New York...and done

First off, thanks to all of you for reading my blog and commenting too. Your feedback has made me a better writer and hopefully a little bit more spiritual as a person. I say this in part because this will be my last blog for awhile. School begins next week, along with 2 part time jobs. Realistically, I don't see how I'll have the time to keep this up.
So I'll close with some thoughts about our short trip to New York. Our itinerary, which we realized needed to be flexible, was:
1: Take a tour through my old neighborhood in the Bronx.
2: Museum of Natural History.
3: Out to our hotel in Queens.
4: Mets game in evening.
5: Have a relaxing next day and get back to CT in late PM.
Now, this is New York. And I know two things about the city. One is that plans can change in a (ahem) "New York" minute. And two is that there's probably something wrong with any plan that involves parking in Manhattan.
So we began...My girlfriend was not only curious about my old neighborhood but had a ton of really good questions about the layout, the people I grew up with, etc.
I grew up in Spuyten Duyvil. Most New Yorkers have no idea what this means. It's actually a Dutch term which probably means "Spouting Devil", due probably to the currents from the Hudson and Harlem rivers, which meet here. It's in the far northwestern corner of the Bronx, just south of Riverdale, which is one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the city. But Spuyten Duyvil is solidly middle class to working class, depending on elevation. It's in the hilliest part of New York, which is probably why I love hills to this day. And let's face it, the name is way cooler than "Riverdale", a name only popular due to the Archie comics of the 60's. They may have money, but we have a cooler name.
The best part of growing up may have been the view from our west-facing apartment. I could see both rivers; the Henry Hudson bridge connecting Bronx and Manhattan; the Palisades of New Jersey, and some breathtaking sunsets. There were also boulders going down to the rivers that were literally big enough to create caves, which we played in as kids. If I had any talent as a painter, I could probably have sold one to the Louvre. 
By the way, it always bothered me that the little creek separating the Bronx from Manhattan is called the Harlem "River". To my way of thinking, it's not a river. It's really just an arm of the Hudson.
Nonetheless, we did the tour. I grew up in a 1 BR apartment with my brother and mom, on the 2nd floor of an 11 story building. The building itself was part of a 4 building complex, all the other buildings being 10 stories. Each floor has 12 apartments. So, by my math, that's 492 apartments, of which 490 of them were probably Jewish. And yes, I mean the APARTMENTS, along with those who lived there. That's because most Jews put up something called a "mezuzah" by the door. It's a finger length size piece of metal containing part of the Torah. Meant to bring good luck.
Up until age 7 or so, I assumed the world was Jewish. All those people in Vietnam? Jewish, of course. All my favorite baseball players. Naturally, they were Jewish. (Hey, at least I was right about Koufax).
The 2 non-Jewish entries would be apartments 9F, which was Mrs. Yuen. And 7C in my building, which is where the Catanzaro's lived. I remember their daughter, Josephine, a tomboy, beating me up when I was 9. Yes, I lost to a girl. And I lost count of how my fights I lost to boys. Anyway, I can safely assume that the family probably wasn't Jewish. I suspect there were other "goyim" as well, but I can't remember a single one.
So we saw the buildings, my schools and synagogues, and lots of steep hills and beautiful views. The neighborhood is remarkably unchanged in 40+ years. I'm still amazed that I was lucky enough to grow up in a place so imbued by nature. I can't imagine any place in New York City like it. And it was a rent controlled apartment, no less.
I suggested afterwards that instead of the museum, we go to the Bronx Botanical Gardens. I went there once when I was very young, but remember next to nothing. I'm glad we revisited, because it really is a beautiful place. I suggested it in part because I thought V would like it, and as a hedge against the baseball game we were going to later that night. If she was bored silly at the game, at least she'd remember this part of the trip. And she had a wonderful time here.
The Mets game was great. We won 5-3. It was a thrilling game, capped by a moment that I'll remember forever. We sat three levels up, just inside the rightfield foul line. I told V that we were too high up for any home runs but if there were any, it would probably be by the visiting Atlanta Braves, who have a bunch of lefthanded power hitters. Our only guy was Ike Davis, who's having a miserable year. Well...it was the 8th inning. We're winning 4-3. Ike at the plate. And he launched a rocket. I will remember forever the picture of a baseball literally flying over our heads, 100 feet above the field, and 420 feet away. The ball landed 10 rows behind us and almost cleared the stadium. Measured at 440 feet. Interestingly, probably the closest I've ever come to catching a ball, in hundreds of games.
All in all, a wonderful evening. Only problem occurred on the subway back to our hotel. As the door closed, a woman next to me lost her balance, spilling the contents of a pouch containing, I'd say, 50 pills of a kaleidoscopic nature. Not only in appearance, but if ingested, probably what the user would see. She said she was an acupuncturist. I wanted to tell her that if that was true, then I was Alex Rodriguez. Helped her pick up her stash. She insisted on repaying me for my kindness, which I declined. Didn't stop her from putting something in my pocket. At first, I thought she was trying to pick my pocket. Then I thought maybe it was money. It was, instead, some of her private collection, which I promptly flushed down the toilet when we got back. She also gave another present...that being a foot wound to my girlfriend. Seems that when the train lurched a 2nd time, she lunged forward and accidentally stepped on V's foot. She gave a perfunctory apology, then turned to the embrace of some guy who may or may not have been her boyfriend. Or it could have been a perfect stranger. Couldn't tell, as they were into some heavy foreplay, albeit fully clothed. If not for the pain V was in, it would have been funny. I'm thinking, "only on a NY subway would this happen." I also thought about politely interrupting her from her probable impending climax, insisting on a real apology, but reconsidered.
We finished the trip with a driving tour of Manhattan (since parking is impossible, that was the only option). North on 1st Ave., across 125th St, north on to Amsterdam Ave. Stopped at the Cloisters but the $25.00 admission was too steep. I mean, the Cloisters are definitely worth seeing at a 15-20 admission. But 25? We headed home, stopped at a deli in my old neighborhood, and returned back to CT.
I find that I love the energy of the city. But only up to a point. And I hit that point near the end. I can't imagine ever living in New York. Or even commuting. I just get overloaded after a day.
Besides the bad foot, V also caught a cold. Probably the same one I caught in Rhode Island, 2 weeks earlier. But she also said she "had the time of her life" at the game, which just got me beaming.

That's New York for you...lots of highs and lows.

And with that, I want to thank you again for taking the time to read this little blog. (Well, a bit long today. Sorry.)

See you around...gp