There are days when New York City is the greatest place on earth. When the sun shines on the streets and emblazons the glorious tapestry of humanity that surrounds you, when you stroll through the park or the zoo or Union Square or the West Village, and you can't believe the people, the energy, the beauty, the diversity, the richness, and you stop in a gorgeous boutique or a cute cafe or a dive bar or a great sushi place or a yummy Mexican joint, and you just can't believe how much you love this city.
Today was not one of those days.
Our desire was simple: one errand at Crate & Barrel. The plan was to take the subway to C&B right after Isabel's lunch and make it back home in time for her nap. After that, we'd do laundry. I packed up the diaper bag with all the toys, snacks, diapers, wipes, Purell, gum, money, etc. that we'll need for this one-hour errand, put Isabel in her travel stroller, and we hit the streets.
I read all these other gorgeous blog posts involving houses in the woods or on the water, blooming trees and bursting blossoms, lush green nature everywhere. Don't expect any of that in this post. The streets were gray, dirty, and teaming with people, and everyone seemed to be irritated and/or in a hurry. Including me.
At the subway steps, we stopped. Diaper bag strapped around the chest, little girl gathered into left arm, stroller folded and secured over right shoulder, and we were ready for action. Slowly down the steps, then through the turnstiles: first Isabel in my arms, then me, then THU-THUMP, the stroller bringing up the rear and banging loudly into the sideways pole that had already made its turn.
We worked our way through throngs of people and the train doors closed as we approached. When the next train came, we shuffled on and happily found a seat. It was very crowded, but we are a contained unit of people and stuff and don't really notice.
When we get to the station, we plow our way through the crowd to the door, drag ourselves through the turnstiles (THU-THUMP), and trudge up the long flights of stairs to the outside. We made it! I put down the stroller and the heavy diaper bag (what was I thinking?), strap Isabel in, and that's when I notice: the busy little sock foot kicking underneath her jeans. She's lost a shoe.
These were her very first shoes: high end, lace-up, extra support, expensive shoes that TT wanted to bronze. Which meant: out came Isabel, up came the bag, on went the stroller, back down the steps, and through the turnstiles (THU-THUMP) we went. No shoe. THU-THUMP, back out we trudged, and on to Crate and Barrel with 3 shoes between us.
Now we were in mid-town at 1:00, which means that the streets were packed with a multitude of people with a single purpose: not lunch...smoking. They were smoking regular cigarettes, clove cigarettes, cigars, pipes, hashish, crack--I don't know what they were smoking, but it was blowing in my daughter's face and it was pissing me off. Her little white sock looked so vulnerable in the cold air, against a backdrop of traffic and billows of smoke.
We bought the gift we needed, and headed home. Some guy was spitting on the street just as we exited the store and it missed the stroller by inches. The streets were full of deep craters that made the little sock foot bounce. We made our way through the blocks of smoking people ("excuse me, may I pass you? I'd like to push this stroller in front of your cigarette, if I may, rather than directly behind it") and returned to the subway steps. Shopping bag on wrist, diaper bag on, Isabel up, stroller secured, and down we went.
Again, we watched people file onto a waiting train as we lugged ourselves (THU-THUMP) through the turnstiles, and then watched the train pull away. Fifteen minutes pass, during which Isabel must be entertained with various songs and gestures, made while the shopping bag swats around wildly from my wrist. This child--who cannot be put down in her sock foot, as much as she'd like to be--is getting heavy. The 6 train has been my subway for over 10 years, so it's quite embarrassing that it took the station manager's voice finally announcing the next train to make me realize that we were waiting for the wrong one. THU-THUD--the stroller caught on the turnstile on our way out. "God-damnit" I grunted as I wrenched it over. "Yes, gentleman who is shooting me a look. I did just swear two inches from my child's face. She doesn't speak English yet, so get over it."
We dragged ourselves up the long flights of stairs, and realized that it had started to rain. We didn't care (I'm speaking for Isabel on this point)--we were not going back underground to find the uptown train. So we walked a few more blocks (little sock foot bobbing along, back in the stroller), waited in the long line of people, folded ourselves back up again, and climbed on the bus.
It was a slow, crowded ride, but we made it back to our neighborhood, and went directly to the (crowded) shoe store. We waited until our name was called (poor Isabel was bored to tears and dying to walk around, shoes or no), and then I just held her up and it was pretty obvious what we needed. We got it, waited in line to pay, and went home.
We missed her afternoon nap. We did laundry, which as usual was cut-throat competitive, although we did get lucky because all three dryers were working (this is rare). As the clothes were spinning, we went for a walk in the new shoes. Listen Isabel, this is the din of rush hour traffic. This way sweetie, away from the garbage. Watch out for the dog piss on the sidewalk, honey. Don't pick that up, that's a cigarette butt. No, don't touch that--it's a jagged piece of metal from the heavy scaffolding that has lived over our building and on most of our block for your lifetime and probably for years to come. I don't know WHAT that is, sweetie, but don't touch it.
We have taken this same little NYC walk many times, and on another day I know I would describe it so differently: I would write about all the interesting people who smiled and talked to her, the lonely or elderly people whom she made smile with delight, the weather, the giggles, the many things she got to see, the details we appreciated together.
Just not today.
