Some cool Metal Folding Chairs images:
Image by wakingphotolife
Raining – 1.
I slumped against the railing at the bus stop. It was raining, just a little bit, not enough for an umbrella, and cold. It’d be at least half an hour until the one I was supposed to take, would arrive. The streets weren’t so busy, it was Monday afternoon, and most of the people who needed to get to places were already there. Here, most of the people who were out were either children, the elderly or the idle. They moved up and down the sidewalk and storefronts in an eternal slouch, without any sense of purpose or aim.
I looked through the window of the building across the street. On the second story, a man was cutting a woman’s hair. It was a large single piece of glass that gave whoever looked through it, the impression that they were looking through an aquarium. The man moved with a deliberateness that made it seem as if each step he took while he revolved around the woman and the salon chair was part of some larger drawn out choreography. His back was straight and he moved with the awareness of someone who was careful to mute their footsteps, so as to not disturb the silence in a cave. The woman, seated in the chair closest to the window was ordinary. Besides the fact that she was in the salon, there was nothing remarkable about her. She likely was one of the townswoman on an errand or indulging herself. The man made quick vertical cuts along the strands of her which were held in the valleys of his fingers.
That was when I felt a weight fall onto my shoulder, a woman had placed her head on my shoulder. The sudden physical contact made me lean forward and shift off the railing. “I’m sorry, I guess I feel asleep,” she said. She must have came and stood by me while I was entranced by the scene in the salon. Whenever I am, caught by something, I am unaware of everything else.
“That’s alright,” I said. She had a slender, yet round face. She hid her behind a pair of Wayfarers and with her short hair coming down the sides like carefully planted ivy vines, she gave the feeling of a boyish femininity.
“Are you waiting for the bus downtown?” she said.
“No. I’m not,” I said.
“That’s too bad. You’re not away from here right?”
“I’m not. How’s you know?”
“There aren’t too many people around here. I pay attention to the new faces. They’re easy to pick out. Where are you staying?” she said.
“The Hotel Villete.”
“That’s not too far from it. Actually, you could barely walk it if you’re in the mood. It might take longer, but it’s a nice day today,” she said. She reached into her purse and drew out a cigarette. It was a 120 and she held it between her fingers in the same way that the barber across the street had held the woman’s hair. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all”. I reached into my breast pocket for my own cigarettes. It was my last one and I held the lighter flame against the tip. It was raining on the way to the bus stop and I had walked at least half a mile to the bus stop. The cigarette was bent out of shape and torn. Nothing happened so I threw it onto the sidewalk where a small stream took it to the gutter.
The woman offered me one of hers. I smiled and took it. It was a entirely white and had a small green line that went around it towards the lower end. It felt fragile and I was careful not to hold it tightly. She leaned forward towards my face and touched the glowing end of her cigarette with mine. I inhaled and watched the edges of the paper turn black and red. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
It started to rain again. At first it was a drizzle, after a few seconds, it grew into downpour. We watched the start in silence. The bus arrived shortly after. It pushed a wake of water across the sidewalk and under our shoes. She was wearing white heels. Just high enough to be suggestive but modest still. “Well, I’ll see you around. It’s a nice day for a walk.”
She walked up the stairs, with the handle of her purple umbrella hung over her forearm and took a seat towards the front of the bus. I watched her in the window. She watched me.
Thomas was standing on his knees on top of the chair by the window when I got back. He didn’t turn to look behind him when I opened the door and kept staring out the window. I took the towel from the bathroom and wiped my head down. Draped my wet shirt across the metal bar in the bathroom. Thomas’ elbows were on the window sill. His cheeks were stuffed against the palms of his hands. At twelve years old, his features began to distinguish themselves. They drew clear lines as to what he inherited and from who. The texture and thickness of his dark brown hair was just like his mother’s. It even curled in the same elongated “S” shape whenever it grew too long. And like his mother, the ends at the back flared out like small wings and touched the bottom of his ear lobes. The roundness of his cheeks and wide jawbone though were my own. His temperament and disposition towards those around him, also completely my own.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“Nothing. Just looking outside. I’m bored.”
“You’re bored?” I put my arm on his shoulder and smelled the top of his head, “You smell terrible. Did you wash your hair this morning?”
“I did,” he said.
“I don’t think so. Honestly, when was the last time you washed your hair?”
“Four days ago.” He stood up on the chair. Thomas was tall for his age and with the added height of the chair, he was almost level with my head. “When was the last time you washed yours?” he said.
“I don’t remember. Maybe yesterday or the day before.”
“It smells terrible.”
“Like yours?”
“Worse.”
I picked him up by his arms pits and set him on the floor. I knew soon, I wouldn’t be able to do this. He wouldn’t want me to. I looked out the window and wondered what Thomas was fixated on but I couldn’t see anything of interest. It had stopped raining and the sun came through a gap in the clouds. It formed a rainbow that I had to strain to see against the haze of the nylon screen and outside. “The carpet’s cold,” Thomas said.
“Well buddy, if you had put on your socks and remembered to turn on the heater, it wouldn’t be so cold.” I turned around. He was standing there with his hands in his pockets and his bare-feet. He was wearing a pair of shorts and a faded black t-shirt that had become an ash colored gray. “Why’d you get into bed for a bit,” I said.
He got into bed and pulled the sheets around his body so that the only thing I could see was his face. “Just stay there until you’re warm,” I said. I took my wallet from the coffee table and folded out a few bills, a five and ten dollar bill. “Here. Why don’t you take this and buy a pair of scissor, a razor, shampoo and some shaving cream from the store down the street. Do you remember? We passed by it on the way to the hotel.”
“You gave me fifteen. Are you sure it’s enough?”
I gave him another five, “Alright, here.”
He nodded his head. “Can I keep the change to?’
“It’s all yours. You can get some food on the way back if you want. Don’t forget to take your jacket and umbrella in case it starts up again.”
Thomas dragged the sheets with him off the bed and took the socks that had been hanging on a hanger on the closet. He put them on and then slipped his feet into his shoes. They were a pair of Converse hi-tops that were torn just a little along the edges and scuffed along the side soles. “You don’t have to go right now.”
“I want to,” he said, “I’m bored.
“Okay, where’s the money?” I said.
He pulled the hood of his blue jacket over his head and patted the outside of his breast-pocket. “Button it,” I said. He pressed the snap button close, took the umbrella and walked out.
The window overlooked the street in front of the hotel. It was on a small downward slope. I could see all the way down to the end of the block and the rest of the street, which was empty. There were only a few cars parked on either side. The grocery store was on the left. It was very small and wasn’t much of a grocery store. I watched Thomas come out from underneath the awning of the hotel and cross the sidewalk. It started raining again, he popped the umbrella open and became a bright yellow dot moving down the hill.
A woman was coming up in the opposite direction. Thomas walked past her without stopping and disappeared into the grocery store. I continued watching the woman. She held open a purple umbrella that hid her face. At the end of the block, facing the hotel, she looked up towards my direction and tilted the umbrella down slightly. I tried to catch a glimpse of her face but couldn’t see clearly.
The rain was coming down in larger and more sustained sheets. I unlocked the window and pushed it outwards hoping to catch another look at her face as she turned right and walked beyond the vantage point of the hotel window. Maybe I was tired. She said she was watching the bus downtown so she shouldn’t have been around here. I couldn’t remember if she said she was going downtown or if she asked me if I was.
I ran my fingers through my hair. It felt thick and my mustache had grown much coarser over the past few days. When I looked in the mirror it was almost a full-on beard and not something a simple razor could clear out without any pain. Thomas and I had been traveling for weeks and we never had the time to notice these things and take care of ourselves. Now that we were planning to stay a few days, they revealed themselves and asked for our attention.
I went down to the lobby and went up to the front desk man. “Do you know where I can get my hair cut?” I asked. He was sleeping and stuttered awake. I repeated myself.
“You can go to Ken’s. It’s close to here,” he said.
“Can you show me?” I took out a pocket sized journal from my bag and tore a page out so he could sketch a generalized map. It wasn’t far. It was the same one I looked into earlier while waiting for the bus.
While I was in the lobby, Thomas came back from his errand. He closed the umbrella outside and tucked himself through the revolving door. He was carrying a plastic bag in one hand. In the other hand was small wax paper bag that hid a sandwich that was already bitten through. “Did you get everything?”
“Yeah. A scissor, shaving blades, shampoo and shaving cream,” he said.
“I forgot to ask to get soap, but that’s okay, we can use the shampoo.”
“Your son?” the front desk said, “I could tell. The two of you look alike. Sons always take after their fathers.”
“Is that so?” I said.
“Always, at least they do around here.”
I thanked him for the map and went back up the stairs and into our room with Thomas. He took off his coat and shook out, causing water to small droplets to lose themselves in the wooden door of the closet. I took the bag and set everything out on the bathroom counter. “Why don’t you wash your hair and I’ll cut it for you,” I said.
“I don’t want you to cut my hair.”
“Come on, you look like some furry animal.”
“I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” he said. He took his wet socks off and put them next to the shirt I hung earlier.
“I do. I use to cut your hair all the time when you just this tall.” I leveled my palm out and pushed it down to a space just above my kneecap.
“What if you mess up?”
“We can always get it fixed. Come on. Stop complaining. I don’t mess up. You can ask your mom. I cut her hair too,” I said.
Thomas put his hands back into the pockets of his shorts and looked at me. “Okay.”
"Just wait in the bathroom. I’ll get the chair by the window.” I brought the chair into the bathroom and set it in front of the sink. Then I took a towel off the rack and folded it in half. This, I lined across the edge of the bathroom counter. “Hey, come here and sit in the chair,” I said. Thomas sat down. “Don’t move.” I tilted the chair until his front legs were off the ground and the back of the chair was pressed against the folded towel. I put my hand underneath the back of his head. The hair was greasy and damp. “Tilt your head back a little,” I said and guided it until it was almost level with the sink. I had folded another towel, this one into fourths, and slide it underneath his neck. “I’m going to wash your hair, so don’t move.”
I cupped some water and poured it through his hair until I thought it was enough to form a lather. I squeezed the shampoo into a palm and massaged it through his hair and onto his scalp. Though still soft, it was much more firm than I remembered. I already forgot how long had it been. If it even happened at all or was it just some memory I made for myself about Thomas. Anyway, it didn’t matter, we were here now.
I pressed down with my fingers along his scalp. I rinsed the suds off and added more shampoo, this time, I pressed down with both hands across the strands.
“Feeling better?” I said.
“Yeah. I feel like I’m going to fall asleep,” he said.
“Not just yet, we’re not done.”
In the light and steam of the bathroom, his hair was much more brown than when I arrived earlier while he was staring out the window. I always marveled at how the color of Dorothy’s hair shifted its saturation with the day. In the bright afternoons and mornings, outside, it was a bright auburn. In the evenings and blue hours, it deepened into voluminous black and any hints of brighter tones were completely gone.
On the last day, before she left, she sat in a chair outside and asked me to chop it down to her shoulder blades. She had long wild, unkempt hair, that curled at the center of its length. When I was done, I brought the mirror outside and moved it about her head. She only nodded. “I like it. I feel good. I feel much better.”
NYC – Metropolitan Museum of Art: Statue of Yuny and His Wife, Renenutet
Image by wallyg
Yuny and His Wife, Renenutet
ca. 1290–1270 B.C.E.; early Dynasty 19; late reign of Sety I–early reign of Ramesses II; New Kingdom
Egyptian; Asyut
Limestone; H. 34 in. (86.4 cm)
These figures represent Yuny seated next to his wife Renenutet. Yuny, who lived in the city of Asyut, was a chief royal scribe and holder of many other offices, perhaps including that of physician. Additional inscriptions on the base of the statue further elaborate Yuny’s responsibilities. On the center fold of Yuny’s pleated skirt is an inscription that reads: "May everything that comes forth upon the offering table of [the god] . . . and all pure food that comes forth from the Great Enclosure [the temple complex at Heliopolis] be for the chief scribe, royal scribe of letters, Yuny, justified."
Renenutet affectionately places her right arm around her husband’s shoulders. On the back of the statue she is described as a chantress, or temple-ritual singer, of Amun-Re. In her left hand, she holds by its metal counterweight a heavy bead necklace called a menat. Menat necklaces were ritual implements that were held in the hands and shaken like cymbals, especially in the service of the goddess Hathor.
Appropriate to their high secular and religious positions, Yuny and Renenutet wear the elaborate wigs and fine linen attire fashionable in their time. Renenutet is adorned with a lotus fillet and a necklace called a broad collar. The beads are in the shape of nefer hieroglyphs (meaning "good" or "beautiful"), offering vases, and floral petals. Traces of black remain on the wigs. The couple sit together on a bench with elegantly carved lion-paw feet.
On the back of the chair in both sunk and raised relief are two scenes illustrating the ancient Egyptian ideal of affection and remembrance among family generations. In the upper register, Yuny and Renenutet receive offerings from their son; in the lower, Renenutet offers food and drink to her parents.
Rogers Fund, 1915 (15.2.1)
**
The Metropolitan Museum of Art‘s permanent collection contains more than two million works of art from around the world. It opened its doors on February 20, 1872, housed in a building located at 681 Fifth Avenue in New York City. Under their guidance of John Taylor Johnston and George Palmer Putnam, the Met’s holdings, initially consisting of a Roman stone sarcophagus and 174 mostly European paintings, quickly outgrew the available space. In 1873, occasioned by the Met’s purchase of the Cesnola Collection of Cypriot antiquities, the museum decamped from Fifth Avenue and took up residence at the Douglas Mansion on West 14th Street. However, these new accommodations were temporary; after negotiations with the city of New York, the Met acquired land on the east side of Central Park, where it built its permanent home, a red-brick Gothic Revival stone "mausoleum" designed by American architects Calvert Vaux and Jacob Wrey Mold. As of 2006, the Met measures almost a quarter mile long and occupies more than two million square feet, more than 20 times the size of the original 1880 building.
In 2007, the Metropolitan Museum of Art was ranked #17 on the AIA 150 America’s Favorite Architecture list.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art was designated a landmark by the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission in 1967. The interior was designated in 1977.
National Historic Register #86003556
StarrGazr 
quinn.anya 
wakingphotolife