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In honor of September 11th, my stepfather, a retired Marine, was asked to address my small hometown in Cali and speak at a remembrance ceremony. And across the country, I paid my respects here in NYC.
Having lived here (but just visiting on business at the moment), I always find it interesting how quiet this city can become when thoughts of 9/11 settle in, as if the collective consciousness becomes calmly introspective. Even the local news stations allow for silence on the air, followed by the lonely and haunting sounds of bagpipes which seem to play every year on the anniversary of that day.
It is hard to fathom, really. I suppose only a potent silence or a singular tune could really express what that day must have been like for so many.
But the respect people seem to have carried through is still expressed in small moments– as I was walking down the street, a firetruck was rounding the city block and a group of people, 4 or 5 grown men and women began clapping and one of them yelled out “Thank you!” in sort of a choked burst of emotion.
The honor here is palpable.
Now I wouldn’t consider myself a heavily religious person, but I have great fondness for the St. Paul Church near what is considered Ground Zero. This church was built in the 1760′s and has a history spanning from hosting George Washington’s inauguration to surviving the American Revolutionary War to surviving the attacks on September 11th. While buildings around it were destroyed in the collapse of the World Trade Center, this little church that could survived and became a place of refuge for rescuers and those rescued — while everything around it became chaotic debris, the church did not even have a broken window.
(photo by wallyg)
Inside of the chapel now stands a display of honor for those who’s lives ended or were altered forever by that day:
A chalice made from World Trade Center debris.
The boot of a rescue worker who gave his life.
Across this country, whether in a small town, uptown, or downtown, we come together in honoring all who were effected, all who are effected, and all who continue to serve our country and humanity on a whole.
Thank you.
Commutes in cities can be rather ridiculous at times. When I lived in Atlanta, my commute was about 10 miles and it took 45 mins. Each way.
When I lived in New York, I’d zip up the puffy North Face jacket and walk to work through well below freezing temperatures just to avoid squeezing into a subway car with other people and their puffy jackets, dripping umbrellas, and scowling faces. Of course one time I decided to take the subway and was completely smooshed in (and it was one of those that packed-so-tightly-that-no-one-needs-to-actually-hold-on-as-we-zoom-through-the-underground-tunnels-because-we’re-so-close-to-our-”neighbors,”-we-hold-one-another-upright sort of packed) and the guy I was pressed into turned around.
Then he looked down at me.
Then he said: Oh…hi…
I laughed and said hi back to my suited-up colleague from the office.
Now keep in mind that our faces were about three inches apart. He looked….horrified. Which made it even funnier to me. And, how does one make small talk with a work acquaintance while their bodies are unnaturally pressed into one another by the surrounding people and their puffy jackets (because silence is even more awkward)?
Well, for our 10 minute ride into the Time Warner Center he talked all about his wife. He told me about where she was raised, her job, her likes, dislikes, how they met, etc., etc. Then we got to our stop, squeezed and ‘scuse me’d our way out of the subway and said a brief “see-ya” when we arrived on the 21st floor and went about our days. (Me with heaping doses of new-found factoids about his wife. I guess it’s nice to know that while uncomfortably pressed up against a female colleague, he speaks at a very constant sort of pace about his wife.)
(My office was in that set of towers… the one on the left. Image by New Yorkled.)
(Another interesting image of the Time Warner Center by Tony Shi, NY-NJ)
Anyway, back to my point (I’m pretty sure I had one). I say all this to say: commutes can be just… odd. My current commute in San Francisco takes me through Chinatown. And, while it’s definitely not comparable to packing one’s self into the subway in NY, it has it’s packed-into-a-bus-with-pink-market-bags-that-smell-like-fish sort of thing going for it. Which is not really all that enjoyable.
Photo by ifotog
Yesterday I stood from my seat on the bus and let an elderly Asian woman sit down. And apparently this small act garnered me a temporary membership card into the seemingly tight-knit, tightly packed community of sorts. When another seat opened up, she tapped me on my leg and tried to scurry me with her hand to the seat before anyone else could take it. And it was not only her doing this, an older Asian man and another Asian woman were also pointing at the seat, telling me to take it in an excited, hurried, half Chinese/half English language.
And I couldn’t not take the seat at this point because I might lose my membership card.
So I sat. And after settling my bag on my lap, I looked up and all three of these people, in different locations on the bus, were smiling at me. Like they’d accomplished helping one of their (temporary) own. They looked almost proud.
And it made me proud. (I’m not sure if this is a sign that I’m a good person or that I’ve reached a point of work-exhaustion/delirium. Could be either.)
So while city commutes can be fairly un-fun (puffy jacket/subway), sometimes we’re lucky enough to have little small town moments that make one smile. Well, at least they make me smile. (Even if it is a delirious/exhausted one.)
The morning of the 4th of July, I woke to the sounds of birds and *lovely* mountain quiet. Last week I had gone from NYC to SF to my small mountain hometown in Cali and, while I definitely enjoy zooming around the country, I was one oh-so-happy camper coming home to decompress and just BE for the weekend.
Well, I was enjoying the quiet until I went to an extended family BBQ on my new step-mother’s side… There were almost thirty people there, most of them children, and all of them related in one way or another. One immediate family alone was a solid thirteen. Thirteen! That’s eleven children and two adults. Then of course there were the uncles and nieces and nephews, etc., etc. Plus the grandparents…
The grandfather seemed to take a bit of a liking to me. And by *liking* I mean the way a child looks at a zoo animal or the way a mechanical man looks at a car on display at a car show.
Him: “You were in New York City??”
Me: I sure was!
Him: Wow… The high-rises and everything?
Me: Yep, the high-rises and all!
Him: Wow….
Then he’d leave to get seven-layer dip.
Then he’d come back.
Him: Wow… So you have an elevator where you live?
Me: I do have an elevator, yeah.
Him: Wow! (then he’d turn to his wife) She’s been in high-rises in New York City and has an elevator where she lives. An ELEVATOR.
Then he’d leave to get more seven-layer dip.
Then he’d come back.
This went on for a couple of hours. It was quite funny ~ it’s a great reminder to enjoy the adventure of life. And I must say, it also made me grateful that I have a family who celebrates my independence and has always encouraged me to have adventures.
As if I actually need encouraging…
So here’s to celebrating our country’s independence ~ and our own inner and outer freedom.
From NYC (elevators!) to the my lil’ mountain hometown in Cali… Cheers!
Miraculously sunny day here in NYC ~ hooray!~ so I celebrated by venturing to lower Manhattan’s South Street Seaport. Apparently this area has the highest concentration of historic buildings in Manhattan and seems to have done a great job of maintaining that old maritime feeling (I actually felt like I should cheers with an ice-cold beer and yell “argh!” in a loud gruffy voice…maybe throw a barstool, etc.) with contemporary additions (shops and such) that add a bit of a Disneyland sort of animated feeling to the area.
The more recent appearances of J.Crew and Abercrombie & Fitch aside, mercantile buildings from the 19th century that have been renovated, sailing ships such as the Peking from 1911, old wooden planks, and creeky docks, I’m happy to say, still take center stage.
Well, for me they did.
So here are my tips for visiting the South Street Seaport:
1. Take a moment to appreciate the history. The heydey of the seaport was from 1820 – 1860! (I never stop loving the feeling of historic roots in NYC… I’m a bit of a nerd that way.)
2. Investigate the view– the Brooklyn Bridge, the juxtaposition of old and new, etc.
3. Eat/drink something while sitting outside. Lots of fun little/big cafes and eateries.
4. Wear sunscreen. Oops!
5. Take pictures. : )
Received a note that the folks at “Schmap!!” have selected one of my photos of the empire state building to include in their “beyond the map” travel guides (7th edition). Fun! I feel so official.
And here’s the actual photo. Nothing brilliant but it’s making me recall, with great fondness, what the sky looks like. Ah, Sunshine. *Sigh*
The High Line park debuted itself to the city of Manhattan last week — the perfect opportunity to investigate this long (1 1/2 mile) elevated park on the West Side of the city. This reprieve from the city streets below is surprisingly calm — one genuinely feels a bit smoother on the inside upon arrival. And I know this wasn’t just me — the pace of the people walking the length of the park (that spans through the Meatpacking District, West Chelsea, and Clinton’s/Hell’s Kitchen) on opening weekend was that of a meander. A rare pace in the (great!) madness that is Manhattan.
The original “High Line” was built in the 1930′s when the city decided that sending speeding trains through Manhattan was not an all-together safe idea — apparently, when the tracks were still at street level, their path was referred to as “Death Avenue” — men on horseback rode in front of the trains (West Side Cowboys!) to alert people that a train was coming. So cool! (And yet logistically frightening!)
(Image from the High Line Website– click through to see more or visit the High Line Blog for more info.)
Anyway, today they integrated the original train tracks into the design… mixing horticulture and history. A great addition to the city indeed!
I realize I’ve mentioned Farmer’s Markets before but it’s coming at you again (with a slideshow this time!): If you’re in NY on a sunny Saturday and searching for something to do that is casual/relating to food/not too taxing/an adventure for the senses… I recommend the Farmer’s Market at Union Square. People strolling, buying fresh food and flowers and bread and pie, laughing, crying (apparently the kid really wanted that berry pie), savoring (while sampling), etc.
Good start to the day…makes one feel connected (interesting how talking to the farmers who grow your food can do that.)
