When my mother was in New York at Christmastime, we made an express visit to this lobby (below) to photograph (endlessly) this Jeff Koons balloon dog, so imagine my surprise when my Yale School of Management Museum Legs talk was scheduled to take place in the same building.
As part of the school's "Salon Series," I was invited by Jorge Maldonado (of the alumni board) and Jeanne Hayes (head of alumni relations) to give a talk on creativity, art, and public institutions. Here are my kind hosts:
A few less than exciting, but still scene-setting photographs I took:
Jorge is a consummate host of the, "of course you're having wine before talking, but would you prefer red or white?" variety. The first two guests to arrive where this charming couple, she an alum and he an art-interested trustee of the Norman Rockwell Museum. They were extremely funny and had just returned from a scuba trip.
The room filled up, and we ended up with a good crowd whose work lives spanned Davos, the Bronx Zoo, green venture capital, education reform, and--thanks to my colleague who came--my own outside-of-writing work.
Here's Dean, Bader, and Andie, with big thanks to Andie, also of the alumni board, who introduced me to Jorge and Jeanne to make the program happen:
I joined in, somehow blurring the photo:
Afterwards, we went for burgers at P.J. Clarke's, from left: Dean, Andie, Billy, Christine, Adrian, me:
The next morning, I left for a family wedding in Memphis, joining brother Jeff, Alexi, and Jack on his first airplane trip:
Fortunately Jack finds extreme turbulence fun, so when I looked to my brother, a seasoned flyer and airplane expert, to gauge any panic (as people often look to the flight attendant but I couldn't see her), Jeff was looking nonchalant, as he might have anyway, and also downright happy.
I enjoy that I keep calling it a family wedding because technically it's not. Hugh, my brother's oldest friend, and his family are like family though. The Friday was my sister Stacey's birthday. She and Paul had gone to Jazzfest the weekend before in New Orleans and road tripped, via bourbon distilleries and the like, to Memphis. Here they are with Stacey's birthday cake, an inspired recommendation from Mark of the Memphis museum project -- Sugarees caramel cake:
A crack-like proper, original, Southern caramel cake: (www.sugarees.com)
After the cake interlude, we went to Beauty Show, a restaurant and bar where I could probably have ordered everything or anything on the menu, had we not been headed onward to the rehearsal dinner.
Paul and the Birthday Girl:
(Me and Crabtree:)
Here's a feel for the place overall. If you're in Memphis, I highly recommend (South Cooper neighborhood):
And, the peanut machine in the hallway near the ladies':
The "wedding eve supper" took place at the same spot where Martha had had her rehearsal dinner, which didn't stop me from getting lost and overshooting it by half a mile. Here's a feel for the party, the out of doors toasting part, after a delicious catfish fry at which I uncannily matched the dinner napkins:
The Mallorys, our hosts, including Hugh's sister Virginia and her husband Brett, along with Albert and Penny and Hugh's now wife Lisa:
Just a photo of my mom and brother together:
Early in the evening, one of the bartenders had been pointed out to me as a Memphis fixture -- "the B.B. King of bartenders," someone who had tended bar for fifty years and who would sit in a folding chair to pour drinks. Toward the end of the toasts, he got up unsolicitedly and spoke on Hugh's behalf.
I can't imagine he does that very often. It seemed a high compliment. Even when part of his advice was to pass along from his father to "remember, son, always keep the cook happy." (Other toasts might have covered that Hugh in fact loves to cook.)
The next morning, we surfaced for the wedding itself:
My brother and Alexi:
Re the outfit, true to Hugh's hospitality, he had recruited his friends--save one man to stand with him at the front of the church--to be ushers, as if they were all helping Hugh host the party that was his wedding. (As a side note, am I the only person to whom it was news that Men's Wearhouse has that unusual spelling of "Wear"?)
Stacey and Paul:
Me and Mom:
A series of Jack with his father and godfather (aka the groom), after he made his entrance at the reception:
For the afternoon, we headed over to Crabtree's. Her husband Barry graduated from college that morning, leaving Martha "just sick" that she had a conflict with Hugh's wedding, but otherwise in the midst of a fantastically elating, happy celebration. Here's Martha with Margaret, with cookie:
And the three Carr Avenue best friends, me Crabtree and the lovely Fones:
Later that night, we also celebrated at Hugh and Lisa's party with Barry, the graduate:
I had the pleasure of being a reader of his final paper, an inventive take on the importance of basic skills training and upkeep for firefighters -- a mix of original empirical research and drawing in models of skills practice from fields as varied as art, sports, military, and music. He got a perfect score.
Between Martha's house and that party, we took Alexi for her first Corky's barbeque:
Here's the crew waiting outside, with valiant patience especially considering the combined prior night's sleep for the new parents in the middle could probably have been counted on one hand:
The morning after Alexi was welcomed into her first Corky's barbeque experience, Jack was welcomed into his first mother's day, a double header of a celebratory brunch, kindly hosted by J and A:
Having a later flight back than everyone else, I hung out with Fones for the afternoon. We went to Target where I was treated to the reassuring "you should totally buy that!" school of shopping with her. (Memphis has more on offer in the Zac Posen for Target category than the New York Target would unless you were there the first day.)
Back in New York, I brought a little bit of the South with me. On an excursion with Billy to spend time with some of his oldest friends, I got to shoot a BB gun for the first time. (Surprisingly fun! Who knew?)
With Veronica's dad and stepmom visiting from California, I got to go to ladylike, idyllic tea that next Sunday afternoon.
And midweek, I hosted girls' dinner. Mo, fellow Southerner, helped me make shrimp and grits for the first time. If this number of slightly repetitive photos from dinner seems excessive, you should see the amount of repeat pouring of the half-and-half the recipe called for:
As a postscript, some things in New York are cliche, but still charming. For one, fountains in summer:
Two, silhouetted birds on a lamppost below Central Park (best appreciated from a distance, even if backlit):
And, three, Carnegie Hall, where I heard the magic of transcendent piano playing, of Baroque pieces I was surprised to love, by a woman with a withering stare I had to get on board with because it enforced the old school norms I love of audience quiet and kind attention in the face of the newfangled idea that the curtain call does not mean game over for latecomers and that it's okay to shift noisily while someone is playing:
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