Who decided 2 add an "h" at the end of stomach? Then it shud b pronounced "stomachhh" not "stomick." #wordsmakenosense
On Trying to Culture My Family
I try. I really do. But my family members are adamantly against being educated.
This weekend I thought it would be fun to take a family excursion to the New York Botanical Gardens for their Monet exhibit. It was the last weekend to see Monet’s famous gardens in Giverny carefully reconstructed at the NYBG. And – added bonus – Sunday happened to coincide with the Giant Pumpkin Carving Weekend with Master Carver Ray Villafane. I mean, does it get any better than that?
Apparently, for my husband and son it does.
My husband agreed to go willingly, but that’s mostly because he knew how much I wanted to go and because out of the 52 weekends a year, he usually gets to do what he wants on 51 of them. Plus, he knows how strongly I feel about anything Parisian or remotely Parisian or made-in-America-to-resemble-something-Parisian.
I visited Paris for the first time this past April and fell in love. After two failed attempts, which I comepletely blame on Kevin, to celebrate our wedding anniversary there, this year we made it, and Kevin and I were finally able to celebrate our 10th anniversary on our 12th. It was totally worth every injustice suffered. We spent five glorious days in the most heavenly place on earth, and I have longed for Paris every day since.
I’m still planning my escape. I know I could be happy there, and I’m convinced it’s really America that’s been holding me down this whole time. For now, though, I have to rely on things like NYBG to bring France to me. So we went.
I’ll admit I don’t know much about Monet or any other artist. It’s just that he lived in France and had beautiful gardens and now they are here so I must see them. I like Monet and all, but I know nothing about the genius behind his art. Or behind any artist really. I imagine it’s hard – all that painting – I can’t even draw stick figures, and I’m sure Monet and the rest of them were all very talented. I just couldn’t tell you why.
While Monet was the primary motive behind dragging my family to a treasured world-famous destination, I had other reasons as well. Despite having lived in New York City, I’d never been to the NYBG, and then as fate would have it, on the chosen date of our visit, we’d also have the opportunity to see a Masta Carver! Live. In action. It was destiny.
You may think Masta Pumpkin Carver is a silly title, but you will not be so smug when I show you the pictures. Masta Carver is no joke. This guy is a very accomplished pumpkin carver, and he takes his Halloween seriously. Look:
So it was that on a gorgeous, sun-filled fall day under pure blue skies we set off to walk the grounds of one of the foremost gardens in the world – the tour guide/tram driver said so - as the leaves gently rolled from green to gold to tangerine and crimson.
Sadly, world-renowned Masta Pumpkin-Zombie Carver along with one of the world’s most revered artists was not enough for Kevin and Crazy. (I think The Kid enjoyed it, but she’s very artistic, which was yet another reason to visit.) No, Crazy sat or walked or hung on us all day with a very grumpy face plastered on where his usual happy face is. Not even the zombie pumpkin could snap him out of it. As for Kevin, he recalled a time in his youth when his mother forced him to go to the NYBG. He hated it. Much like Crazy he walked around bored and miserable. This trip I inferred from his spontaneous recollection was reminiscent of his first experience.
But how, I ask you, could you not be impressed by this?
If my family doesn’t like it there, I don’t think they’ll like it anywhere. Except for maybe in front of a computer screen playing Mind Craft or lying on the couch with the Jets game on.