Multiple Choice

photo source here

Well, darlings, here I am, back from a mind-frazzling weekend of higher learning.

I can now tell you with a reasonable degree of confidence that the leg bones (femur, tibia, fibula) are connected to the foot bones (calcaneous, talus, cuboid, navicular, cuneiforms, metatarsals and phalanges) via the knee bone (patella) and about a gajillion muscles (and yes, gajillion is a technical term - why would you doubt me?)

Before you get too ooh-ey and ahhh-ey, I will disclose that I am NOT doing this from memory; merely writing these directly out of the Big Book of Fitness Training.

And herein lies the gist of my thought process (which, by the way, I am shocked and awed that I can still perform, given that my mind is so full of facts that I keep feeling my ears to see if blood is seeping out...).

I now am at a crossroads.

I can either cram my ass off, and quickly take the multiple choice final to get my certification, or
I can wait and study some more.

I know for a fact that if I cram, I will pass. Not an issue.

But I also know this - I am a world-class memorizer. In fact, that is I how I maintained all of my high marks through school. I would read it over and over and over and over until it was akin to breathing, and then blaeacccchhhhh; I would spew it all back out.

Retention of any material? Slim to none.

But man, oh, man. My marks were awesome.

Now? To borrow a phrase from my favorite quote machine, Tim Gunn - I'm troubled.

There is a new context here. I'm not doing this to please my parents anymore. I'm not doing this to suck up to my teachers, or maintain my standing on the honor roll.

I'm doing this as a building block to learning how to educate people.

People who sincerely want their leg bone to stay connected to their foot bone.

So, do I just get on with it, or do I wait?

One of the things that is sticking in my head is some advice I once got from a CEO of a company that I worked for.

He and I were like chalk and cheese. He was al-ll-ll business (and somewhat soulless, in my view) and I was an awkward combo of instinct, verve and science.

Yet we had some pretty fascinating conversations, and I learned much about him just by the questions he would ask me. Because I think I truly puzzled him. Example:

Baroness: "So, I signed up for Adult Tap Dance lessons yesterday."
He: "Why would you do that?"
B: "Uh - for fun?"
He: "I see...."

(which he didn't, by the way) (But it was one of his favorite conversation closers)

What I learned from him (other than he would never be my partner in the office Christmas party Lindy contest, and that I would never ever invite him to a Mah Jong game) was that if you are ever forced into making a decision, it will ultimately be the wrong one.

Its repercussions may not present themselves right away. But they will, eventually.

So now, rather than just a "do I or don't I" scenario, the implications are rapidly mushrooming.

Into multiple choices.

Musings from the Museum - Part I

"All I want for my birthday," said my newly-octogenarianized mother-in-law, "is to go see the British Museum's 'Treasures' exhibit in Victoria.

"That's it??", we all queried, incredulously.

"That it.", she replied.

Wow. What a gal.

I, for one, was baffled by the simplicity of it all. I am quite sure that when I turn 80, I will expect accordians, banjoes, crates of the finest champagne, and burly waiters in leopard-skin Speedoes feeding me flax rolls ,chocolate-covered strawberries and Lorazepam.

Is that just me?

Last summer, it was The Baron and I gallavanting around Europe, hitting all the hotspots in France, Belgium, Germany, and partying with the blondes in Luxembourg.

I was able to be your decent docent in my two-part post (I here and II here) "Lessons from the Louvre".

This summer, just like everyone else, we are scaling back.

Our museum sojourn is a mere 1.5 hour ferry ride away from home. This is the only blonde we are currently partying with:

(...and between you and me, I do not think the carpet matches the drapes. Poser.)

But just because we're closer to home does not mean that there are not great discoveries to be had/mocked/intelligently (?) commented on.

I will have you know, though, that the British Museum (who loaned out the exhibition) is indeed both hoity AND toity. With liberal does of high-falutin' thrown in for good measure.

Whereas I could snap my craptacular photoessay to my heart's content in The Louvre, these puckerbutts will not allow photography. Guards break into a cold sweat if you so much as take your cell phone out.

Something about stealing the souls of the statues. Gah. They're statues, people.

So, in order to enhance my sparkling commentary, I have had to sequester some photos from the World Wide Interwebs that I feel are down to my level. Some are better; for that I apologize.

So not me.

Are you ready for some culturalisin'? Splendid. Let us goeth.

Before you even enter the hush hush inner sanctum, you are met by this guy at the ticket counter:

I'm sure he's a totem of some import, but it's interesting to me that he's absolutely perfect for setting the tone. Like maybe he's not so old after all. Like maybe there's some sort of undercover factory churning these out, custom-ordered.

He's pointing - YOU! Over there. Throw your bottled water away, take the SIM card out of your phone, pack up your camera.

He's gladhanding - YOU! In line. Wallet out. Exact change appreciated.

Once we run through the ticket line gauntlet, it's on to the full-body cavity search by some British ponce with bad teeth and an attitude.

Phew! We're through.

First section of the exhibit - Egypt.

While I'm furiously scribbling down notes, I can hear my husband and his sister kibbitzing back and forth:

Sister-in-Law: Did you see that sarcophogas?

Husband: It must have been for a small child. It's pretty short.

Sister-In-Law: I think you should be able to fit in it, no problem. Let's try.

Husband: Oh, look. It's the Rosetta Stone. Look here, Sissy - there's the part about your first date.

All I could think of with the Rosetta Stone:
was the potential infighting amongst the three scribes who engraved it in Heiroglyphics, Demotic and Greek.

"Did you see the sh*t work that Stavros did? My three-year-old could write better."

"What about that guy Anwar? Pictures. That's it. Pictures. And they don't make a lick of sense. Eyeball, bird, dancer, eyeball. What the hell is THAT supposed to spell? Loser."

As for the coffin that my husband thankfully did not try to lie down in (officially referred to as "The Inner Coffin of Djeho"), what caught my eye was the description below:
"The images and texts below Djeho's large collar are associated with protecting dead men in the afterlife".
Yeah, protecting.

Like from Mr. Blackwell maybe. Because large collars? So gauche. So passe. So Babylonian.

We cruise through the Africa exhibit, and on to the Middle East.

Here's where the treasure trove (of insolence) really begins. First off, The Ossuary:
Not to be confused with this:

The Estuary

Or this:

The Cassowary

I get so easily confused.

This ossuary is a container that houses a loved one's bones, kind of like a creepy hope chest. "Here's the Royal Albert, Granny's Irish linen and wait a minute - is that a thorax? Or a tibia?" I am told that it was important to keep these things around.

And my husband calls me a hoarder. Sheesh.

The next piece is a bronze figure of Harpokrates:

His name was originally Oprahkrates, but a mixup at the birth certificate office led to his official moniker.

Oops. Fate can be cruel.

I was charmed by the finger on his chin.

"Hmm. Now where did I leave those feet?", or "Hmm. I'm thinking I might have to find a new hairdresser. Side ponytail? Really?"

Then there is the set of Arabic bowls from Central Asia, circa 10 AD "The use of sayings was a popular form of decoration for pottery at this time."

Like "Finish your congee - there's people starving in North America", or "My Husband went to Hunan and all I got was this Lousy Bowl."

Last but not least for today, may I present to you, direct from 13-14th century AD Egypt:

The Astrolabe.

This wondrous device, as well as being distractingly shiny, was a hard-working piece of technological wonder that served many functions. According to sources, "In the medieval Islamic world, it was used primarily for astronomical studies, as well as in other areas as diverse as astrology, geography, navigation, Qibla, Salah prayers, surveying, and timekeeping."

I think they left out union mediation, julienning of root vegetables, and electrolysis.

And that if you ordered one within 30 minutes of advertisement, a free set of ginzu knives were included with purchase.

Tomorrow, we will conclude our Museum Musings whilst meandering through Greek Civilization, Oceania, The Americas, and last but not least, The Modern Era.

Until then, Rising Sun, Rising Sun, Slug, ZigZag, as we used to say in the 'hood.