The Museum

It was a cold, sunny Friday morning and I was taking my first trip in months. I was going to the Museum, formerly known as the Children's Museum (and still very popular with that demographic), in downtown Kitchener. The plan was to take the bus there, tour the exhibits, and return home. An additional and negotiable goal was the special Planetarium showing at 11:30 am. Reading the advertisement which described it as a special portable planaterium, I had vision of stars swirling across a lofty ceiling, myself feeling magically transported not to a distant galaxy but somehow, more magically to me, the Ontario Science Centre.

But first I had to get on the bus. It was the first time in a long time I'd taken one. I was amazed at the processed of waiting. This happened a few weeks ago and I've since taken the bus several times (see "Museum of Natural Sciences") but on this day it was a whole new bag of confused impatience. Years of cycling, walking and the occasional car ride left me mystified at the amazing patience people displayed simply standing by the side of the road, freezing their assses of, enjoying the inspiring vision of rushing traffic, waiting for a large vehicle stuffed with other human beings the sole purpose of which was to ferry people around, but not quite on their own terms. Miazaki's Cat Bus would have been almost less strange to me. In the long feeling minutes that passed while I waited, my mind circled, again and again, the marvel of public transportation.

At long last the bus appeared and I nervously mounted the step. I found a place at the rear and was delighted to look out a darling oblong rectangle of a window, which framed the sights at every stop with an extremely arty edge. It was like the public transportation system had become an Instagram generator, making the less than glorious sights of what city planners are trying to convince us to call Midtown look, if not fresh, then a least intriguing, even if we'd seen them a thousand times (the doctor's offices, the pine trees, the bus stop benches, the Victorian houses turned therapist offices).

I got off the bus in front of City Hall and walked the next two blocks to the Museum, filled with the glory of adventure. Snow scudded in gusts at my feet, old shops revealed bright signs and dingy windows, while new facades yelled, "People do technology here, and also we have our own CBC radio station! The future is NOW!". I could certainly feel the energy of Kitchener's rebirth, like little tender shoots amid the soil.

A slightly anxiety-producing young man appeared to be following me, but I was pleased to note he did not turn into the Museum entrance way with me. I congratulated myself on not becoming agitated but in fact remaining committed to the mission.

At this time it bears noting that the Museum has an adorably small door next to the large main doors which is clearly designed for children, reminiscent of it's days as a museum devoted completely to them. I did not enter via this door, as I felt the adorableness of doing so would be overstimulating and might trigger my anxiety.

Inside, I paid an amount of money to visit a space I doubted I would spend more than 30 minutes in which normally I would grudge on full night out with only the hesitation that the girl at the counter would judge me for being wasteful when I exited in what she might feel was an inappropriately short amount of time later. I remedied this probably unecessary worry by asking her if I could go in and out, and promptly made up a story in my head that I worked in downtown Kitchener and was here on my lunch break, and would for some reason come back later. She said yes, I could, I had my hand duly stamped, inquired where the Planetarium was, was informed of it's location and then also that the Sex Exhibit was on the fourth floor, accesible only by elevator.

The Sex Exhibit! Yes, of course. Generating controversy throughout Canada as it toured the past several years, the Sex Exhibit had finally made it's way to Kitchener to stir delight,  to arouse, to educate and agitate in Old Berlin.

Making my way through the main floor children's play area, I directed myself to the second and third floor, to find the Planetarium. Coming onto the third floor, I saw what looked like a small, black, inflatable igloo. A young man wearing a museum pinafore was standing out side the impossibly tiny entrance with another man and a child. The first man appeared to be talking about the Planetarium. The second man, and child, appeared as though they had not the slightest desire to enter the tiny igloo via the tiny door. As for me, I took one look and decided that although bravery and courage and adventure were les mots du jour, no one could possibly expect me to get into that small, dark, sweaty space with two strange men and a child. I could picture the stars on the ceiling and the likely delight of them, but they were accompanied in my mind by the feeling of sweat on my neck, induced by anxiety as well as shared body heat. I imagined it to be an educational sweat lodge in which my worst nightmares might come to the surface, with only Museum Pinafore and Unenthusiastic Dad and Kid as my guides, while I tried desperately to escape the primal womb to which we all long to return, except when it is sweaty black plastic inflated by a generator.

I decided instead to tour the Russian History exhibit, which was was completely innocuous to me on every emotional level, and thus at the moment, quite soothing. I also viewed a large carved orca display. I strove to appreciate the artistic message of environmental activism behind it, but found myself only able to focus on how much it reminded me of the dinosaur museum and how happy that made me, in the way the simplest things can when you are in a new environment.

The third floor being more or less viewed, I stopped to ponder the choice to view the Sex Exhibit. It was located on the fourth floor, only accessible by elevator (gah!) and it was extremly unclear where the exit was (double gah!). Nothing ventured, nothing gained. If I could not face the sweaty black igloo, I would face the elevator. I took a deep breath, entered, and patiently waited as it rose up one floor. It opened, and I exited almost directly before a desk where a young woman sat, guardian of sex information. She informed me I could not take pictures, and I wondered if that could possibly be her only function there. Asking her about her function seemed akin to asking about sex information from a random although sympathetic and likely trusthworthy adult when you were a child - unthinkable. I asked her where the exit was and she said, "It is through the exhibit."

Through. The. Exhibit. Oh dear me. I might as well have been Sarah, standing outside the Labyrinth. The Sex Exhibit (of which all I could mostly see at this point were larger than life sized naked people photographs) was the painted set spanning the distance through which I could choose to nagivate to safety, or, equally frightening although less terrifyingly uncertain, return via elevator. A force of will rose in me, and I decided to venture on. My strategy: get through the labyrinth, and then double back and be educated about sex at a more leisurely pace.

The entire exhibit was lit by a lurid purplish glow. As I navigated corridors of displays, bodies, body parts and words you don't normally see in large print flashed out at me in sparks of information and sensation. I was a mouse in a sex education maze, intent on the exit, my whiskers and peripheral vision picking up titillating and unexpected stimulation responses. My focus was impressive. The first thing I can recall clearly seeing was five metres from the exit - a display of dildoes from ages past. I was filled with joy at the sight of these dildos, framed in the warm, reassuring light of the exit doors behind them. I went to the doors, opened them, reviewed the path to the stairs, and relaxed into curiousity about the exhibit.

For the next several minutes, I toured back and forth and around, learning nothing new about sex and generally being disoriented by the French and English side by side, which was once such a common place for me when I lived in our nation's Capital, but felt completely strange after 15 years in a city where the second most common language is either German or possibly one from an Asian country, and French is reserved more or less for foreign films and the dedicated bookshelf at the library, or the occasional couple speaking it in the street, which happens so rarely that it makes you wonder what on earth would have induced those persons to move to southwestern Ontario where they would have so few people to speak to in their preferred language, when so much of that language was available in other and in fact much more interesting areas of the country. I interacted with one display only, in which I pushed a button to watch a cross section of penis becoming engorged. It reminded me somehow of a Muppet and I appreciated the foamy quality of the moving parts. The engorged penis, historical dildos, larger than life naked photos and full sized white plastic models of lounging naked men and women are literally all I remember of the displays, but it was still worth the effort, if only to prove that I could run the maze with a degree of confidence. Although there had been some moments of mild panic, when deciding how much time to spend on reading the information and how much to allow myself to just move forward to completion of the exercise, I was glad to have overall been able to remain ok with any anxiety I was experiencing, and continue to calmly move forward.

Back downstairs and feeling extremely pleased with myself, I stopped and removed my shoes to play a step-on piano, sent a photo to L., and took a photograph of a display of Justin Bieber's hat and shoes. I wandered around a few more displays and then moved back down to the first level. I had a strong urge to go and lie down in the sensory room where the babies play, but felt that a 34 year old woman lying down among strange babies on a Friday morning would invite unwanted attention or judgment. Instead, I checked out the gift shop, which was really just three shelves of museum type gifts near the front door.  I then exited the museum with the anxiety that the counter girl was judging me for wasting too much money on too little time in the Museum. The feeling passed quickly in my happiness at having achieved my mission with a surprisingly low amoung of anxiety. I spent the remainder of the morning visiting a couple of bookstores, chased what I thought was my bus transfer across two crosswalks only to discover it was my receipt from the bookstore, experiencing a moment of great excitement to see a cop on a horse, and then non-enjoying all the common irritation of a crowded bus on the way back home. To simply be irritated - what delight, what success! For what is irritation, but anxiety that one feels confident in?

Museum of Natural Sciences

I boarded the iExpress across from the Grand River Hospital. It was a brilliantly sunny day, blue and white and yellow, snow falling through sunshine. I felt cold, but knew I'd soon warm up. The iExpress stops every 20 or so stops, making it a much faster way to get anywhere along the mainstreet. I sat next to a pretty girl watching television on her phone. The bus chugged along, stopping here and there.

"Laurier" called out the automated voice, and the driver pulled into the stop at Bridgeport and King. It seemed awfully far from Laurier University; nearly 10 blocks early. The doors opened and a voice piped up from outside, "Is this the 7D?" It was not, at all, the 7D (which normally stops at King and Bridgeport), and this was not, it appeared, the "Laurier" stop. This became instantly clear as the bus driver yelled out, "Shit!" and stuck her palm out towards the door, barring entry to the confused travellers. The doors were shut quickly, and the bus sped off. I laughed out loud. Everyone else continued to remain engrossed in their phones or internal musings.

After a few more stops we arrived at the University, where hundreds of Asian young men in black coats with thick glass and stylish girlfriends were eager to get on and off the bus. I took a deep breath and headed directly for the Museum, located in the earth sciences building. I had cleared a path through my anxious mind with an intinerary - walk through the museum, making moderately timed note of the dinosaur bones, rocks and murals; come out through the mock coal mine into the Biology buildings; penetrate through them to the new Nanoquamtumsomething building; explore this building; make my way to South Campus Hall; purchase a sweater; and then walk home cross country (or take a bus if it was convenient). My mind made many anxious objections to this itinerary, presenting many possible disasters, but I soldiered on.

My first brush with the elements took place as I transitioned from the warm, sunlit road from the bus to the shaded, windy corridor under the Davis Centre walkabove. Suddenly the day went from warm and adventurous to shipwreck in the artic, and the dogs have all been eaten. I began to question the wisdom of my plan to walk home, which caused me to question the wisom of my plan to walk at all, and on to questioning the wisdom of the entire venture. Like any good explorer, I set my shoulders and marched on. Once inside the Museum, life turned again towards the warm and hospitable; lovely  memories of coming into the building to cool off and admire ancient artifacts during summer bike rides, or to warm up reading Young Adult novels over the grating or in the bathroom during crisp winter walks (when my walking skills were considerably more developed). Entering the museum was like going back in time, a time of confidence and relaxation and dreaminess - not quite enough to cause me to forget my mission, but enough to make it much easier. I toured the exhibits, took some photographs for L., thought about sending them, didn't send them, turned my phone on, turned it off to save battery, and repeated that process about three times. By this point I found myself entering the mock coal mine, where I continued to deliberate about taking pictures. Decided against (phone on, phone off) and I was in the main Biology building. The doors on the coal mine side were painted to look old and distressed, to match the rocky walls, and on the other side, it was like being in high school in the 50s, with old drinking fountins, a clock with a goalie mask, and golden wooden doors. It had far more the quality of a museum than the actual museum I had just left.

My internal map of the evolving structural geography of the University being not well developed, I had thought maybe there was an indoor passage from this building to the Nanoquantumsomething, but discovered that outdoors would be the fastest route. At least it was sunny again. Nanoquantom loomed over the geological specimen garden like an alien ship that tried to land in a field but got caught in a city. It's geometric facade reflected daylight while keeping secrets. I tried the door and it was locked.

I circled the building, and began to wonder whether the trip to South Campus Hall might be useless - maybe everything was closed. I stopped a guy and asked. He said he didn't know, but that Timmy's was closed, and I concurred that if Timmy's was closed, than it was extremely unlikely that anything else on earth was open. Feeling cleared of duty (having accomplished as much as I'd been able to) I experienced a wave of relief and felt a feeling that was almost relaxation in comparison the trek that had lead up to this moment - I would go back to the Museum and just spend time there.

Back at the museum I continued to wander around, turn my phone on to take pictures to send to L, decide not to, and turn my phone off. I spent a great deal of time staring at mammoth and saber tooth tiger bones, and reading about core samples of University earth. Finally I took a picture of a mural which I was later to send to L, after turning my phone on and off several times. I happened on a clock and realized the next iExpress was leaving in five minutes. It was five, thirty, or walk. I decided to bus it. My adventure has been short, but not rushed. I felt satisfied with it, and thought it would be good to take the bus back, since walking was generally more familiar and less of challenge, and also more cold and thus a less desirable challenge.

Back at the bus stop surrouned by Asian men with thick glasses, black coats and stylish girlfriends, I waited patiently, continuing to be amazed as I have been, having recently taken up bussing again for my challenges, at people's willingness and patience to wait for a bus. Finally it arrived and we literally piled on - the crowd gathering like a wave that spilled into the warm interior. I managed to find a seat, and spent the next ten minutes trying to avoid a stylish Asian girlfriend's stylish bag hit my knees, while concurrently trying not to stare at her and her boyfriend, as they quite confidently and obliviously stared directly into each other eyes from a distance of 10 centimeteres, changing position generally only when the bus knocked them forward or backward. Finally my seatmate got off and I retreated towards the window, safe from the bag though not from the intimate view. All three of us deboarded at Uptown Waterloo. I went to eat pizza, have my eyebrows waxed, and get groceries. An hour later we were somehow all back on the same bus, continuing south, me with ridiculously awkward groceries and they with their love. I managed to deboard without sexually assaulting my fellow passengers with my grocery bags, while the couple moved on to another adventure in their day of romance. Hoisting my groceries up, tucking my toilet paper rolls under my arm, I headed for home.