Delights: August 30 to September 5

August 30: They fed me chocolates. They plied me with wine. They apologized and thanked me again and again for my patience as they battled the computer. For me, their thanks were like festive confetti from a championship parade. After all, they had conjured a perfect wedding ensemble for me with a splendid necklace to match. And with each computer misfire, I made another loop around the boutique and found something more: this bracelet! those earrings! 

In my relief — the first wedding is just two weeks away — I felt I should be the one to offer wine, chocolate and thanks. It all felt like a party. Eventually, the computer relented; we laughed and congratulated each other with loud cheers. No wonder the store’s name is Crazy Ladyz.

August 31: On a narrow strip of lawn, our neighbors had arranged a circle of beach chairs around their fire pit. Nearby they’d placed an inflatable wading pool, a Slip-n-Slide and two large camping tents. Later, I watched six or seven 11-year old girls, barefoot and clad in bathing suits, scamper down our block. A friend stopped by our house that evening and put it all together for me: “Your neighbors,” he said, “have created about the best slumber party ever.” I had to agree.

September 1: Speaking of slipping and sliding, let’s talk crocodiles.

One April evening toward twilight, our Nile River cruise ship moored next to a clutch of other boats for a visit to Kom Ombo Temple. By chance, we had arrived later than anticipated — which meant, at last, that we toured an Egyptian temple by night. Kom Ombo is a rare temple dedicated to two gods, one of whom is Sobek, the Crocodile God. Worshipped 3500 years ago during the Middle Kingdom, Sobek bore many sobriquets, including “Lord of the Inundation” and “He Who Made the Plants Green.” Far from evoking terror, Sobek prompted me to appreciate (again) the slim green ribbon of fields and marshes between the Nile and the desert.

Beauty. Fertility. Abundance. This was the theme. Moonlight and spotlights cast familiar pylons, reliefs, chambers and columns into rare shapes and shadows. Kom Ombo by night was enchanting.

Nothing creepy at all. Until we entered the Crocodile Museum. Imagine a Lucite box the size of a small school bus, filled with sand up to our waists — and nearly twenty lifelike crocodiles looking straight at us. 

Ok. I had touched a monumental block of the Great Pyramid of Giza. I had ridden a camel. I had seen the mummified remains of King Tutankhamun resting in his glorious tomb. I had marveled over art and architecture. But, yeah, these crocodiles might have been the highlight of the trip. 

Bonus: Moments after writing this, I came upon a description of the 19^th century short story “The Crocodile,” by Fyodor Dostoevsky. In the belly of the beast!

September 2: As I approached a sidewalk café, I spotted what I thought was a dad dandling his curly-haired daughter on one knee. I smiled. Then, as I drove closer, I realized that the curly head belonged to a tiny smiling elderly lady sitting beside him at the table. His mom? I liked that picture even better.

September 3: A friend in town is a self-taught bookbinder, specializing in very old and very rare books. He once purchased, for purposes of practice, a bound collection of 18^th century booklets. When he undid the binding and separated the texts, he discovered a booklet from the printing press of Benjamin Franklin. It’s missing the title page (which would have established its monetary value), but I agree with my friend — when he invited me to touch something touched by Benjamin Franklin! — that its value is beyond money.

Which takes me to “The Night Before Christmas.” When I was a wee babe, my Aunt Ann gave me a copy of that venerable classic, illustrated by Gyo Fujikawa. My parents say I carried it everywhere and knew every word (“Is she reading?” an incredulous workman asked them. “Oh, no,” they replied. “She’s too young. She just memorized it.”) Naturally, Kevin and I read it every Christmas to Nate and Jeremiah. I loved that book to the breaking point and beyond: Last Christmas, threads barely held the front and back covers together.

Yesterday, my bookbinding friend handed me my Gyo Fujikawa book with a fresh binding in off-white tones that honors the smudges, splotches and love on the cover and all the joy within. 

To me, this is a book whose value is beyond money.

September 4: I interviewed this week for a chance to join the 2024 Docent Corps of the Smithsonian American Art Museum (SAAM). If I’m selected, I’ll receive a condensed Masters’ level education in American Art, training in docent technique and philosophy, and lifetime access to continuing art education, art-related book clubs and, yes, pretty splendid works of art. (Of course, I already possess the last item on the list.)

The interview questions were quite good. Some of my favorites:

• Where in the museum would you go on a rainy Sunday afternoon? The Renwick Gallery. (I actually did that a few years ago.)
• Tell us about your experience with elementary school children. Nailed that one. (You can revisit highlights of my most recent 4^th grade substitute teaching stint here: Week 1 and Week 2).
• What would you do if you discover on the morning of your theme-based tour that one of your featured pieces had been removed? I said: Find a theme-consistent alternative, ask for help, show six instead of seven pieces, or — I think the interviewer liked this crazy answer — find a piece that is “contra-theme” and discuss.
• When you’ve taken docent-led tours, what stood out to you? I said I liked how the docent had invited her group of adults to “notice and wonder” (just like I do in the classroom) and had stood in front of the signage while we answered. 
• Here’s a piece of art [in my case, a red-painted chunk of wood with sequins]. Discuss. I had fun with this one, because I like contemporary art.

Nevertheless, I came out of the interview worried: SAAM is interviewing 70 people for 30 positions. “Mom,” Jeremiah reassured me, “They’re looking for someone with intelligence and enthusiasm. That’s you. Besides, you have 30 chances!”

Maybe so. Keep your fingers crossed. In the meantime, I have a wonderful museum to visit anytime I wish. And docent tours to enjoy!

Bonus: In his comment to last week’s Delights, Mr. Platypus, my blogging friend from England (and gifted amateur historian), explained to me the origin of the clotted cream v. jam sequencing debate. He also called my attention to his tea sandwich-sized history of the Afternoon Tea in England. I think you’ll enjoy his tale, Mrs. P’s photos, and certainly the preface!

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If you’d like to browse my past delights, please consult the “word cloud” featured at the very bottom of this post. Find a theme or two that interests you and sift through the sands. Or learn a bit more about my Blog by visiting my Welcome page. You’ll also see links to four essays that were published in print magazines. I’m glad you’re here!