ELLIOTT AT THE MUSEUMS

When in New York, Elliott will have culture …
BROOKLYN MUSEUM OF ART - ©MURAKAMI
Shelaine went shopping with her friends on Saturday so I grabbed the keys, strapped Elliott in the car and drove over the Brooklyn Bridge, wishing her a happy 125th birthday as we rolled across her spine. The Murakami show is great for kids, as long as they’re too young to ask questions. We had to stow the stroller so Elliott got to walk! He doesn’t get holding hands yet so I followed his lead and reined him in with his hoodie. It was fun circling the gigantic flower centerpiece five times and swooping him up in my arms to prevent a little finger painting.

Takashi Murakami has a strange mind – like he’s trying to appeal to a seven-year-old girl with the wit of a thirteen-year-old boy and the neurosis of a middle-aged man (sounds perverse when I spell it out like that … see it for yourself and we’ll compare notes). Then abruptly in 2007 tranquility appears in two pieces with Shogunesque bearded Buddha-type men with grown-up titles. My favorite: “That I may time transcend that a universe my heart may unfold.” Elliott’s favorite installation: the Kanye West video – he sat on my lap on the floor enraptured and didn’t even twitch his toes.

To add a little feminist balance to our day we stopped in for a quick tour of Judy Chicago’s Dinner Party before trotting over for a romp in Prospect Park. Kylee worked up an appetite pushing Elliott on the swing so we set out in search of a snack and were delighted to find Cheryl’s Global Soul where Chef Cheryl greeted us at the door. If you like spicy, the Thai mussels are excellent. (And if you’re tempted to give your toddler an empty mussel shell to chew on, trust me, it’s not a good idea!)

THE CLOISTERS (METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART)
Sunday was a gorgeous day for a trip to The Cloisters, especially since I’d never been, Shelaine loves medieval art, and we had the car. On our way North we met up with Robert and Jack for a scrumptious brunch at Community Food and Juice at 112th and Broadway. I recommend the beet salad. And to spice it up add the side of sliced avocado (which I pilfered from Elliott’s meal). Delicious!

Elliott experienced the entirety of The Cloisters lying down, to the envy of several reluctant museum-goers who, upon seeing Elliott in repose, admitted to their companions they’d rather be napping. I like to take in my medieval art fast and fleetingly, as if I’m being chased through a castle by a two-headed lion. Relaxing in the courtyards is appealing - and these had vibrantly melodic birds and lovely lush herbs - but inside the cavernous stone spaces my claustrophobia kicks in and I pine for the too few slivers of sunshine. Elliott’s mother will have to take him back to The Cloisters sometime when he’s awake because one visit in this lifetime is enough for me.



MUSEUM OF MODERN ART
Our motto: why go to the beach on Memorial Day when you can have New York to yourself?! Elliott grabbed glances at every painting at MoMA as we breezed past the permanent exhibits in search of the Rothko's in Gallery 19, and playfully participated in the light installations of Olafur Eliasson. While soaking up the sounds in the strobe lit rain falling into trough in black room (my makeshift title) Linda commented, “It reminds me of the ‘70’s when we were all dropping acid,” to which a passerby replied, “I was thinking the same thing.” At which point it occurred to me it might not be the best place for Elliott to linger for a prolonged period, though he seemed to enjoy the sensory over-exposure.

Having our fill of indoor art, we hopped out to the sculpture garden to frolic in the fresh air with Maillol’s bronzes, which proved to be a perfect capstone to a sublime weekend. Elliott and I then headed home while Shelaine, Becky and Erin went for a stroll up Fifth Avenue and Benedicta and Linda went underground to see “Mother of Many Children,” a film about Linda’s childhood tribe in Canada.

Hopefully I will always find stimulating art to inspire Elliott and he will always provide me with a convenient excuse to duck out for a nap. Sounds like a perfect relationship.

MOUNT HOOD

We all look the same here as we traipse the corridors in our McMenanmin’s issue rough terry robes. (I keep my key in the pocket to prevent startling a napping attendant at 4am to beg to get back to my bed.) I’m in the Reporter’s Room, which seems so impersonal considering the rooms to the right are the Mary and Minnie Tibbits and the David Flinn Buxton (with a painting of a mystical brunette on the door). I’m writing this over not-quite-done oatmeal in the Black Rabbit restaurant. With each sip of orange juice my head, which when I awoke felt like someone had poured in a bucket of soggy seawater laced sand, clears a bit.

I sneezed all the way to Mount Hood and was glad to be suffering in the hot clear skies of Oregon rather than in rainy New York. I kept the silver Ford Focus hugging the curves of the scenic bypass to Mount Hood and after passing two snowboard clad hitchhikers eventually made my way to Timberline Lodge which sits at 5960 feet, half way up the mountain. From the lodge the ascent to the peak looks like a gentle slope upwards and on this warm day I wondered how it was possible to get lost and die up there while the piles of lazy snow gave no hint of their ferocious descent. The gracious historic doors to Timberline are masked with a reinforced army barracks style tunnel that allows safe passage. The only view from anything below the third floor is snow that appears to have been there since the Timberline was built by the WPA in the 1930’s.




I settled in for lunch with a view at the Ram’s Head Bar and a jolly young man asked if I was alone. To my affirmative reply he invited me to join them. I happily declined as the woman with him kept her gaze focused on the spectacular view. Fortified I headed toward the Columbia River Gorge in search of woods I could trample in my sandaled feet. I spotted two cars parked to the side of the rode and hoped it marked an off beat trail. After traversing disintegrating felled trees and moss covered boulders I spotted a bridge crossing a wide rugged stream. Just across the bridge was a trail heading two directions that was barely distinguishable from the dry needled pine forest floor. I took both forks and found impassable snow about 500 yards out in each direction. Ho hum, I had not packed sensible shoes! The second fork did offer an uphill climb with a view of the stream so after my ascent I settled in and soaked up the intensity of the rushing water.
The final leg of my loop back to Portland offered five waterfalls, Multnomah being the most famous and the only one with a snow cone vendor. My favorite was Horsetail falls where I took the steep, winding path to the upper falls. I braved the recessed cave behind the falls that gave me a thrill and fright not possible at the Opera and gazed through the raging runoff at the sun splashed lushness dappled with 100 shades of green.

PORTLAND, OREGON

I remember my travels not only by the sites I see but also by the books I read along the way. On the flight to Portland I read Barbara Brown Taylor’s Leaving Church. Seemed an appropriate selection as I headed out to attend a meeting on progressive theology that lies intentionally outside the perimeter of the church I know. Mrs. Taylor became an Episcopal priest and wended her way to the ideal flock. In time she found herself so depleted from doing the work she loved for the multitude that were never satisfied and from hashing over human sexuality rather than focusing on divine Grace that she exited stage left.

Tired tears of understanding were pinched back as I read passages I could have written. I was heartened to realize I’d rather do the work of hacking branches to save myself than shoring up stones to preserve trampled tradition. And I’m scintillated by a quote from Vonnegut Taylor threw in, “Strange travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.” (Does anyone know what novel this is from? I just read Vonnegut for the first time recently and I feel a kinship with his quirky funny. I’ll now be on a quest to find this gem.)

When I looked up after finishing my book we were flying over a mountain range. Snow draped peaks cradled strewn gauzy clouds and I wanted to drop down just long enough to take a bite out of a freshly rolled ball of powdered snow. This trip to Portland gave two options for a day trip – the coast or Mount Hood. I wondered why I unhesitatingly chose to run to the mountain and thought perhaps it’s because it’s easier to get lost in the mountains. At the beach you can get lost by drowning; but the mountains offer countless options for straying and still finding your way home.

Portland proper reminds me of post-Annex Princeton blown up to a 10:1 scale - so clean and controlled and white. And for a little grit, the townies are gathered in the square, though these townies are probably from other places, like Decatur or Laredo. Loved the Japanese Gardens and was thrilled to have good food for not much money with free stuff thrown in by my servers at lunch and dinner. I think it was because I announced my exhaustion from taking the 7am flight from New York.

At 5:48 pm I trudged down to the shared bathroom (ugh) to brush my teeth before falling into bed. I was drawn to the lav at the back with a window overlooking the wine tasting patio. To my utter delight I discovered a claw tooth tub. Ah, now there’s a place I could prop myself up for another hour!

SUNSET PARK (BROOKLYN)

Sunset Park will likely go down as the cheapest excursion of my life. Kylee picked up the tab for dinner so my grand total came in under $5 (the price of two subway rides). And there were pleasures galore: views of the Verrazano-Narrows, Statue of Liberty, Manhattan Skyline, and cargo and passenger ships dotting the horizon; excellent Mexican food; a clover field promising hours of enjoyment on the search for that lucky fourth leaf; and shop windows filled with eye-candy you just can't find on Madison Avenue.




Other than seeing Kylee's new apartment where she just took the giant step of signing a year's lease, our main agenda was finding some good Mexican food. Kylee hadn't sampled the local fare so she was quite surprised to learn that her off-the-grid sojourn in Mexico picking up Spanish in order to get her diploma would be called upon at Tacos Matamoros. And if it weren't for that misadventure of hers we both might have gone hungry. I held my tongue as a conversation, I assume about what we wanted to drink, took place. When I smiled and said, "I'll have the same," Kylee quickly translated for me. I had no idea what I was getting the same of - still don't - but fortunately I liked it. Similar exchanges took place for the next couple of courses. Kylee was apprehensive about her halted Spanish but I laid on the praise knowing it was my only hope of avoiding the arcane method of pointing and nodding for my supper. This was just much more civilized. (Having had unfortunate meals in Paris and Rhodes when relying on this approach I no longer trust my ability to point and nod.)

Feeling satiated and a little adventurous after our scrumptious meal, we set out to discover the treasures of the actual Sunset Park (the namesake for the neighborhood). Kylee hadn't been yet but had heard the sunsets were nice. Imagine that. Though her co-worker Nate told her she had to see the sunset with her Boo Love, not her sister. "Seeing the sunset with your sister would be weird," he said. Guess he doesn't know we're all about weird so off we went quite content to have no Boo Loves (whatever those are) in tow.




It's a good thing the maiden voyage of my Canon PowerShot wasn't taken solo. I'd studied the instruction manual but hadn't picked up on the fact that the zoom lens really zooms. I thought it only had two settings and frankly couldn't tell the difference between the two. Kylee to the rescue again quickly got me straightened out ... or rather zoomed in. Enjoy the fruits of our labor!

Now get on over to Sunset Park before the sun goes down. And if you don't have a Boo Love to take with you, just give Kylee a call!

Adios Amigos!