A few minutes ago I was walking through a corridor in Grand Central Station. It’s only 7:15 in the morning so the mobs haven’t mobilized yet. As I got midway through the passageway, I started to hear the faint notes of a cello being played. Not a recording; live. The acoustics of the passageway gave the notes a richness, particularly in the lower registers. The playing was so superb and the moment so beautiful that I slowed my pace (for once).

Then I saw her. She was an achingly beautiful girl sitting alone along the passageway wall. I don’t know what motivated her to set up at such an early hour since so few people are around to throw money into her open cello case. I tried not to stare but I was so swept up in the sound and vision that I fear I may have watched for a few beats too long.

My commute is a horrifying nightmare but I am occasionally tossed a moment of wonder.

A few weeks ago I wrote a post about the Ernesto Neto’s anthropodino installation at the Park Avenue Armory. (Post and photos here.)

This past Sunday was the final day of the installation and since works of this magnitude are few and far between I wanted to take a second look. I still fondly recall Christo’s Gates project in Central Park. A lot of people grumbled about it but I thought it was fun.

I wanted the girls to see Neto’s beast. I don’t think they’ll remember it because they’re so young, but I knew it would be a fun afternoon for them.

Here are a few pics that will be of interest primarily to family lurkers.

The Daughters explore the labyrinths. As always, the younger running to catch up to her older sister.

Mrs. Wife relaxes in the “bubble tub” while 3-Year Old Daughter struggles with her footing.

Meanwhile, 7-Year Old Daughter goes for a swim.

Contemplating the canopy.

This is New Jersey:

This is the London broil that I grilled over the weekend:

It’s not up there with seeing Christ’s face in the melted snow of a mountainside or the Virgin Mother in the plaster cracks, but it did give me a start. It was like eating one of my own.

My father-in-law signed 7-Year Old Daughter up for golf lessons on Saturday afternoons. He even bought her a set of real clubs. He’s a golfer and he wanted to indoctrinate her into that world.

That’s fine with me but, personally, I’ve never held a golf club in my life and have no desire to start now. It looks like a dull game and I have some negative preconceived notions (i.e., stereotypes) about people who like to hang out in country clubs. In my mind’s eye, they’re the same crowd who kept George Bush in office for eight years and drove our economy off a cliff, amongst other offenses.

Father-in-law was otherwise engaged Saturday afternoon so I took 7-Year Old Daughter to her golf lesson. I was her caddy, which I thought was a hysterical joke until she chastised me for giving her the wrong club.

“No, Dad, that’s my short iron. I need the medium iron. See, it says right here on the head.”

There are only five kids in her class. When we got there, she walked up to the only other girl in her class, Isobel, to greet her. Daughter said, “Hi, Isobel. I like your hair like that. And that’s a cute skirt.”

Isobel is about three years older than Daughter and a few inches taller. She looked down on daughter (literally) said nothing, turned her back and walked away. A few minutes later, I watched from a distance as the same scenario played out. Daughter says something to Isobel, Isobel turns her back and walks away without a word.

Isobel was being a bit cunty to my Daughter. I could see the hurt etched onto Daughter’s face after that second snub. I wondered where Isobel learned such deplorable behavior. I looked over at her father. He was a stick of a man with a pot belly and a tight fish face who drove a BMW.

I was considering teaching Isobel a valuable lesson in humility by kicking her father’s teeth down his fucking throat in full view of the class. The episode confirmed everything I’ve always suspected about the thrilling world of golf.