Squirrelly

Today, I led my first "normal" group tour at the museum. I say "normal" because, until today, the groups I have led were all filled with exceptionally bright students. I know this because they came from organizations called "Leaders of Tomorrow" and the like. I also know this because, based on their observations from the tour, they could have easily been the docent(s). Either they were brilliant, or they had a brilliant docent. I happen to think it was a nice mix of the two.

I was a little concerned with getting a normal group of squirrelly little kids, ages 5 through 11. I had not yet had a group where I have had to be an enforcer of the rules (because, let's face it - no self-respecting Leader of Tomorrow is going to touch a piece of art, or run in a museum), and frankly, I'm not used to little kids. I am used to adult and young-adult learners, and squirrelly little kids are just not on my radar right now.

The first group I had was good. There is always a kid in each group, whether Leaders or Squirrells, who wants to answer all of the questions or share all of his or her thoughts. I find that I have a difficult time shushing this kid, because more often than not, the kid is insightful and usually hilarious. This first group was no exception, as one little boy had at least three stories to share (pertinent or not) about each piece we stopped to discuss. At one point, I asked the kids if a compilation of Chuck Jones cartoon landscapes deserved to be in an art museum, and Answer Kid said yes, because it's a drawing, and drawings are art. And wouldn't you know it, but Answer Kid knows a guy who is a "big-time artist," because one time he drew a picture of a bull and sold it to a guy for "five bucks." How exactly do you respond to that?! If you're me, you give him the thumbs up, say "Right on!" and escort everyone in to the next gallery, in an attempt to mask the fact that you do not, in fact, know how to respond.

My second group also had an Answer Kid. This boy was older than AK #1, and again, following true form, so insightful. One of the first pieces in the front gallery is a Deborah Aschheim piece, commemorating three of her childhood birthdays. She made three sculptures of what appears to be a big neuron encapsulating a video image of her father's home movie of her birthday perty, surrounded by a wild bird's nest of glowing green synapses. Of course, I recognize this because I am an adult, and have had a fair amount of science classes. I asked the students to tell me what they thought these sculptures were, and AK #2, without hesitation, explained that it was like the pathways in your brain that store memories and help you remember.

Again, how do you respond to that?!

As I was revelling in AK #2's genius, we wandered over to a John Copelans photograph, and started talking about muscle memory. I asked the kids if they were familiar with muscle memory, and they all shook their heads no. I asked them to guess what it might mean. AK #2 piped up, and said it was what happens when you get old. He then proceeded to give us a demonstration. He hunched over and clutched his lower back with his hands, as if he were pregnant, and said, in his best old man voice, "Son, I remember a time when my biceps looked like they belong to Hulk Hogan!"

A whole 'nother way to think about muscle memory, courtesy of being a museum docent.

All things begin equal, the tours went well. I had several incidents where kids touched things on the walls (I can think of no other thing that strikes as much fear in my heart currently than seeing a grubby finger making its way toward a pane of glass over the top of a photograph or painting!), and I also had a couple of kids who were totally checked out from the very beginning. I think this was actually my final tour for this particular show, since I have summer classes beginning on July 8th. In August, we will get a Chuck Close exhibit, which I am so entirely excited about. August 18th, baby!

As if I didn't have enough squirrel-ness today, K and I braved the 100-degree heat and went on a walk for about an hour. As we were making our way through one arbored area, K jerked on my hand and said, "Watch out!" I jumped and squirmed and shrieked and ran away in that way that girls do - the way that makes them look like they are football players doing that exercise where they are jumping through the tires on the ground - in other words, knees coming straight up, very high. I had come *this close* to stepping on top of a very, very flat, dead squirrel. Ew.

The rest of this week should be relatively uneventful. I take the remaining two cats to the vet on Friday ("Hey! Remember me? I had the horrible orange cat, and now I am bringing you two grotesquely overweight, incestuous gay cats!"), and we have friends coming to visit for the weekend later that afternoon. On Monday, we are slated to close on the house, assuming that there are no glitches with the financing. Cross your fingers, everyone!