We're Home!

We are home, yes.

That was the view out of my window at 35,000 feet, somewhere over Mississippi I think, on our way home.

There was so much to see on our trip, like this bodhisattva riddled with bullet holes at the Rubin Museum of Art. We were there on our last day in NYC.

In addition to the Rubin, we visited the Museum of Modern Art and the American Folk Art Museum in New York. In Philadelphia we saw the Mutter Museum, the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and the Chemical Heritage Museum. We toured Independence Hall and Christ Church Cemetery. We rode trains and subways and shuttles and we walked. We walked a lot.

My feet didn't speak to me for two whole days after we got back.

We sat next in a booth next to a bad Elvis impersonator in a diner in the east Village in New York. We sat across from two very tattooed and improbably named cops at the counter of an Amish-run diner in Philadelphia. We watched a group of Spanish-speaking tourists toss pennies at Ben Franklin's grave.

We saw Picasso drawings and Louise Bourgois sculptures. We saw photographs of Nepalese schoolchildren and Henry Darger collages. We saw a woman burst into tears in a museum. We saw jars of deformed fetuses and the skeletons of giants. We saw a garden full of roses in bloom in the middle of New York City. We saw one of the first electron microscopes, a table-top affair.

Then we came home and had a snack and fell into bed and slept for twelve hours.