How I spent My Summer Vacation; Part 3

Part 3/August 2, 2012: Day 2 in NY

There are many things to see and do in New York. One could spend a lifetime trying and never succeed in sampling all the city has to offer. But, for me, visiting the old haunts of my mother and father was tops on my list. They had been born and raised just outside New York. In fact, my father was born in the Bronx and lived there as a young boy before moving out to Larchmont.

So, it was off to St. Patrick’s Cathedral. We took the morning train into the city with my niece and goddaughter, Brunehilda. It occurred to me that everyone was sitting on the train looking completely engrossed in their own little worlds. I suggested to Cacciatore and Brunehilda that we stand up and introduce ourselves to these cosmopolitans. I was willing to start. I said, “I’ll just stand up and call for everyone’s attention in our car. I’ll tell them I’m from South Carolina, these gorgeous ladies with me are my wife and niece and that I thought they had a nice little town.”

Well, Brunehilda started to laugh hysterically thinking her uncle was just the funniest guy she ever heard after her daddy. My wife (having lived with me for 36 years) knows me all too well and the look of panic on her face showed that she understood I would do exactly as I suggested. I never heard my wife beg so profusely and I acceded to her demand that I sit down and, “leave those people alone.” Too bad, we could have made some new friends that day.

We arrived at someplace called Penn Station, although we were never anywhere near Pennsylvania. I may have been educated in the public school system but at least I knew that. By the way, did I mention how hot and muggy it is in the NY subway system? It’s like a July day walking down King Street in Charleston. Apparently, it is like that all year. Where was I? Oh yes, St. Patrick’s, sorry.

Hidden away like Jordan’s Petra among the cliffs of steel, glass and cement that form the NY canyon is St. Patrick’s Cathedral. A symbol of the divine, defiant of the secular power that surrounds it. Here my parents would meet at the confessional in the back right of the basilica before going on dates. Imagine the innocence of the times; before their dates. Today, the penitent would be wise to go after their dates.

It is currently under renovation, but all the masking and industrial gear cannot suppress the beauty and spiritual glory infused into that structure. But then again, I’m prejudiced (in a good way). My wife and I lit a candle and made our way onto the streets looking for Mammy O’Rourke.

We thought we might find her at Rockefeller Plaza. We found crowds and a golden statue of a guy flying through a ring and admiring his own junk. That’s what it looks like from 50 yards away. You have to take the profane with the spiritual in New York. That’s one of its charms.

Now we decided to head for Central Park. An emerald set in a platinum ring of skyscrapers; it is vibrant and attracts natives and visitors, alike.

We passed carriages and considered taking a ride. However, fifty bucks for a twenty minute ride seemed a little steep. Until, James of Sligo, Ireland had the nerve to address me directly. We were off with James in his vis-a-vis. He attempted to act as guide but I wasn’t really listening to his words. It was his accent that fascinated me. Apparently, he had been living in NY for some time because his cadence had the quick staccato that I heard all around me, mixed with the lilt of his native land. By the way, Sligo uses the long “I” sound, like Sligo and the Family Stone.

We then walked through the Central Park Zoo. Our ambitious excursion was to make for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. However, we tired and stopped in a small sandwich shop to reevaluate our fool hearty decision to try and “hoof it”. But to our surprise we were only a couple of blocks away. I bolstered myself with a pathetic excuse for a chocolate milk shake and Cacciatore had a fabulous sliver of NY cheesecake.

The hustle and bustle of the Metropolitan Museum of Art gave a sense of urgency to our visit; so much to see, so little time to see it. One could spend a week there and merely scratch the surface.  I even stood next to Henry VIII’s armor made for him later in his life when he had gout and had grown fat (not that anyone ever had the nerve to tell him). The most depressing part of the trip was when I realized, the armor looked as if it would fit me.

Oh, as long as we’re talking about the Met (as we old New Yorkers call it); excellent bathrooms. Never underestimate the importance of knowing where all the good bathrooms are located.

We must have put quite a few miles under us and my dogs were barking. After a full day in the city, it was off to Penn Station and the train back Hildegard and Esteban. Now, my brother often puts in long hours, so we had dinner with his family sans Esteban. We enjoyed our opportunity to spend time with Hildegard and the kids. We ate outside and enjoyed chicken, salad and a nice toddy. We stayed in, watched a little of the Olympics and went to bed early in preparation for the next day’s adventure.

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