It was hot again–it really saps my energy. First I went to the library and returned those books. I walked down 41st Street from Grand Central, following bronze plaques with quotations from famous authors, set into the pavement. This is called "Library Way." Amongst the joys of New York are these quixotic touches: funky bronze sculptures in the 14th Street subway stations, streets named after famous, or not so famous residents, a list of ticker tape honorees and dates of their parades embedded in the pavement on Broadway near Wall Street, the reservoir in Central Park named for Jackie Kennedy Onassis. One of the streets is named George and Annette Murphy Street. I wonder how many people remember George Murphy, and was Annette famous?
Walking from the library to Seventh Avenue for a bus, I found several shops selling millinery supplies and beads and stones for making jewelry. If I ever use all the beads and stones I’ve already collected, I’ll come back to 38th Street for more.
My destination was the Rubin Museum, one of my favorite places even though I abhor the way Donald Rubin made his money–healthcare management. I spent most of my time in front of three huge textiles, giant appliqués of padmasambhava. I wish someone would write a book about them, with great photos of details of the appliqué work. My interests in art always seem to be on the edges of the art world–nothing is ever depicted on a postcard.
After a tour of the green market in Union Square and a coffee break at Barnes & Noble across the street, I returned to the apartment, totally wiped out. Finally revived enough to have dinner with Barbara.