldn't let me take any pictures so you'll have to dig deep into your memory banks, or Google Images, and imagine the legos and slinky and color forms and the erector sets all carefully displayed near the Spirograph and the Etch-A-Sketch. There were educational blocks with arches and ramps just like the ones my siblings and I painted red one wet afternoon. Blow up dolls and Tetris and Dr. Seuss and Soupy Sales and the same Marimekko bedding Big Cuter had on his bunk beds for years were almost as enchanting to the actual children who were there as was the interactive shadow play exhibit. It was all about them.
Kathleen was not only the perfect person to register me and quietly upgrade me and gush with me over the divers and swimmers and her love for all things equestrian, she recognized me as I crossed the lobby three days later. She reminded me that she'd sent an amenity to my room, reminded me to call and ask for it, and so, denizens, I spent my last night in New York City indulging in berries and bubbly
I was too sleepy to take pictures of the city at dawn as my cabbie pointed out Ward Island and the various bridges and parkways, just because I wondered aloud which one was Randall's Island.
If only the airlines were as forthcoming with information and style and a sense of warmth and welcome.
I'd travel back and forth more often if I could beam myself there.