Suzy Says

Why I love my stepmother, reason 493 in a continuing series. Her latest missive included her views on Muslim extremists:

“Mohammed has managed to keep his adherents much more successfully than Jesus Christ.”

And, further:

“Why aren’t these testosterone-filled youngsters chasing girls and listening to rap music and taking “grass”? I am sure that is far less harmful to society than suicide bombing.”

No wonder my father loved her so much. I bet he’s laughing, wherever he is. I know I am.

So I’m back from the doctor’s, and I’m perfect, of course. Nothing wrong with me except I’m getting old. But first for the good stuff. She’s a new doctor to me, and I really like her. She has her waiting room furnished with antiques and real books. She brings her dog Daisy to work with her (Daisy is a mutt rescued from the pound, too, so bonus points for that), and Daisy kindly washed my face and played with me while I waited.

She talked to me with my clothes on before getting down to business, rather than making me sit around shivering and undignified in a paper gown (she agreed with me that really, gown is superfluous since she has now seen my bod from angles even I haven’t, but apparently some people feel it gives them some shred of dignity). When she weighed me, she asked if I knew what I weighed and I said no. She asked if I wanted to, and I said no. So she said, “Don’t look and I won’t tell you” and I still don’t know. Ignorance = bliss, remember?

The paperwork and instruments of destruction were located on an Art Deco cocktail cabinet among the potted orchids, and a breeze came in through the open window. It was as pleasant a doctor experience as I could ever have.

Apparently the girl weirdness I have been suffering lately is “peri (or para?)-menopause”, or the opening act for the big show of actual menopause. Like most opening acts, it goes on too long, in this case around 10 years. But at least nothing’s really wrong. Or as the doctor put it: “You’re in great shape, there’s nothing wrong with you, you look ten years younger than you are. You’re a lucky girl. Now get out of here.”

What with my pie being so fully occupied and all lately, I haven’t had a chance to tell you that John and I did make it to see the Leonardo Da Vinci and the Splendor of Poland exhibit at the Legion of Honor.

I love that museum: it’s so pretty, and its setting, overlooking the ocean and a snippet of the Golden Gate Bridge, is breath-taking. Also going there always reminds me of Kim Novak in Vertigo, going there to sit in front of the [non-existent] portrait of the mad Carlotta.

I wonder why I seem to be better at going to art exhibits in other places? I went to Boston earlier this year mostly to see the Impressionist Landscape exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts. I went to Russia mostly to see the Hermitage’s collection. I am considering going to LA to see French Masterworks from the Pushkin Museum (so much closer than Russia) at LACMA, but have yet to see the Treasures of Modern Art at SF MOMA, which is just a short walk from work. I mean, I can’t keep pleading the pie forever, you know?

But back to the Da Vinci exhibit. It ended last Sunday, and we just made it in under the wire before the closing date, so it was a zoo of other procrastinators. Despite being a dedicated city-dweller, I tend to be intolerant of my fellow human beings en masse, but this was worth it. The most outstanding included an Alma-Tadema of a red-haired Polish composer; a street scene in Warsaw that was very Pisarro; a portrait of an elderly woman which used to be attributed to Rembrandt and has now been properly attributed to Bol; a portrait of an unknown little girl in a grey dress holding a bouquet of white chrysanthemums that was eerie, as if she were a ghost child; a striking painting of a single tree at night, illuminated by the moon and stars and set against a background of dark mountains and violet snow; and one of a hunting party setting off on an early winter morning. You could see the horses tossing their heads and the steam coming off them.

But the star of the show was unquestionably Leonardo’s Lady with the Ermine, painted in the early 1480’s and one of the few Da Vinci paintings still extant. She beats the hell out of the Mona Lisa, you ask me. I never did care for Mona Lisa and her sallow, vapid face. Even when I first saw her at the age of 17. Or as John put it, “Wow! That girl with the lamb is really cool!” I’m sure Leonardo would have been proud.