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Posts tagged ‘Midtown’

Blizzard ’15: Update

Service changes rule the System as the MTA normalizes service.

Service changes rule the System as the MTA normalizes service.

 

QUIET…

The City was silent last night. But for the sound of salt trucks and snow plows, an unnatural, yet welcome silence blanketed the City. Yes, a blanket. Puffy, white piles of snow mounded on the sidewalks, cars, trees, fences.

But now we’re getting back to “normal,” that is, what is abnormal: the busyness of the City. I hear distant sirens; is it some poor ill soul or a vehicular accident?

Restarting trains and buses, the MTA’s progress seems to be a health report of the City. The transit system is its pulse, its heart, and its medical condition is revealed in the transit schedule.  Right now, there are no buses on Broadway—at least none I can hear—and I usually can hear them.

The baby next door cries and quiets. A few children outside sparkle the air with their amusement. My husband, home from work, makes cooking and washing up noises from the kitchen. It is peaceful. An automobile drives by, its tires sounding slushy. Someone’s shovel scrapes the sidewalk.

This lassitude, this ease, this torpor, this languor, this lethargy, this tranquility, this calm—THIS is what it’s like to live “out of town,” i.e., NOT in New York City. Peacefulness. As much as I like the activity in the City, I miss the quiet of “town,” my type of normal, snowy day.

A snow day is rare. Rarer still is subway shutdown. Is the patient moribund? Or just having a heart transplant? I hope it’s the latter. NYC can do with a change of attitude.  A storm can take her to her knees but won’t take her down all the way. She’ll rise again, a remade entity, and wait for the next challenge thrown her way.

We’re safe, we’re warm, we’re well-fed. We’re grateful and taken care of.

The Cloud

/home/wpcom/public_html/wp-content/blogs.dir/f36/64094053/files/2014/12/img_60721.jpgWarm, gazing out the window, I watch the cloud that descended upon the city misting the streets. My cappuccino’s foam doesn’t quite reach my lips so I probe with my tongue. A wooden stirrer seems a better choice, so I reach for one and slide it into the cup. I savor the slightly piney tang under the pillowy mounds.

David Letterman grins down at us, his Late Show theater dominating the block. People rush beneath his gaze. I expected to see more shoppers, more people burdened by bags, but most seem to be the quotidian norm bolstered with boots and umbrellas. Traffic crawls by, wipers occasionally flapping to remove cloud bits from the windshields.

The mother next to me admonishes her daughters who are wearing matching headbands: braided red, green, and white metallic strands. “Eat something now,” she nags. “We have two hours until we need to be there.” One girl adjusts her headband. “Can we go by Rockefeller Center?” she asks. A homeless man taps on the window to attract attention. I don’t hear the mother’s reply. I’m transported into the cloud, dipping into my clouds of foamed milk, watching the slice of Manhattan sky I can see become more occluded by the cloud.

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