Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns
If you think Jesus would have come into your home that day and not issued a strong rebuke to the head of household, you are mistaken. These words of condemnation have been haunting me for days now. They aren’t all that different than the soundtrack I play in my head on an almost-daily basis. It’s…
I am nesting. On Saturday I emptied the refrigerator. Last summer’s homemade pickles in their jars. The bread ends that seem to multiply on every shelf. The eggs. The milk. The fruit and veggies. All of it sat on the floor or the counter as I carefully removed the shelves and wiped them down with…
I’ve heard that life is like a highway. And it definitely seems like that sometimes. The pace of life swirls around me at dizzying speeds. We’re all so busy. In such a hurry. Always somewhere to be, something else to do. I’m a get-to-the-point, get-there-quick kind of girl. I don’t like to waste time on…
Why is she writing some random post about a Sunday morning in October? Read parts 1 and 2 of this series to catch up, then rejoin us here.
Sometime in the six o’clock hour, I woke up. I can’t help it. Or maybe it was closer to 7, I don’t know. One reason I don’t stay up late often is because my body is used to waking up before 6 a.m. and does not always adjust according to how late I was up the night before. Phil and I talked about our plan for the day while we let the kids sleep. He decided to wander down to find breakfast. Just after he left, our daughter woke up. Everyone was awake by the time my husband came back with beverages and some breakfast goodies. I made a cup of decaf coffee in the room, and we dressed so we could go back down for breakfast for all of us.
This, too, was a happening place. Sometimes, the hotel breakfast area looks like a dead zone in the morning, but ours was full of families and groups, many of whom were not speaking English. We took our time gaining sustenance for the day ahead. I was ready to get on with it. We needed to pack up our stuff and check out and drive to our first destination. Our time was limited and I wanted to ensure we could see as much as possible, so I was not as patient about how long breakfast was taking as I could have been.
We gathered our things and checked out of the hotel, found the car and paid for parking, then made our way toward Staten Island, where we planned to take the ferry across to Manhattan. It was a 30-minute drive, uneventful, and by the time we parked we had a short wait for the next ferry. We filled our water bottles and used the bathrooms and watched the people–again, so many people! When it was finally time to board the ferry, we followed the crush of people, aiming for an upper level view.
After we settled for a bit, we decided to go to the first level where we could slide open the windows and see the skyline and the Statue of Liberty as we approached. This ferry didn’t have an accessible deck. We hoped the return trip would give us that experience.
It’s been years since we visited the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. The kids were too young to remember, but I remembered much as we passed both places on the water. We are making plans to go back. It’s an unwritten tradition that our vacations have some kind of boat involved at least once. This year, we failed at that during the summer so being on the ferry before the year’s end fulfilled that “requirement” in my mind.
As we disembarked, I was unprepared for the onslaught of cruise vendors for the Statue of Liberty. At least half a dozen asked us if we were checking in for the statue tour or if we had cruise tickets. Our standard answer was “not today” because that was true, and it worked for a while until one vendor broke from script and said, “But if not today, when? I can get you a deal.” Maybe we should have clarified that we’re talking months from now, not days.
Approaching Manhattan from Battery Park was an entirely different experience than emerging from the subway closer to midtown. More tourists, for sure. Our plan was to wander toward the Wall Street area before heading further north toward Central Park for a midmorning brunch of bagels. We passed the raging bull statue and I was flabbergasted by the line of people waiting to get a picture.
We kept walking and found Trinity Church, where I insisted we spend some time because it was the closest I was going to get to satisfying my Hamilton obsession on this trip. (Sing it with me now: “You will never be satisfied!”)
Visiting cemeteries, especially old ones, is one of my favorite things to do in a city I’ve never been to. This one also held surprises. Not only was Alexander Hamilton buried there but so was Robert Fulton, who is kind of a big deal in our home city of Lancaster. I don’t know why seeing a grave is significant to me. It’s a connection in some ways. (I can still remember how moved I was to be standing in the church where William Shakespeare was buried in Stratford-upon-Avon, England. That was more than 20 years ago.) We wandered both sides of the church graveyard before exploring more of lower Manhattan.
We passed Federal Hall (closed on Sundays) and found the Fearless Girl statue and the New York Stock Exchange. We accidentally walked past the Trump building on Wall Street.
Then it was back to the subway and north to the vicinity of Central Park. We stood in a ridiculously long line for bagels–worth it!–and took our midmorning fare to Central Park where we sat on a bench listening to a man play and sing guitar while fending off small birds who were interested in our food. It was raining lightly, but I was mesmerized by the entire Central Park vibe.
We sort of had a plan as we walked, after finishing our bagels, and I finally felt my soul breathe and my shoulders relax. There were still people in the park, but the pace was not as frenetic. More strolling. Much less honking and sirens.
There was the famous stuff from movies and TV like the Bow Bridge and lesser known (to me) areas of the park like The Ramble. Huge rocks! In a park! In the middle of the city! The rain was picking up, but we could not be deterred. We made it to Belvedere Castle, taking the steps all the way to the top for more breathtaking city views. I needed this balance of being right in the middle of the city yet separate from the bustle.
Our plans for the day were flexible and we could have skipped Central Park. Even with the rain, I’m so glad we didn’t. Our final stop in the park was the visitor center and gift shop, and on the way there, as it poured, we found the Literary Walk and statues of writers. Even when they’re not alive, I’m at home among writers because it’s our words that outlive us and keep the connections strong. I mentioned Shakespeare earlier and bought myself an appropriate souvenir. (To find out more about that, you’ll have to subscribe to my monthly reading newsletter. I share about it there in next month’s issue, which posts on November 1.)
And then it poured. Like drenching rain. We brought no umbrellas with us to New York. Maybe we would have been less wet but I don’t think we would have been as efficient in our walking. I personally was almost stabbed in the eye several times just from trying to walk near people with umbrellas. So, we hung out under the covered portico in front of the gift shop for a little while, and it was here that I caught sight of the literal tail end of a New York City rat. (I reported to my brother that we saw two rats on our trip and he assured me that number was low for a visit to the city.)
Checking radar, we saw a small break in the rain and decided we had to keep moving, no matter what. Dinner awaited. Back on the train, this time to Chinatown in search of noodles to warm us.
The moment we emerged from the subway station in Chinatown was magical. Immediately, I knew we were somewhere different, and I loved it. Where we had been bombarded with offers to take a cruise to the Statue of Liberty in lower Manhattan, here I was offered purses, wallets and watches at least a dozen times. I don’t know what changed for me when we stepped into Chinatown but suddenly I got it. I understood why people were enamored of New York. Why they went back again and again and missed it if they hadn’t been in months or years. I’m still not exactly sure what clicked except that maybe I was more comfortable now that we were experiencing a part of the city that was less touristy than the other places we’d been.
X’ian Famous Foods was our home for hand-pulled noodles, and it was the exact thing we needed to refresh our soggy selves. We learned here that “regular” spicy is not “not spicy” as it might be if we were eating Americanized Chinese. We went back to the counter for a “not spicy” bowl for our daughter and ended up with extra noodles to take home. (Not a fail.) We were tired and ready to head home after dinner, but we wanted to explore a little more. In his research, Phil had found mention of a local market that had tanks of live sea animals. We wandered that market, marveling at the unfamiliar fruits and vegetables, mouths agape at the tanks of live eels and a crab bigger than any I’ve ever seen anywhere.
Leaving there, we realized we were close enough to Little Italy to pass through on our way back to the train. We stopped in an Italian market and passed a restaurant with cannolis in a case outside. We paused long enough–because cannolis were on our food list for the trip–that a server approached us. We mentioned that we wanted cannolis to go and were ushered inside where we were surrounded by the feel of Italy. According to my husband’s research, Little Italy is not as authentically Italian as it once was, but I would not have believed that standing inside this restaurant. Every person we encountered spoke with a heavy Italian accent. We ordered our cannolis and paid, then this happened:
As I was waiting for them to hand over the cannolis, I felt the urge to speak Italian. I know maybe two words of Italian but one of them was totally appropriate for the situation so as I took our cannolis, I said, “Grazie.” Every male head in the place turned and belted out a “thank you!” as we left, and I still can’t tell you why I did it except that it felt like a way to connect. As we walked out the door, my son said, “What does that mean?”
“‘Thank you’ in Italian,” I said.
“How do you know that?”
I sighed. “Because I visited Italy once.”
“Oh,” he said, and I remembered that I don’t always tell my kids about the life I had before we were a family.
On our way back to the Staten Island Ferry, we walked through yet another neighborhood. Leaving Little Italy, suddenly there were interesting window displays and fashion focused ads.
“Is this Soho?” I wondered aloud. We had to confirm it later because neither of us knew, but I was kind of excited to have guessed that without knowing it.
We made it to the ferry in time to take a different boat, one that had outside decks. But it was raining and chilly and we were already soaked. I remember being tired and having a little tension about where we were going to stand or sit. We climbed the stairs to the top level and then my daughter decided she had to go to the bathroom. So, we went back to the level with bathrooms but they were closed for cleaning. So, we went down one more level and used the bathrooms. The back deck of the ferry was on our way back to the stairs, so we took a moment to step out and watch the city fade away.
This may be my most enduring memory of the entire trip because it felt so iconic and stereotypical but I experienced it at just the right time. It was the perfect ending to our trip. We found the boys on the outer deck on the level we had left them and watched the city and the statue from there for a moment, too.
And then we were back on Staten Island, crawling into the car and starting the long drive back to Lancaster, tired, wet, chilled and full of too many memories to count.
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New York, we’ll definitely be back, and that is maybe the biggest surprise of all. I worried at the start that I wouldn’t like New York, or that I’d like it too much. (Chicago, you’re still no. 1 in my heart). I’m eager to explore it more, and my husband and I have created a shared map of places to see the next time. And the time after that.
It may take us years, but we’ll keep going back until we’re sure we’ve seen all we want to see.
So, what should we add to our list?
It’s been a week now, as of this writing, since we set out on our New York City adventure. You can read the part 1 backstory to catch up on how and why this all came about, but here, I’m continuing the story of our one day/night.
Driving is not my favorite thing. I am a nervous passenger, even though my husband is an excellent driver. It’s the potential for catastrophe that worries me. Did I take my anxiety meds before we left on this trip? You bet I did, and there was a noticeable decrease in the number of times I gasped or tried to grab at the door handle to brace myself for what I thought would be impact.
We drove the turnpikes for ease of travel. The Pennsylvania Turnpike is no stranger to us but we’re usually driving it west to Pittsburgh and beyond. The New Jersey Turnpike was a new stretch of road for us and it was–surprisingly–the most pleasant part of our trip. Six lanes of traffic with three of those lanes unavailable to trucks. Beautiful. At least, on a Saturday afternoon it was.
When we finally arrived in Jersey City, it felt like our adventure was truly beginning. The hotel we were staying at had character. I purposely chose it because from the outside it looked like an old apartment building or an older style hotel. It was right in the middle of a neighborhood and a short walk from the train station. And it was priced right. As we approached, we had to circle the block once because we missed the parking space for check-in. The downside of it being in a neighborhood was no parking lot. Our check-in process was smooth. We unloaded the bags, and the kids and I rode a noisy elevator up one level while Phil tried to find parking.
The hallways were wide, reminding me of apartment buildings I’d seen in movies and television. We opened the door to our room and our son announced, “There’s only one bed!” But we discovered the second bed in an adjacent room, the most unique hotel layout we’ve encountered as a family, I think.
A quick Internet search later led me to believe the building was apartments at one time. It was exactly the unique vibe I wanted for our trip. A Catholic school sat across the street and the old fire escape was just outside our window.
We stretched our legs, changed and waited for Phil to return. It took a while because he was advised to find street parking since it was the weekend, but we should not have taken that advice because we know how weekend parking goes in the city. When he did finally return, he had put our car in the garage down the street. We gathered our things for a night on the town and walked to the train station.
It took us a moment to recognize the train station and how to get inside, but after a quick stop at the vending machine to get our Metrocard loaded with fares, we were on our way to the city. Our friend who was originally going to meet us had given us an itinerary with subway stops, which helped us orient ourselves initially. We exited the train at 33rd Street station and my husband guided us in the direction of Bryant Park.
New York was overwhelming at this moment. I had no idea what I was looking at or where I was. Even now as I look back at the map and try to figure out which path we took, my memory is foggy. I remember seeing Macy’s, but did we pass the Empire State Building and I didn’t even know it? We were tired and hungry and on a bit of a time crunch to find dinner. We were hoping to find food trucks in or around Bryant Park, but we hadn’t done a lot of research. I just remember being relieved to be in Bryant Park because the city was noisy and full of people, and I felt on high alert the whole time we were walking.
We settled for a kiosk that had sandwiches and soup and drinks. I’d never heard of Le Pain Quotidien but we would soon discover them all over the city. I started referring to them as “upscale Panera.” That night, it just meant food at the time we needed it. I’ve since learned that the restaurant name means “the daily bread” and it couldn’t have been a more appropriate choice. We sat at a table nearby and ate under the lights of the city. Eating outdoors in the evening in October felt like a gift.
Bryant Park felt like the kind of place I could frequent and love. On our way out of the park, my husband exclaimed, “I just saw my first New York City rat!” This was momentous and also killed the mood a little. I could have lived my entire life never hearing those words.
Our show was to start at 8 and our kids’ companion for the night was meeting us in Times Square around 7:30, so we finished our dinner and began walking toward Times Square. The walk, again, is a blur. If I thought New York City was overcrowded with people before we reached Times Square, then I hadn’t seen anything yet. I could not grasp Times Square. We stood on a corner near our theater and just watched people go by. I took a picture of us and texted our companion so she could find us. It had been years since we’d seen each other and I wanted to be sure we didn’t miss her.
Not long after that, she came right up to us holding her phone out to match the picture and said, “I found you!” I hugged her right away because I still couldn’t believe this was happening. She introduced herself to the kids and laid out a plan for their evening. “What is the cookie/candy rule?” she asked. It was a getaway trip, so I said there wasn’t one. (I would maybe come to regret these words.) We planned to check in after our show and see where we could meet, and then they were off and we were standing in line to enter the theater.
Seeing a show in Times Square is not something I ever would have put on my “must do” list. Having a date night in Times Square is not something I ever thought we’d be able to say we had done. Often in places like this, I feel inadequate. Am I dressed the right way? Do I belong here? We nearly wandered into the wrong hallway to find the bathrooms. A security type person let us know pretty quickly that we were not in the right place. When we found our seats, we were four rows from the stage and dead center.
The show was Foil, Arms and Hog, a comedy trio from Ireland whose weekly videos my husband watches regularly. I know how comedy shows worked and I prayed that our placement in the middle of the row would not require any audience participation on my part. Phil got us something to drink and we settled in for a lot of laughs and–to my great relief–no audience participation from us other than what was required of the audience as a whole.
Meanwhile, our kids were having a TIME. They walked out of the M&M store with what felt like 5 pounds of candy and a grinning benefactor who said, “They promised me they wouldn’t eat it all at once.” They stood on the steps overlooking Times Square, rode the subway twice, tried to go to the Met museum but it was already closed, took two taxicabs and saw the view of the city from a rooftop. Our show started late so by the time we were finished and had met back together, it was almost 10:30. At night! I’m usually in bed by then.
We parted ways with our companion who offered her help the next day if we wanted it and promised the children a future visit to the Met. We had promised the children a slice of pizza after the show and seeing how there was pizza by the slice on every block and none of the places closed until midnight, we trekked a few blocks to a place Phil had researched, New York Pizza Suprema. We passed Madison Square Garden on the way, and after we’d selected our slices and slid into a booth, I noticed a picture of Anthony Bourdain hanging in the restaurant. We were in a good place.
A word about pizza: We are Chicago loyal and love us some deep dish pizza. But at 11 o’clock on a Saturday night, a slice of New York pizza hit the spot and gave us the oomph we needed to get back to the train that would take us to New Jersey.
It was 1 a.m. before I fell asleep.
Some final thoughts on part 2 of our adventure: New York was not deserted at 11 p.m. Not by a long shot. I remembered that one of its nicknames is “the city that never sleeps.” We saw evidence of that. The people in Times Square looked like they might be there all night. We did pass significant groups of people sleeping on the streets, both in the city and across the river in New Jersey. But I never felt unsafe. At least, not any more unsafe than I would usually feel walking around somewhere at night, even in my own community. When our friend first suggested that we might be out that late on our first night, I scoffed, thinking we’d surely be back to the hotel long before then.
I was wrong about that and so much more.
When it comes to New York City, I knew next to nothing. And I was okay with that.
To be continued (again) …