It was Sunday… really, Sunday already… the first half of our trip was over, the week in which we’d head back to Cali was upon us.
Mass for me is not an option and only missed on rare occasion. For all, I’d been blessed with in these past few days, and all the days before them, I was taking time out to attend. St. Joseph’s is the church in Greenwich Village my oldest attended during his days at NYU.
It wasn’t far and the walk would take me through my favorite neighborhood. Brownstones along tree-lined streets. NYU flags dotting various buildings and street posts. This is the place I dream of when my dreams of a future life back in New York take over and cause me to plan. A single beam of sun shone through trees into a small park where locals were spending a casual Sunday morning with friends and family drinking coffee, reading the NY Times. It engulfed me in a spiritual feeling. God knows my dream.
The church is lovely, old, quaint. Filled with statues and dark oak pews. A choir the likes of which I’ve not heard in years, their glorious voices lilting to the rafters. I imaged Christmas Eve here.
The priest stood on the steps when mass was over, bidding attendees a blessed week ahead, chatting with a few who are regulars. I waited my turn, wanting to compliment his inspiring sermon about assisting the homeless. His advice was not the usual, give a dollar, buy a sandwich, offer an address for a shelter. Rather he gently reminded us the unfortunate souls we walk by during our daily journey through life are real living, breathing humans, just like the rest of us. They have names, memories, loves, loss, and pain. They have feelings. Acknowledge them for what they are, humans who are, were, and maybe will be like the rest of us. Take a moment to look them in the eye, learn about them, offer them dignity and humanity. The priest was taken that I’d heard every word.. he joked that often it’s only his mom who appreciates his sermon. It was nice to hear him speak, not only the message but that his accent was the same as mine. I wasn’t an outsider with a NY accent, I belonged.
My walk back was peaceful, pleasant, filled with the boost that always comes from attending mass, preparing for the week ahead. My hour of solace. A renewal of faith to face the good, bad and goofy of our sometimes topsy-turvy world.
Well dressed men and woman lined the streets on motorcycles. I’m not sure what the event was. It was fun to see anyway. It made my mind journey to reminiscing about a friend. A cyclist himself who for a time was to me far more than a friend. He too had created those days of bliss that when I reach the winter of my life, I know I’ll recall fondly, because of how he made me feel. A couple of years ago he took me for my first motorcycle ride. I’ll admit I was terrified riding on the back up a narrow road through redwoods in Northern California. Clinging to him for life, the joy over-rode the terror. I was happy. The sight and sounds of the bikes made me happy, again.
I arrived back at the apartment as the boys finished dressing. We were headed to brunch. Yes, we were going to eat… again lol! We had brunch at a lovely local spot where lots of residents mingle for good food and bottomless mimosas. Chocolate chip waffles made from on-site prepared batter were my choice… YUM!
We decided to spend the day downtown. First, we visited the Lowline which I’d never known existed. Like the Highline, these creators repurposed a defunct transportation facility, only this time it’s underground! Using solar technology, they’ve taken a historic trolley terminal and created a beautiful underground park. Their vision is to “provide beautiful respite and a cultural attraction in one of the world’s most dense urban environments.” The coolness of the air, all from natural sources, was a welcome respite from the unseasonably heat outside. Plants growing everywhere, with plenty of staff – many volunteers – on hand to explain the intricate details and their plans for the future. If you’re in NYC check it out, at the very least peruse the web-site.
On the way, we came across the Pickle Festival. Still stuffed from brunch, we didn’t eat anything pickle related, but boy did it smell good! Just thinking about it makes me want a pickle. The real kind from a barrel, not processed in a jar.
And oldest and I couldn’t pass up a chance to be pickles! 🙂
On to SOHO. Roaming in and out of trendy shops, trying on items here and there and “bucket listing” a few items that aren’t affordable, but maybe someday. I love the narrow streets and brick buildings. Again, even though it was crowded with weekend shoppers, it never felt crowded or overwhelming as malls often do.
This poster in a store window struck me. Creativity is an addictive drug that when tapped relieves stress, sadness and inspires hope. Probably one of the many things at the top of my I love NYC list is how inspired I feel to imagine, weave stories and write them. Writing is my passion, but the consistency to do so is often lost in the hum-drum lacking of external energy available 24/7 in NYC for all who wants it to absorb.
In our quest to eat… heck all that walking makes ya hungry… and because my sweet tooth is always seeking out goodies… oldest took us to Laduree (when you open the website the music playing takes you to an ethereal place)! Oh, my. The elegance of this Parisian style tea room is palpable. Stepping in your transported to a time gone by where one can imagine proper ladies dressed in hats and opulent silk finery. If I’d seen a horse- drawn carriage parked outside it would not have surprised me. Plates of decadent pastries, delicate china, it was magnificent. We opted for an assortment of macaron’s which is a “sweet meringue-based confection made with egg white, icing sugar, granulated sugar, almond powder or ground almond, and food coloring”. The ones at Laduree are two delicate shells filled scrumptious ganache filling. The assortment of colors coinciding with the flavor are a masterpiece for both vision and taste. Even the shopping bag is extraordinary (yes, I’m framing it for a whimsical piece of art). Expensive, yes. Pure melt in your mouth heaven, absolutely. We all need a heavenly treat once in awhile.
Next stop was the Feast of San Gennaro in Little Italy. Lucky for us we were there in time for the final day of the annual feast celebrating its 90th year. I’d not been here in years, probably not since childhood with my own parents. The streets were lined with vendors – mostly food – for as far as the eye could see. Crowds, oh yeah! No rushing here, you simply move with the motion of humanity. Everyone in attendance was having fun. Laughing, eating, drinking, singing along to the music. It’s a festival, a gathering, a party. It’s not to be missed if you get a chance to be there.
We had to take home some homemade cannoli. Unless you make them yourself from a handed down recipe or visit Italy, you’ve not tasted cannoli until you’ve had one here. A brightly lit Ferris wheel tempted the boys. I’m not big on heights but I happily purchased tickets for them to go round-and-round over-the-rooftops. Again, I sat watching them in wonder. Manchild brothers, still teasing each other, joking, laughing as they did when they were small. What did I do to deserve the blessing of having them in my life? I wistfully wished their middle brother (my 22-year-old) could have joined us on the trip… next time.
We visited the Shrine Of The Most Precious Blood. I stood in line with dozens for my turn to pin a dollar to the shawl of the San Gennaro statue which legend says affords extra blessings. I do not pass up a chance for a blessing!
Though the food at every restaurant we passed looked amazing. The crowds in line were equally amazing. We opted to grab a subway back home and order in Chinese, something we’d not yet had which was at the top of the youngest list.
Another beautiful day filled with laughter fun and adventure ebbed it’s way to a close as we ate, watched videos, talked and planned the next couple of days.
Living life one word at a time! 