Shaking Hands With Yo-Yo Ma
My pedometer rarely sees an opportunity to count past 5,000 steps these days. Shameful. So today I drove an hour to spend the gray misty day walking in an art museum. There's lots of irony in warming up and cooling down from a walk by planting one's keister in a car. Still, spending a cold-to-the-bone day at a nifty art museum, getting cultured up, and walking for hours and hours and hours isn't a bad way to spend the day.
That makes the Peabody Essex Museum (website) in Salem, Massachusetts a $13 walking track. Except that a bunch of art gets in the way of a truly aerobically stimulating workout. After three hours I walk six rooms total, because some guy named Joseph Cornell (about) left boxes everywhere. Boxes, magazines, parrots, and some hot girl balloon (see photo). And it's all firmly glued down. Even the boxes from way back in 1935. But with what? How could glue that old still hold? How could I increase my pedometer's step count in the midst of a Glue Mystery? I'm not a machine.
Amongst the boxes I notice a navy blue suit attached to a friendly looking guard (of the breathing, living sort). I ask him what sort of glue is used by this Joseph Cornell: Elmer's, horse, what?
With a smile, he says, "That's a very good question." I like this man. What is there about a smile and a compliment that creates an instant bond? "Are you an artist?" He must see a creative spirit within me! "My granddaughter goes to art school. Me, I've been appreciating art for 43 years. But I don't know what sort of glue he used in the Cornell boxes and collages."
He points me to the computer display, where there might be glue-related facts. He continues, "Do you like classical music?" I nod yes. "Once the cellist Yo-Yo Ma (website) and I shared a flight to Boston. We weren't sitting together, of course. He and his cello had first class—two seats, one for him and one for his instrument!—and my seat was not."
"If it was checked with the rest of the baggage maybe the changes in air pressure might wreck it," I offer.
"Oh, good. I hadn't thought of that. So as I boarded the plane I notice him. I stood in the aisle next to Yo-Yo Ma's seat and say, 'They love you in Boston.' We shake hands and then I kiss the back of his hand. It was a natural inclination. I didn't plan to do it. I kissed the same hand that plays so beautifully, all over the world. He smiled. I think he enjoyed it."
When I turn to leave my friend says, "It was nice talking with you." He extends a hand to me, without the smooching.
Art, mystery, connecting with a stranger. This is a nice walk.
That makes the Peabody Essex Museum (website) in Salem, Massachusetts a $13 walking track. Except that a bunch of art gets in the way of a truly aerobically stimulating workout. After three hours I walk six rooms total, because some guy named Joseph Cornell (about) left boxes everywhere. Boxes, magazines, parrots, and some hot girl balloon (see photo). And it's all firmly glued down. Even the boxes from way back in 1935. But with what? How could glue that old still hold? How could I increase my pedometer's step count in the midst of a Glue Mystery? I'm not a machine. Amongst the boxes I notice a navy blue suit attached to a friendly looking guard (of the breathing, living sort). I ask him what sort of glue is used by this Joseph Cornell: Elmer's, horse, what?
With a smile, he says, "That's a very good question." I like this man. What is there about a smile and a compliment that creates an instant bond? "Are you an artist?" He must see a creative spirit within me! "My granddaughter goes to art school. Me, I've been appreciating art for 43 years. But I don't know what sort of glue he used in the Cornell boxes and collages."
He points me to the computer display, where there might be glue-related facts. He continues, "Do you like classical music?" I nod yes. "Once the cellist Yo-Yo Ma (website) and I shared a flight to Boston. We weren't sitting together, of course. He and his cello had first class—two seats, one for him and one for his instrument!—and my seat was not."
"If it was checked with the rest of the baggage maybe the changes in air pressure might wreck it," I offer.
"Oh, good. I hadn't thought of that. So as I boarded the plane I notice him. I stood in the aisle next to Yo-Yo Ma's seat and say, 'They love you in Boston.' We shake hands and then I kiss the back of his hand. It was a natural inclination. I didn't plan to do it. I kissed the same hand that plays so beautifully, all over the world. He smiled. I think he enjoyed it."
When I turn to leave my friend says, "It was nice talking with you." He extends a hand to me, without the smooching.
Art, mystery, connecting with a stranger. This is a nice walk.
Comments
Those guards are a friendly bunch. One time my niece barged through the wrong door at the Yin Yu Tang house and I froze, expecting the guard to order us out. Instead he just shrugged, let us wander through the exhibit and threw in some anecdotes about the carp in the well.
silly
That said, if you're going to catch Cooties it's best to do so when young. An adult case is agonizingly embarrassing and harder to explain—like getting a kernel of corn stuck up your nose.
'Tis a rare thing, indeed nowadays, to find such a friendly and accomodating stranger.