I love New York



My imperfect quilt



Let me get this out of the way right off the bat.  I love New York.  And I am not just reciting a commercial phrase.  I love it, I really do.  I love the stores.  I love the food.  I love Times Square, and the shows. I love the subways, really I do. With all this love, there has got to be at least one drawback right?   I read somewhere that in the old days quilters would put a little mistake square in their quilts so as not be viewed as perfect since no one is perfect.  Well, I think I found that New York Square…and I don’t mean Times Square.

I am very lucky that my husband being a lifelong airline employee can fly for free.  New York is a very easy ½ hour hop so going to New York City is a fun little excursion for us. 

Yesterday we flew to New York.  As is our habit, we rode into Manhattan using public transportation, namely buses and subways.  The day was hot and humid, not unlike the 110-degree heat index we had left behind in Virginia.  Entering the city was uneventful and rather fun.  We had lunch at a wonderful diner and saw a show.  And then it was time to go back to the airport. 

That is when I discovered the New York mistake square.  Exiting the crowded, but air-conditioned subway we descended the stairs with the intention of riding the bus back to the airport.  Optimistically we reached the bus stop and waited.  We waited some more.  The heat beat down.  Little did I know that this heat was just a cool, walk in the park compared to the searing heat we would soon experience.

After about a half an hour not one, but two of our buses appeared on the horizon.  We had our choice!  The first bus stopped and the line of people waiting to get on had increased from just us, to over 25 others.  We somehow ended up at the end of the line.  As I reached the step, the bus driver told the person in front of me that the bus was full. Call me a country bumpkin but it looked full to me the minute that he pulled up.  Does he actually count or does he gauge it by whether he can close the door? 

So we turned and headed towards the second bus.  Luckily (depending upon how you look at it) the driver allowed more passengers.  This bus was so full that I swear you would need a crowbar to get another person on.  No one needed a bar to hold onto, packed this tight we just wobbled against each other like weebles. The door closed.  And as I looked around at these tired, hot, sweaty co-riders I realized this was not going to be any joyride.  The heat increased.  No air conditioning.  No windows open.  Are you kidding me?  The bus had to be approaching the heat of a sauna. And I never did get the idea of sweating in a box as being pleasant.  Those around me were dripping in sweat.  At this point I would have paid anything to be in an air-conditioned taxi.  $30 not a problem, $100, you betcha, blank check, all yours. 

Delirium took over and I started to think that walking to the airport would be a better idea.  Every time the door opened at yet another stop, I’d glance pleadingly at my non-complaining but sweating like a pig, husband and ask,

 “Can we walk from here?”

“No, it’s too far.”

“But I can see the tower.”

Finally I could take no more and at the next stop I was getting off, with or without him.  Fortunately he agreed and we walked the quarter mile to the airport.  Never in my life had outside air that was probably still pretty warm, felt so cooling.  I gasped and took it into my lungs with a newfound relish.

In retrospect, I have to believe that these buses are usually air-conditioned.  Perhaps there were too many passengers.  Maybe, it was broken.  It sure didn’t look as if the windows could be opened except by the use of a hammer.  So maybe, just maybe we got the bad square.  Hopefully the rest of them are just fine.  Still, I think that just in case I will only be visiting New York during the cooler months from now on.