Last Thursday, the fam and I went on a little road trip to Ft. Lauderdale. I've been DYING to see the King Tut exhibit and my husband, being wise and wonderful (he remembered that the exhibit ended April 23rd — could it have been my 402 reminders? … nah), said, “Let's go!” So I bought tickets, endured four and half hours of “are we there yet” from my children, a late night in a questionable hotel on a damned hard bed, and a breakfast at IHOP. IHOP was good and our waitress, who had a slight Jamaicain accent, was a delight. She didn't even mind when Reid said, “Thank you, mon.” Yeah. He did. Little freaky mimic.
I have to tell you, even Katie, my perpetually-bored-and-life-sucks 16-year-old, liked the tour. She said, “This is cool.” High praise from a teenager, let me tell ya. Not all the display items were from King Tut's funerary goods, but they were all very, very, VERY cool. Standing in the presence of something 3,400 years old is so amazing. I would look at objects and think, “Somebody made that. Somebody held that. Somebody loved that.” It reminded me about how important legacies are … and how what we think is normal or insignificant or mundane might one day end up in a museum where someone else looks at the iPod or the laptop or the earring I lost in Boston (har) and think about what life was like in the 21st Century.
Some of the items they displayed from King Tut's tomb included the little chair and footrest he used as a kid, the crook and flail he held as king, and some of the jewelry found draped on his mummy. We couldn't take pictures, damn it, so the memories of the objects will fade. But I'll always remember how I felt standing in that museum looking at all that history. I'll always remember that strange feeling of intimidation (what will I leave behind?) and awe (look at what they left behind!).
The previous week, Reid, Katie, and I hit MOSI and checked out The Body Exhibition. I admit I got a little nauseas. And the way some of the muscles were displayed made me think of steak (and y'know, never eating it again). When Reid realized the male bodies all had intact penises, he did a penis check on 'em all (hey, look at that one, mommy!). What is it with men and their joysticks? Sheesh. I would never make it in the medical establishment. Looking at the parts (even lacquered parts) was … well, it was gross. They had this little kiosk where you could touch preserved brains and bones. I picked up the brain. It was heavy and felt all waxy. Ew. After we left, I told Katie, “This is why I want to be cremated.”