Eric and I decided Friday would be a museum day. I had only really wanted to go to the Museum of Modern Art and the Museum of Natural History. We also stuck in a small John Lennon exhibit at the Peavey.
The MOMA started out just fine. We got to bypass the long line to get in, because having a cane can be awesome. Eric likes to say it's the reason he married me. We paid too much, and got our listening devices and started looking around at some really boring photography exhibits before deciding to ask two ladies behind a desk where they thought we should go. I explained a little bit about the vision loss, and the desire to see what I could in a short amount of time, and I got the answer I expected to hear. "Oh, you really have to see it all."
So we tried. There was a Matisse exhibit, and Eric and I decided we aren't huge fans, after about twenty minutes of trying to force it. So we headed to the fifth floor, and I got choked up, because I started to think about art, and how it's visual, and how hard it will be to appreciate it once my sight is gone. I got secretly angry at Eric, because he got to keep his vision, and he didn't even care about most of the stuff we saw. I lost it, a little.
Our method for walking around wasn't really working for either of us. He felt like he was being pulled, and I felt like he was dragging me away. We tried communicating as we walked, and that worked for about two seconds before we'd go right back into dragging/pulling. So we'd communicate again, and we both just felt like we were failing. We saw real live Andy Warhols. It was mostly the worst three hours I would spend in New York.
So we headed for the John Lennon exhibit at the Peavey, which ended up being semi-cool, but mostly stuff we'd seen before. We decided that the first thing we'd do when we got home was buy Harrison an English schoolboy hat and short pants.
We ate a delicious deli sandwich.
And we were off to find the Museum of Natural History. I'll admit that I mostly wanted to see the stuff from Night at the Museum. Sue me. I think it's a funny movie.
I went into this part of the trip with the idea that I wanted to see this stuff for myself, so that when we took the kids someday, I would be able to know what it was that they were oohing and aahing about. I could say, "Did you notice those holes in the asteroid? Up there near the top? How do you think they got there?" I could comment on how I thought the triceratops looks like he's laughing. I could tell them that the perma-frown I share with my kids looks just like the faces on the Aztec busts.
So I tried to see it all, and we ended up racing through the museum until the very last moment that it closed. And I still didn't feel satisfied. I just wanted to cry.
I can't really remember what we did after dark. I vaguely remember going to buy a cupcake at Magnolia Bakery, to make up for the crappy day.
And then we tried to go back to the hotel, except that the bus that was supposed to come, didn't. So we stood on 42nd Street and 8th Avenue for nearly an hour, waiting. We decided we could just walk to the ferry, since it was only on 38th Street and 12th Avenue. Somewhere around 40th street and 9th Avenue, I kept getting visions of that scene from Batman, when the parents get killed, and my pearls fall down into the sewer. So what if I don't wear pearls? It could have happened.
By the time we got home, I was worn out and sore. And so I cried in a way I haven't cried yet. I cried about my expectations, and fairness, and bad things happening to good people, and Eric's patience, and my impatience, and everything that hadn't yet come to the surface. And Eric held me, and let me cry, and I fell asleep, smiling.
And the next day was so, so, so much better.