ON what will probably be the last sun-filled Sunday of this fall, I ran a short tour amongst the tourists with their maps and frowned faces at the park's "You Are Here." kiosks, the local East Siders pushing baby carriages (Why do all the women with babies look like they are nearing fifty? Because they are.) and the runners, joggers, sloggers, walkers, gapers,bikers, scooterites and tennis racketeers (raconteurs? racketeurs?) all crowding in one last long session in the sunshine before the rains and snow begin. Down the hill from Strawberry Fields, a pedicab driver was explaining to his two riders that John Lennon used to be buried there but that the body had to be moved.(!?) There were three people feeding the chickadees in front of a sign asking that people not feed the wildlife. Maybe they thought it meant native New Yorkers.
A woman in a wheelchair stopped me to ask how far it was to the Boathouse. I said "It's right around that next corner about five minutes." Then I stopped, it was about a half a mile which for me would have about five minutes away. My brain tried to remember if there was a shorter route that she could take, but I couldn't remember if there were stairs along the shortcuts. We only pay real attention to the things that affect ourselves.
I was going to walk to the subway from Strawberry Fields, but then one of the good songs came on my headsets and I headed down the hill, past the Sheep Meadow (closed for the season) the Tavern of the Green (jam-packed parking lot) and the new Christmas Mart @ 59th Street.
All the pedi-cabs from the Theatre District have moved up to the 59th Street Circle because the Stagehands strike has killed the pedestrian traffic. They are parked side by side by side by side.
Waiting in the sunshine for someone not like me.
I go by Shank's Mare.
No comments:
Post a Comment