We’re home from spending the first half of my husband’s vacation in Indy, catching up with friends and making it possible for grandparents and kidling to spend time with each other. We went to services Friday evening, required now that J. is into formal bar mitzvah preparations, and then Saturday morning betook ourselves southward. After spending some time chatting with my wonderful in-laws, we went another hour south to catch Wild Mercy’s first gig since their harpist had her baby. (She said she was still wearing maternity jeans, but I swear you’d never guess she had a baby about a month ago!)
The show was at a winery, where people spread blankets and brought picnics, and kids and dogs ran around on the grass. For those who hadn’t brought their own they had pizza from a local eclectic pizzaria, fruit and cheese plates and, of course, wine. I had occasional sips from my husband’s, but only half a glass of my own – something about not wanting to fall asleep.
They did a marvelous show. That isn’t solely my biased judgment (the band members being good friends), but both comments I heard from people sitting near us and inference from the fact that while a few folks left at the end of the second set, they seemed to be mostly those with very young children getting sleepy and cranky. Almost everyone stayed to the very end, and they were listening as well as chatting. I’d guess there easily 400 people there, maybe more, and they were holding the audience perfectly well. It was fun, too, hearing songs by people I know being appreciated by folks outside those for whom they’re usually performed. The designer pizza didn’t appeal to Mr. Picky, but his dad went out and got him something from McD’s and he found some kids to romp with, so that was all good too.
We got back to my in-laws tired but happy, and then I had to tell His Boyness that no, he couldn’t put showering off until morning; it was kind of urgent. His legs were visibly grimy and his feet flat out black on the bottoms, courtesy of a soccer game and an extended adventure in rolling down a nice, long hill. But that was accomplished, and so was sleep for all and sundry, and we went onward.
Sunday I took boychick over to my mom’s for the afternoon. He sat down in the den with mom and me, and laughed at stories and talked and generally shared the conversation, following the topic without dragging it back to something familiar like weather or disasters natural or un. It was another quantum leap in social development, seen for the first time, and I was enormously proud of him. Sunday night we caught up with friends. Boychick wanted to come along, but bed needed to happen sooner than we’d get home; bless my in-laws for offering to babysit! Monday I took Mom to get some things that required both of us taken care of, which took much of the day but isn’t newsworthy. What was newsworthy was her ability to keep track of a conversational thread or an explanation from beginning to end. The medication her doctor put her on is clearly helping, for which I am tremendously grateful. I don’t know how deep the improvement goes, but this alone is enough for now.
And Tuesday we went to see the current King Tut exhibit. My husband had seen it years earlier in Chicago, the first time it came to the U.S., but I never had. All I can say is wow! Yes, there was a lot of gold, but the gold wasn’t what made it. It was the sheer beauty and craftsmanship and intricacy of the pieces displayed. You can see a picture of a hawk with outspread wings with the feathering done in inlay of lapis and carnelian and gold, but it doesn’t begin to convey the reality. A photo of the gold death-mask that covered the head, chest and shoulders of the mummy itself does not show that they caught the details in the shape of the features, or that it would be so clear how young the King was when he died. The photo is an empty mask of Pharoah. In person, you almost expect it to open its mouth and draw breath. Then there were fun touches, like the cat legs on a bed and a chair. The front legs of the pieces were kitty front legs, and the back legs had the bend a cat’s back legs have. They were delightful. The emphasized that because Tutankhamen had died suddenly and very young, that his tomb and funerary arrangements were hasty and scanty and so got lost. While other, grander pyramid tombs were raided by grave-robbers repeatedly, Tut’s was mostly spared, because it was relatively insignificant. If that was insignificant, I can’t even imagine what the tombs of the other pharoahs were like. And I’m tremendously glad we went.