Delights: October 18 to October 24

October 18:  I had found a perfect place to eat my picnic lunch: on an elevated stone terrace overlooking a pair of woodland pools and a gnarled and noisy waterfall traveling to the shade garden below. 

The woman welcoming me to the Winterthur Museum, Garden and Library in Delaware had assured me that I had many picnic choices. She was right; I had passed any number of benches and corner-tucked tables, and nothing surpassed where I lingered now. 

Eventually I moved on. Within a few steps I stood behind the 175-room house, which is the fourth largest in the United States. On one edge of the back lawn was a snug two-arched garden shelter (the “summer house”), featuring an ardent fountain, Palladian windows overlooking the woods, and a lighted chandelier. This also would have been a perfect place for lunch. Sigh.

I decided to sit at the glass-topped table anyway. I admired the built-in backgammon board and the antique call button on a pillar. (“I’ll take a lemonade, please.”) The sun warmed my back. As I write this, the museum — brimming with early American decorative arts — calls me. But, oh, this is too delightful to leave. So I won’t. Dessert, anyone?

Bonus: I eventually pulled myself away and entered the museum. I was particularly taken by the mansion’s Chinese Room, featuring 18^th century non-repeating wallpaper handcrafted in China from ornamental grasses and mulberry fiber. In the 1920s, the wallpaper had been found, unmounted, in France. Winterthur’s founder, Henry Francis du Pont, adapted the room to suit this beautiful paper. 

October 19: After exploring Winterthur yesterday, I arrived at the home of my dear friend Joan and her husband Don. On a glorious October morning, Joan and I headed to nearby Philadelphia. Sunshine followed us around Philadelphia’s lively Center City to the Franklin Institute, where Joan and I admired sculpture created with Lego bricks, gaped at the galaxy of satellites studding the planetarium’s CGI sky, and broke our brains trying to grasp the physics displays aimed at children.  

Back in the sunshine, we walked and walked, and talked and talked. Our destination: an early 20^th century former vocational school whose rooftop had been converted into a terrace bar. After an hour walking through countless Philadelphia neighborhoods and riding up a freight elevator to the 8^th floor, we stepped out into a magical world: the entire city of Philadelphia was spread before us. At our feet, blocks of row houses reached all the way back to Center City and to our dinner destination, an Italian restaurant called Ralph’s in South Philly. As we sipped our beers, we saluted our epic day. As we collapsed into the car later that night, we saluted our feet for walking 9.6 city miles. And, of course, we saluted our friendship.

October 20: Kevin and I converged from our separate weekend travels to see the film “Tom Petty: Heartbreaker Beach Party.” Made in 1983, this “video profile” by budding filmmaker Cameron Crowe features concert footage, recording studio glimpses and lots of interview time with Petty and the band. Apparently, the film had been lost for forty years after its initial airing on MTV in 1983. (It was judged “too experimental.”)

Usually I agree with Tom Petty when he says, “The waiting is the hardest part.” Yesterday, though, the hardest part was not singing along.

Bonus: In one outtake, Tom Petty comments on an uplifting lyric of a 1983 song: “All we can hope to do is inspire.”

Double Bonus: I was in law school and befriending Joan when MTV made its appearance. (A lot of studying might have happened in front of the TV.) I loved those revolutionary music videos; many were a tiny pieces of art. Here’s the 1983 Heartbreakers video of You Got Lucky, which the film kindly included. I definitely remember that Tom Petty look.

October 21: Today I read the first Docent Training handout from the Smithsonian American Art Museum. For two and a half hours each week for 21 weeks (and many hours in between), we will study textbooks of American art and American history, complete numerous assignments, shadow docents at SAAM and other Washington area museums, and learn to be “catalysts in the interaction between object and observer.” We will also — I love this — study the art of storytelling. Will you let me practice on you? 

October 22: My friend Joan introduced me to the word “petrachlor,” which means “the smell of rain.” I love that English chooses to capture in language this ordinary and slightly miraculous scent. Today, while reading a review of “On the National Language: The Poetry of America’s Endangered Tongues,” by B.A. Van Sise, I encountered four other new words. Like “petrachlor,” each captures something special about the human experience — and a community’s determination to honor it.

• In Tonga, pahaatkomok means “the light reflected from stars.”
• In Louisiana Creole, vayá means “to visit an ill person at night.”
• In Comanche, naibikweyainuu means “tired of being beautiful.”
• In Pende D’Oreille, xs ewlši means “growing old in a good way.”

October 23: Inhaling the heady mix of nerves and glee, I started my docent training today at the Smithsonian American Art Museum. The Metro delivered me practically to the foot of SAAM’s grand entrance, and the security guards whisked me into the museum as though I truly belonged. (Of course, they greet all visitors that way!) Anticipating my employee discount, I peeked into the gift shop and scouted Christmas presents. Then I hurried to the classroom.

Training began. Even though this was just orientation, I felt like I had entered a 1970s dance party, with possibility reflecting everywhere like light from a disco ball and seriousness of purpose pulsing like strobe lights. I felt the beat and was gearing up to explode into this dance. 

The instructor acknowledged that we might feel like we are embarking on a learning frenzy. (“We’re doing in nine months what used to take eighteen.”) By the end, he said, you will be able to distill everything you’ve learned and find a way to animate America’s history and culture through its art. You will invite visitors to study the objects you’ve guided them to and you will ask engaging questions. 

We will teach you all of this. But this part you will need to teach yourself, he said: For each question, you will give visitors a full minute — in silence — to ponder your question and fashion an answer. And, as though looking right at me, you will modulate your enthusiasm and you will slow down.  

That will be my biggest challenge: to learn to turn off my internal disco ball and strobe lights, while retaining my joy and my “voice.” Happily, I have a huge museum in which to practice and lots of nearby friends to coach me along the way.

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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!