Without anything even remotely interesting happening on the flight home, I am forced to simply look back and reflect on our trip.
Top 3 surprises.
1) I had more fun at the musicals than I thought I would. I had forgotten how vibrant and engaging a live performance can be. While I didn’t get to chomp on popcorn and loudly sip a coke while watching it all, it was still a lot of fun.
2) How much the heat and humidity took it out of us. I could show pictures of how terrible we all looked at times, but then I’d disappear forever and The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World would shrug and say, “I dunno what happened to him, but the flowers seem to be growing nicely.”
3) How much I enjoyed seeing NY with my cousins, hearing THEIR stories, and connecting with them on a kinda deep level. As a self-proclaimed anti-social troglodyte, it amazes me when I have fun with others.
It was a lot darker and more magical in real life, but seeing Manhattan from the water was amazing
Top 5 Things To Do
1) Climb to the top of a tower, any tower, and take in the immensity of Manhattan, the glory of all the skyscrapers, and the majesty of a city so vibrant, that there should be a warning that it’ll make you want to go back.
2) Despite the less-than-successful trip to the Statue of Liberty, go see it. Seriously. Find a guide who was an immigrant – their story will be far more raw, more full of love and gratitude for being an American than, well, even a good Brooklyn boy. Take the tour that allows you inside the glorious old lady. Wait, that sounds wrong but seeing inside is a cool experience in itself.
3) See something on Broadway. Stand in line. Talk to someone. Get a photo with your favourite star. Jump up and down when they approach. Be that excited child, again. It’s ok. It’s New York. You will never be the weirdest one there.
4) Go on a night boat ride to see the Manhattan skyline. Even with the rain, the thunder, and howling winds, it was such an amazing thing to do. You could always just take a ferry across the water, but honestly, going under the Brooklyn Bridge, seeing the setting sun outline the Statue of Liberty or watching all the skyscrapers light up as darkness surrounds them, well, it’s simply incredible.
5) See the 9/11 Memorial. It’ll be hard. Maybe even painful. You may cry, or like me, sob over the dog story. But it’s more than a sight, it’s more than a tour, it’s as meaningful as Auschwitz or Pearl Harbour.
Family and friends. Can’t they be both? From the Freedom Tower
From everyone else, their recommendations…
The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World… Go to a place with cool cousins. (The trip wouldn’t have been as good without them.)
I would also had it doesn’t have to be cousins, so watch out my friends who live in other countries, we may be coming your way.
You have been warned.
Carnegie Hall
The-Oldest…Check out a concert at Carnegie Hall. It’s very welcoming and the concerts look awesome. (There weren’t any concerts while we were there.)
Eat, Walk, Have fun.
The-Youngest…Walk around a lot and try any restaurants you haven’t heard of, and never, ever eat at a CHAIN!!!
(To be fair, he’s young and fit so walking around is totally doable for him, but there was so much to see on every street, so he’s absolutely right about that.)
And that’s the trip done. Us 4. All together.
If we have another one with us all together, I’ll likely have a walker, The-Youngest will have a robot wife, The-Oldest will have to dodge groupies, and The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World will have grey hair and a tracker embedded in my skull so she can find me when I get lost.
It won’t be the same.
I’m so grateful to have had these experiences with the people I love most in the world.
What would a more restful vacation look like for you?
Ours began with a sleep-in, then a peaceful market day in Nyack, a quick game of hide and seek in a library, followed by a visit to a cemetery. Nothing was rushed. Nothing was urgent. It wasn’t exhaustingly humid and hot. There weren’t crowds of sweaty people jostling for room on a subway. There weren’t monks trying to scam you with a bracelet con.
Just a nice, easy day.
In America, they honor the service of their soldiers
The latter part of the day had us trek out to do supper at my youngest cousin’s house. As a Canadian, I see things a little differently as we drove there. Banners honoring fallen soldiers hung from highway lamps. Old wooden houses stood on spacious yards. We passed under stone rail bridges that could have stood since the 1850s. Many houses still had porches.
Nobody shot at us.
It was enchanting. A different world.
Our cousin’s house was a lovely 2 story structure with a front yard so HUGE, I would have to mow it with a riding mower (or hire someone to do it.) Waiting for us inside, I mean apart from our cousin, were doggies!
Doggies!
Ever since we lost our doggeroo, aka the Spazadoodle, I’ve missed having dogs around. They are the greatest creatures on the planet, apart from capybaras or the extra snuggly-looking hedgehogs. Our cousin had two. One a little shy at first, the other a total lap muffin.
Oddly enough, the grumpy one took a liking to The-Youngest. Maybe he looked like a grumpy one too. The other one slipped in between The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and The-Oldest. He was a pro snuggler – he got pats from two people at once. No doggies sat with me. I felt left out. Packless. Unloved.
But we had the best time chatting with our cousins. The. Best. Time. We all laughed, shared our experiences with New York, talked a bit about their mom, and ate like kings (though the dogs ate like kings of kings.)
The-Youngest makes a friend
Somehow I managed not to say anything stupid or tell an off color joke or simply sit in a chair in the corner and remain sullenly silent (and dogless). Even The-Youngest (known for his great ability to disappear and find a dark place where he can look at his phone) stayed engaged and joined in the conversation.
As an aside, The-Oldest would like to point out that there was not a piano there.
What struck me at that moment was how much the boys had grown up. Oh sure, they don’t look like kids anymore, but they have more of a comfortable confidence about them. The-Oldest loves to talk about music, duh, but now he’s adept at asking about other people, what they love to do, what experiences they’ve had, and who is their favourite classical composer besides Mozart.
Since moving out, he’s learned a ton of ‘how to deal with all the crap life throws at you’ lessons. He’s not looked to us to solve anything. He’s not asked for money even when he’s needed it (so we gave it to him anyway). He’s taken on UBC and graduated on the Dean’s List. In his experiences with the music industry, he’s slowly beginning to believe that he’s the real deal, that he does have talent, that he can make it in this harsh world.
The boys have grown up. Too quickly.
In The-Youngest, though, I have seen the biggest change in the last year. Sure, he spends more time on his hair than The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World, but he’s becoming a very competent young man. Ok, like he’s got us all beat with his ability to navigate, but he’s no longer afraid to talk to people he barely knows, he’s as funny as hell when talking about his experiences as a cook or student, and he’s remarkably independent. Left alone in a city, he could find food, shelter, and likely a girlfriend. I would fail at two of those.
This terrifies his mom, though. Who knows what he’ll want to do next? Go to Europe by himself on a ski trip? Try wingsuit flying off a mountain? Join a motorcycle gang? Move away?
Who knows what trouble he’ll get into, but I have confidence, yeah, I said it, CONFIDENCE, that he’ll be fine.
As I sat there, looking at them, I realized how proud I am of the men they are becoming. Good men. Kind men. Competent men.
I teared up a bit.
It could have been the dog hair though.
We left having had fantastic family time. It was relaxed. It was like we’d known them forever and been best of friends. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World really connected with both of them (and even my youngest’s cousin’s daughter), but then she’s like that. She connects with everyone. It’s truly remarkable.
My oldest cousin drove us back to the apartment in Manhattan (not an easy drive) and as we drove over the Washington Bridge, I think we all looked at the lights of New York City with a little sense of loss. We were going home tomorrow.
Would you rather race around a big city and see all the world-class sights or toodle around a picturesque small town with no real agenda?
Nyaak New York
I have to say that I’ve had some of my best travel adventures in small towns. Sorrento, Italy. Kirby, Longside (not in The Shire, but in the Lake District, England). Colmar, France. Mos Eisley, Tatooine. There is just something calming about a beautiful small town that’s away from the hustle and bustle of a big city.
So today, we would spend the afternoon in Nyack, NY, the hometown of my Auntie Ruth and younger cousin.
Being a Sunday, they had a street market, so we’d check that out for sure. The big city market was a bit of a bust, but we had hopes for this one – handcrafted jewelry, homemade jams, weird meat on sticks, and I had to – simply had to – find a NY pretzel.
I’d also told The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World that the library might be worth looking into. Unlike me who gets excited by cathedrals, tanks, battlefields or castles, she was super excited to see it, especially since it had been commissioned by the Carnagie endowment.
We didn’t get up early. It’s just not something you do when not in a big city. There were no sounds of sirens or trucks backing up. There were no diesel smells. No oppressive humidity. So why get up early at all?
We ate brunch at a restaurant that looked amazingly quaint – Handwritten specials on a blackboard behind the bar counter. Old-fashioned coffee mugs. Wooden tables and red plastic water glasses.
My goodness, the food was good. I had crepes covered in cherry compote. The boys had eggs and sausage. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World had a suspiciously healthy-looking omelet, while our oldest cousin, who joined us for this part of the day, chose eggs benny.
It was the perfect small-town eatery.
Then we marched out into the sun to see what the town had to sell. The boys and I had seen everything there was to see in about 15 minutes. We got a pretzel. We smelled all the stalls that cooked meat on sticks. We found a Christmas store (where the Oldest bought a cool Felix the Cat clock for his girlfriend).
But there was a lot more to see and touch, merchants to talk to, and bargains to be found. Not by the boys, though. Nope. That was girl duty. My oldest cousin and the-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World had a great time laughing with the fellow who made bones for dogs, talking to all the jewelry makers, debating which Christmas ornament to buy, and generally inspecting all 22,000 stalls set up on the street.
Yes, this is a library. Nyaak NY
They had a blast.
Then we went into the library.
Now, how to describe it?
Well, it reminds me of someone’s expensive, old home. Ivy covered the brick frontage. The entrance led into a reading room on the right with comfy chairs and a fireplace, while to the left were tables and chairs. Wood was everywhere. Wooden pillars. Wooden floors. Wooden beams.
The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World had found heaven.
Yup, still a library.
We boys saw everything that needed to be seen in 15 minutes.
The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and my cousin looked into every room, talked to the librarians and even some customers. However, unlike in Canada, here you had to use your library whisper. No shouting or swearing or shooting up drugs in the bathrooms.
At one point, a patron asked The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World to help her find a book (thinking that she worked there). Although she denies it, I think The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World was making sure all the books were aligned with the shelf edge at the time.
I found a pretzel
It was a fantastic library, I won’t lie – the type of place you could come and read a newspaper (yes, they still have those things) in complete comfort and quiet.
No piano though, so The-Oldest wasn’t a fan, and it was ‘too old’ for The-Youngest to give it a thumbs up.
With all the stalls seen, a pretzel eaten, the library thoroughly investigated, it was time to head off to pay our respects at my Auntie Ruth’s grave. Set high up on a hillside so she could enjoy the view, she is buried with her husband. Above her, her son lay buried. 39 years old.
Christ that’s young.
It was a beautiful cemetery, well-kept and peaceful. I felt bad I hadn’t thought to buy some flowers, but I was glad we made the trip. As I’ve said in the previous blogs, Auntie Ruth was a remarkable woman – brave, outgoing, funny as hell, and a strong believer in family. It was her funeral that brought me closer to my cousins and I think she’d be happy for that.
My cousin, Ronald.
Personally, I don’t want to be buried. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World wants her ashes to be shot out of a cannon at a Bruno Mars concert (bonus ghostie points if he’s covered in the ashes.)
I like that.
I need to get this sorted out. Much to my dismay, I am not immortal, and I don’t want to leave it to The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World (who will likely shoot my ashes at the neighbour who always has loud parties that last until 3 am.)
Me? Gosh, I don’t know. What’s my favorite spot? What place gave me the most happiness? Where should my final resting place be?
I left feeling, as I always do in cemeteries or after funerals, a little down, a little too contemplative about the meaning of life, and very much regretful that when someone dies, a lot of their life story dies with them.
I find that tremendously sad.
However, I knew the next place we’d visit would raise my spirits.
July 12th, we planned to spend the evening and the next day at my cousin’s lake house. No subways to take. No places to be at a certain time. No need to even wake up early.
There was a time when I would get up at 7am, march around Paris for 16 hours, drink a bottle of wine, and then pass out in a tent, face-first, on a sleeping bag. Now, I’d be more likely to get up at 9, walk around Paris for 20 minutes, then sit and have about 7 coffees and 52 chocolate croissants, then decide to go back to the hotel for a nap, eat a huge supper and go to bed at 7, face-first, in a big comfy pillow.
The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World was desperate to have a day off. She’d reached her traveling breaking point. I don’t think we could have got her out of bed for anything short of a day of nothing or applying oil to the Rock’s chest or having lunch with Jinkx the Drag Queen.
Jinkx wasn’t available and the Rock wasn’t taking my calls, anymore.
Weird.
After the 9/11 Memorial, our oldest cousin was kind enough to drive us out to her lake house.
With the light fading, we left Manhattan, driving past Captain America on a bike, past the university that made her want to stay in Upper Manhattan forever (Columbia), and over the George Washington Bridge.
The drive through the New York countryside was lovely. Simply lovely. My brother and I had seen it in the winter, a postcard-perfect landscape of powdered white buildings and forlorn-looking trees. In fall, the countryside would have been heartbreakingly beautiful, but even in summer, driving through small, old towns, underneath the weathered, stone bridges, past old houses and farms, it was so beautiful. There is nothing like it in BC.
Unlike New York City, it’s like time stopped out here.
It was dark by the time we arrived at our cousin’s lake house. She has a lovely house overlooking Lake Peekskill, though, at night, it was hard to see.
I loved this house. It has a room built into the rock, a spiral staircase leading to a low-height attic, and enough bedrooms for all of us. It has a fantastic rustic feel. A feeling of peace and quiet.
Almost instantly, we began to feel less stressed.
I don’t think any of us lasted more than an hour before we all went to bed.
Tomorrow would be the Day of Relaxation!
July 13th found us all sleeping in, including me who was usually the first to get up.
The weatherman had called for clouds and rain.
Not a cloud could be seen in the sky. At some point, I think I have to come to terms with the fact that weather forecasters are just pulling balls out of a tumbling tumbler. “And today’s bingo is… rain and clouds.”
The-Youngest, after he got up at noon, spent most of the day on the couch sleeping. The-Oldest, his mind always active, spent the day reading about musicians and planning more music in his head. I’m not sure he left the comfy chair that looked onto the lake.
The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and I spent most of the afternoon reminiscing with my cousin about my mom’s side of the family (how I am related to my cousins.)
We got to look at my aunt’s collection of collectibles, mostly match boxes from all the places she’d been. My cousin found old photo albums of her mom (and mine) from when they were youngsters, of their parents, and a whole ton of when their mom came out to be a dancer in NYC.
Auntie Ruth, my mom and dad, and my Uncle Jim. I loved them all so much
Now think of that for a moment. A girl from Calgary, Alberta decides to go to the BIG APPLE to be a dancer. What a brave and beautiful adventure, well beyond anything I would have tried at that age (or my current age).
But that was my Auntie Ruth. Tough as nails, yet kind and generous. Wildly adventurous, yet ultimately pragmatic (as demonstrated by her staying in NY and becoming an accountant when her dancing career stalled.)
When my brother and I came to NY, it was for her funeral. Link here. She loved NY. She loved going to concerts in Carnegie Hall. She loved the arts. She loved her daughters with a deep and fierce passion. She spoke of them with pride and joy.
Every time I saw her, she made me laugh. She had a quiet, but wicked sense of humor, understated but always clever, always observant.
I was happy we got to talk about her and my mom (from my cousin’s perspective). The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and my cousin also bonded on a shared tragedy. Both had lost their brothers to suicide. It’s a terrible thing to share but both of their brothers had struggled with the same demons, both did their best to help them, and ultimately both brothers succumbed to the darkness or despair inside of them.
Washington was here
Their bonding was a lovely thing to see, but I didn’t want to intrude, so I left them be and caught up on writing, entering a bit more in my journal/pre-blog.
For supper, we went into the nearby town, Peekskill, and ate at a restaurant called the Birdsall House, a building that George Washington apparently visited. Whether or not he actually did didn’t change the fact that the building was that old. Worn brick covered the lower part of the building, and weathered wooden shakes covered the upper part. The whole town was filled with fantastic old homes and buildings, some of stone, some of wood, some of brick, or a combination of all of those.
The food was ok, but not outstanding and the server forgot to place The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World’s order. It had to get cooked from scratch and so by the time she got her food, we were done. None of us were happy with that, though The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World INSISTED we not wait for her (I’m not sure The-Youngest could have waited anyway. He had the look of someone so hungry, he’d eat the arm off the nearest person [me, in this case]).
I love the smaller NY towns
Afterwards, we wandered the town as the sun began to set and we found a band playing on a side street lined with other restaurants. Now THAT got The-Oldest’s attention. It was a Cuban music band, full of energy and they clearly loved to play. We stood and listened for a while, while I pointed out that the movement and love of music that The-Oldest saw, was exactly what we saw when we watched him.
See, he doesn’t just play music, he is consumed by it. It fills him with joy and that radiates when he’s on stage – like that is where he is destined to be, where he is happiest in life.
Beautiful statue along the lake
Before we went back to the lake house, we got an amazing tour of the local area. So beautiful and lovely in the dusk-light
When we got back, we all went to bed early. Wait, did we, or was it just me? I know I passed out about 2 seconds after my head hit the pillow, but the others? Not sure, to be honest. I know what they had planned…
Tomorrow we’d have another quiet day and get a chance to go into town, maybe see a library for The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World, see my other cousin’s house, and meet her family (including the doggeroo kind.)
Looking back, now, we needed that day of peace. Even me, the hard-charging, see-everything guy. Even The-Youngest who had the energy of a seventeen-year-old and wanted so desperately to see all of NY on his own, spent most of the day sleeping.
What would it have been like to be in the Twin Towers?
I’ll never know, but I got a chance to visit the 9/11 Museum and the new Freedom Tower.
We didn’t have a guide for the museum. He left, glad I think, that he no longer had to be videoed by an annoying Canadian. The climb down into the museum was impressive itself. There was a broken and rusted beam from tower 1. The East tower. It was no small thing, made of hardened steel, and yet gravity and weight had snapped it like a small easily snapped thingee.
The farther down we went, the darker it got. That was a nice touch. At the start, we found informational displays about the towers, about the attack, and a cool picture of the NYC skyline when the towers dominated it.
A monument to the First Responders Who died.
The museum featured many stories of the victims and survivors. There was a metal pillar at the bottom of it with the names of first responders who died painted on it. PAPD 37. NYPD 23. FDNY 343.
Sitting at the base of that pillar, The-Youngest found himself crying. Not because of the numbers, but because he sat near it and listened to the voices of the people who had died. It made it all so tragically real.
Ordinary people living ordinary lives, lives lost.
The museum seemed to understand space. The long hallways had extremely high ceilings. It made me feel small. Insignificant. Along one wall were tiles with all the names of the lost. The names surrounded a plaque that read, NO DAY SHALL ERASE YOU FROM THE MEMORY OF TIME.
My cousin reacts to not just names, but pictures of the people killed.
Beautiful.
For The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World, there were more tears. Tears for those lost and those left behind.
For our cousins, it was a truly emotional experience that brought back so many bad memories, but man, they were so brave to venture into a time of such pain and trauma.
As much as we could connect with the experience, they lived it. Felt it. It was burned into them.
Ladder 3. Or what remained of it.
My most moving moment was seeing ladder 3, a fire engine crushed by falling debris. More twisted steel hung from walls at various points, a testament to the total destruction.
We spent hours there, and could have spent hours more – there’s a lot to read and a lot to see. I loved seeing the artwork people had created. Our cousins spent a long time looking at the pictures of the people killed.
All of us sagged a little by the time we left, like the anguish of all those souls weighed upon us. We all felt exhausted.
But we still had to see the Freedom Tower. Unlike the Empire State, it was shiny and new, with another spectacular view of NYC. Now that we knew the city a bit, we could point out things. Oh, there’s Governor’s Island. There’s Ellis Island. The Brooklyn Bridge. There’s that huge, massively tall tower that no one could remember the name of. There’s a water tower.
We did a slow walk around the viewing level, while The-Youngest, with the Freedom Tower iPad did his best to tell us what we were looking at. Sadly, often by the time he had found it, we had walked halfway around the floor.
Me and my beautiful cousins atop the Freedom Tower
As I said, seeing New York from this high is something. A MUST-SEE.
We had some nice chats with our cousins while we wandered the viewing level.
Both are such amazing people and we were so happy to have had this time with them. They are New Yorkers through and through. Funny. Tough. Kind.
Visiting the 9/11 memorial, the museum, and the Freedom Tower would have been a great experience if we’d done it ourselves, but seeing it with them, listening to their stories, and sharing the moments with them was priceless.
Oh, the 9/11 Memorial is such a peaceful and beautiful and heartbreaking sight.
I think everyone has seen the pictures—two great holes in the ground with waterfalls on all four sides and one dark and seemingly endless hole in the middle. Shining black marble surrounds the pools, and the names of the people who died are inscribed on it.
3000 people died that day.
24 Canadians.
But as horrible as that number is, it is just a number. Numbers don’t move us. Numbers don’t break our hearts. Numbers don’t bring us to tears.
The individual stories do.
Father Mychal Judge
As we walked around the memorial site, we heard of Mychal Fallon Judge, (link here) an NYC Fire Department chaplain who rushed from his church to give comfort and with some, the last rites. He rushed into the first building to help others, to give them comfort and support, then into the second building where he was killed by falling debris.
Rick Recorla – Survived Vietnam, but not 911
Rick Rescorla (link here) was a security specialist at Morgan Stanley who had long warned of the dangers of fire in such a huge building. He had to push hard to get anyone to practice how to evacuate, but those drills, on his floor, saved lives. 2700 lives. After evacuating his floor, he went to the next one to help others. Many more made it out. He did not.
Keith Roma – so young
Keith Roma (link here) was not even a member of the NYFD, but of the New York Fire Protection Department. When the calls went out, he raced to the towers, calling his father (NYPD) saying “You’d better get down here because they’re gonna’ need everybody.” His dad, though buried in rubble, survived. Keith did not. His body wouldn’t be found until Christmas Eve, surrounded by nine more evacuees he was attempting to escort to safety in his last moments.
the iconic picture of Moira Smith
Police officer Moira Smith (link here) was the only female NYPD officer to die that day. She went to the underground concourse to help evacuate people and direct them to safety. Smith’s husband, Jim, a fellow police officer, would go on to raise their 2-year-old daughter, Patricia without her.
So many saw a need to help and acted. They saw flames. They saw damage. They saw people in danger. Selflessly, they rushed inside to help. Many did not come out.
The youngest victim to die was 2 ½, one of eight children killed. His stuffed rabbit can be seen in the Freedom Tower.
All those stories, and so many more, were very moving. The names on the marble plaques surrounding the pools, for example, were grouped by people they knew, not in something like alphabetical order. So you were listed beside your coworkers and friends.
I cannot think of a better idea.
We heard stories of sacrifice and heroism. We heard stories of resilience after the attack. We heard stories of the people, good people, who woke up in the morning with no idea they would never kiss their kids again, or hug their mom or see their spouses again. And for me, the thought from the other side, that they would never see their loved ones who went off to what they thought was another day at the Twin Towers.
I didn’t cry. It was close. Those stories were very emotional. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and our cousins were deeply affected, though. Between them, I think they went through all the Kleenex, napkins, and eyeglass cloths in their purses.
None of the first responders, none of the policemen stopped before entering either of the towers, saying, “jeez, I ain’t going in there.” They all went in.
And many died.
None of the first responders stopped working. Exhausted and traumatized, they continued day after day. There are pictures of their faces. They look like dead men walking. Like they’d been to war. Like they’d seen something no one should ever see.
The Sphere
Walking around the memorial, we saw a sculpture (The Sphere) that had mostly survived the destruction of the towers. It was melted and peppered with holes but it had survived.
We stood in silence and looked at a moving display of stones from the original towers, now artwork in the park surrounding the pools.
We saw flowers placed by loved ones on the names of people who died. We saw the rebuilt buildings all around the memorial, good as new, a symbol of the spirit of NY.
We walked by the Orthodox church that had become a shelter for the wounded and traumatized.
I don’t see how anyone could visit this place and not be moved. Even those who were not alive on 9/11. Twenty-odd years had passed since fanatics flew planes into the buildings for the sole purpose of murdering innocent people. I think that touched all of us. I think it changed us.
But as Canadians, we can also be proud of what we did that day. When all the flights were canceled, Gander Newfoundlanders took in the passengers from 37 flights. This small community had only 10,000 people and yet hosted more than 6,000.
We all mourned with America. We all wanted to help. We felt a fraction of what they felt.
It was a pilgrimage I was happy we had made. It was sobering. It was painful. It was horrific. But it was something everyone should do when they go to NYC.
Do you remember where you were on 9/11? What you were doing?
The-Youngest and The-Oldest hadn’t been born, so all they knew about it was what they’d read or been taught in school. I was at home, working out on a rowing machine, watching CNN. When the news broke, it was ‘a small plane hit one of the twin towers.” Then… then… something unthinkable.
I watched the 2nd plane hit the other tower. I stopped rowing. I watched as another plane apparently crashed into the pentagon, then another into a field. I watched people on fire leap into the air and fall like flaming rags. I watched dust and ash cover the faces of New Yorkers as they fled.
But not all of them fled, did they?
The heroes didn’t.
In the morning, we joined our cousins to see the memorial to honor all those who died – and to honor those who gave their lives to save others.
Both cousins, despite being lifelong New Yorkers, hadn’t been to the 9/11 Memorial. For my oldest cousin, she had worked blocks away when the buildings came down, her mom was close too, though not in the buildings. For both of my cousins, that day was filled with such powerful emotion, grief, and loss.
And fear that, on that day, her mom had been caught in the collapse of the towers.
To return to that spot, to bring back the memories of that terrible day, wasn’t something that would be easy for them.
Or us.
To do this properly, our cousins had booked a tour. Going on the subway was a whole different experience with them. They knew the cheats. They knew the bad cars. They knew the shady people to avoid. And, they knew a neat story about every stop.
Navigating the streets was also a treat. It was like having our own personal tour guides.
See, we wanted this when they asked us what we wanted to do with them. Show us your New York, we said. Our oldest cousin did that with our long walk on the first day. Our youngest cousin showed us the fun of Broadway.
And once they found out we hadn’t eaten at a Bodega, well now, we had to try one.
I have to say I was a little surprised. A Bodega for me was a place in Law and Order where someone shot someone else in between the aisles stacked with shelves overstuffed with twinkies and beer.
But no, this one had a high-end, coffee shop, lots of sandwiches, and in the back, a freaking buffet.
The-Youngest nearly fainted in happiness. A buffet? He could load up on anything? Even take 9 plates? Even get a beer? (ah, no to the last one.)
The food was fantastic. Not like 5 star fantastic but hot, tasty, and pretty cheap.
What a treat.
After eating, we lined up for the tour in front of a church. There weren’t a ton of people so that was great. I hate being part of a human centipede that follows someone with an umbrella around like we’re all attached by invisible chains.
The tour guide was young, handsome, and full of enthusiasm. We began the tour at St. Paul’s Chapel, which somehow stood when the towers fell just a hundred yards away. The 250-year-old chapel became a haven for all the rescue and recovery workers, some of whom would just collapse with exhaustion when they entered it. How it stood while other buildings fell is seen as a sign from God.
The chapel has marked that day since 2002 by ringing the Bell of Hope outside, near the small cemetery.
It was a beautiful and contemplative sight. This small chapel, surrounded by towering skyscrapers, had survived. Even the sun disappeared hid behind a blanket of clouds. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World teared up, while both my cousins dabbed at their eyes.
Being me, I took pictures of everything but when I started to record the guide’s description of what happened, he got angry and said, “Dude, are you going to film everything I say?”
Being Canadian, I said, “Ah, no, sorry,” but jeez, even if I had planned that, so what?
I stopped filming him, but didn’t stop filming or taking pictures of the sights.
To get to the actual memorial, we walked through the World Trade Center Station, which is inside the Oculus. I don’t know why it has that name, but it is a sight for the eyes. We entered through white, flowing archways into a vast ribbed mall—also white. It had cost $4 billion to build, but because they built it in New York, despite the money spent, the roof leaked like mad, so they sealed it up with duct tape.
It was designed by a famous Spanish architect named Santiago Calatrava who certainly created something beautiful. I wonder, sometimes, that in the long run, does anyone care how much it cost or is the creation of art the only thing people remember?
We had no time to see any of the shops or stalls, though. We were on a mission, and following our guide, we were about to enter ground zero.
The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World had already cried at the cemetery. I wondered if any of us would get through the next part without sobbing. It felt like a weight on my chest. It felt like I was about to go to a funeral for someone I loved.
The Statue of Liberty, of course. An icon not only of New York, but of America, not only America, but of the world, not only of the world, but the universe (if you believe in the little grey men.)
So that was our plan today. Or at least part of our plan. Call in July 11th, part 1 of 3.
When my brother and I went to NY, we got to choose one thing to see due to limited time. I chose the Statue and it was one of the great traveling moments in my life.
So, I wanted to see if we could repeat that feeling for the family.
I failed.
Yup. No burying the lead here. It simply wasn’t as great.
Perfect Weather on the way to the Statue of Liberty
So, was it the weather?
Well, the weatherman said it would be cloudy with rain, so when we got up at the ungodly hour of 6am to get there at 8am, and there was only sun. When we got our tickets, there was only sun. When we got on the ferry, there was only sun. When we landed on the island, sunny-McSunny-Sunniness. Not a cloud in sight.
Was it our guide?
It wasn’t. He was fantastic. He had the BEST New York accent and that New York attitude that makes me love this city. He knew his stuff and he knew how to tell a story. He made us laugh. He made us think. He gave us personal stories that we could relate to. He gave emotional weight to the location.
Our amazing guide
Was it the sight itself?
With gloriously unrainy weather, the statue loomed above us like a green goddess set against the most perfect blue sky. It wasn’t too crowded, and we took lots of great pictures.
Also, the side trip to Ellis Island was lovely. We got to stand in the same hall where hundreds of thousands of immigrants had stood, waiting and hoping for a better life. We got to sneak into all the rooms where they were tested or housed for a short time. We got to read about all the groups who’d come over (perhaps most surprisingly, the massive number of Nordic people who came over).
Nope. It was two things.
First, I didn’t do proper research on the tour. The one my brother and I took was longer, more in-depth, and had me in tears by the end of it. It also has one of those lightning-in-a-bottle moments where we sat in the grand hall of Ellis Island and listened to a choir sing.
Magical.
However, the fact that we didn’t get to go into the statue or read all the plaques or touch all the models or climb a billion stairs didn’t really figure into the experience.
Why?
That leads me to the second reason.
Exhausted but happy at the Statue of Liberty
We woke up exhausted. We got on the subway, exhausted. We stood on the ferry, completely exhausted and ready to go home.
I think we would have loved the tour better if someone had put us in wheelchairs and run us around. So, even if we had been given the maximum tour, I don’t think any of us would have loved it.
Sure, we took lots of pictures, got some sun, and learned about how the statue was almost not built at all due to everyone being cheap-ass idiots. We had a good time with our guide. We even had food.
Ellis Island
We just didn’t have the energy to fully enjoy it. Only The-Youngest did and he would have run up those steps inside the Statue of Liberty, complained that he couldn’t take some sort of zip line down, and then run around every nook and cranny touching things if we’d given him the chance.
Make no mistake, though. This is still a MUST-SEE sight. It’s an incredible symbol of the American dream, a sight so many people saw as they came to NYC with hope in their hearts, desperately looking for a better life. Heck, millions of people can trace their ancestry to those who passed through Ellis Island.
It’s not just something beautiful, but something with emotional weight.
It may be the greatest comedy series ever. Nothing is sacred.
Nothing.
At some point, no matter how open-minded you are, they’ll find a way to offend you.
So, I was looking forward to seeing The Book of Mormon. I knew those two would be ruthlessly funny. My apologies to anyone reading this who is Mormon.
It was only the four of us for this one. No cousins. It was still light out when we lined up. I took dozens of pictures of buildings, plants, water towers, and weird-looking people (always lots of those in NYC). It was still light out when we got inside.
The show itself didn’t disappoint. It was funny, irreverent, and in some places, completely offensive. There was singing. Dancing. And Mormons. Man, they roasted the Mormons – perhaps not surprisingly. I mean, check out YouTube for what they did to Scientology and Tom Cruise.
However, it wasn’t a blow-out experience. Les Misérables was a blow-out for me. Chicago, a minor one.
But while this was time-well-spent with the family, it’snot something I would say is a must-see in NYC.
The-Oldest would disagree with that.
He liked it more than Chicago! He thought the music had a greater creative quality to it. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World and The-Youngest laughed a lot, especially since they know a few Mormons,
When we got out, though, NYC night was upon us and I love me some NYC night. At least in this part of NYC. I love the lights. I love the people who come out. I love the movement and energy (even if most of them are tourists).
At the subway station, we figured out how to reload our subway cards. Ok, by ‘we’ I mean not me. The-Oldest and I watched in amazement as the Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World got it all sorted. By now, she was totally a subway pro.
Or so you’d think.
Believe it or not, after about a billion trips to Times Square, this time, we couldn’t find the way down to the subway that took us home. Ok, by ‘we’ I mean not me, The-Oldest, or The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World. The-Youngest knew. He pointed at it. We said no, that can’t be it, and walked around the block. Twice. Then we found the way down. The-Youngest scowled at us. “That’s what I pointed to 30 minutes ago.”
I blame all the construction. The-Youngest blames us for being blind and not trusting him.
However, by now, we have also become proficient at crossing the streets. Sure, you can wait for the ‘walk’ sign to light up, but no one here does that and we don’t want to seem to be tourists and all, so we observed what is done.
You wait for a break in traffic. You look for a slowing of the cars or a space while all the cars are jammed up in the intersection. On a rare occasion when there is no traffic at all, then you stride across like no one would dare hit you. Keep your head held high and your eyes forward.
The-Youngest, well, that’s what he wanted to do since day one. He saw how the New Yorkers did it, but when he went to cross the street, his mom would grab him by the collar and hold him back.
It wasn’t until today that his mom finally relented and began to cross like a New Yorker.
So, being me, I had to tell him when we started to move, “Hey, don’t just stand there, you don’t have to wait for the walk sign. Come on. Move it. Move it.” He rolled his eyes at me.
Most satisfying. Stepdads live for a good eye rolling.
We all slumped on the couch and watched A Night at the Museum. I’d not seen it, but the boys and their mom had watched it many times. Honestly, we should have watched it BEFORE we saw the museum, but whatever, it was entertaining and a good way to end the evening.
When we got back to our place, we were done. Exhausted. The-Youngest and I had been up since the beginning of time, but even with the other two taking a break in the morning, we had all worked through our reserves of energy.
Luckily, we could rest tomorrow.
Wait.
No, we had another FULL day planned.
What had happened to our “make sure to take a day off?”
I won’t bury the lead. We didn’t do the American Museum of Natural History justice.
Oh, I knew it was a big museum. I sent everyone a video on things to do. But the heat, humidity and charging around NYC over the last few days had got to us. We had simply run out of energy.
American Natural History Museum
The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World certainly had reached her limit. Personally, I think she used it all up last night jumping up and down at the prospect of hugging Jinkx, and The-Oldest still had the remains of a cold, so we didn’t get off to the museum until late. Even The-Youngest wasn’t super keen on this one.
The weather said it would rain so it didn’t. It was, can you guess? Sunny, hot, and humid, again.
When we arrived at the museum, we inadvertently entered the wrong way. Not the main door, anyway. All the videos I’d watched started from the main entrance. Go this way. Over there are the dinosaurs. Over to the right is the neat architecture. Down those steps is the food – real food – not pictures of mastodon steaks. Past the gift shop is the rocks exhibit. Far to the left is the ocean.
That made finding out where we were and planning how we would navigate this massive maze of things a little hard. No, ok, massively hard.
I quickly loaded up a map and gave it to The-Youngest to interpret. He complained there was nothing worth seeing in the museum…. until we got to the first exhibit, one which we had planned to just race through.
It wasn’t a cool exhibit per se. It was something we could see in Canada: The animals of North America. But The-Youngest had decided he wanted to read every word on every plaque and look at each display with wonder and awe usually reserved for a Michaelangelo sculpture or a hot onlyfan girl.
We had to drag him away. Literally. There were rocks to see. Dinosaurs. Oceans. And at least one of us needed food. Like now. Food.
Actually, I think everyone needed to eat. So we found the cafeteria, which was a grab-what-you-want-and-pay-by-the-pound thing. The Oldest loaded a plate of mac and cheese so high, it looked like he had built a full-scale Egyptian pyramid. The-Youngest, always the smartest shopper, loaded up on meat with a side of meat and some meat on top. If they had a meat drink, he would have gotten that too.
The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World filled her plate with healthy things, while I took a bit of this, a bit of that, and did my best to avoid anything healthy. Much to my disappointment, there weren’t any mastodon burgers or Paleolithic shrimp.
After eating, everyone felt better, but we had only 2 hours left and about 16 hours of stuff to see. So, I said we have to see the neat architecture of the Richard Gilder Center right by the rock exhibit.
The Richard Gilder Center for Science, Education, and Innovation didn’t disappoint. It was a flowing, wave-like piece of art that was, you know, actually functional. But we couldn’t spend much time admiring it. Nope. We had some rocks to see.
Prettiness everywhere
The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World loved the rock exhibit. They called it The Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals which was far better than my ‘room of rocks.’ She could have spent hours in there. Huge glass cases were filled with crystals. Even huger glass cases were filled with sparklie rocks. One massive Amethyst dominated the center of the room, looking like it was filled with thousands of tiny stars.
The-Youngest started to read every plaque on every case and stare at each display with wonder and awe while The-Oldest wandered around and pretty much saw everything, using a quantity-over-quality way of viewing the hall.
I stood at the base of that big amethyst a little gobsmacked (yes, gobsmacked), my mind wondering if this was a portal to another world which if I stared long enough, I could open it with my mind, then step through to a land filled with three-breasted women.
The universe in an Amethyst.
Still tired though, we gave up on a few other halls or exhibits (or to quote The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World, there is no way in hell you’re getting me in the live butterfly room.) Instead, we decided to go see a planetarium show. On the plus side, a huge plus side, we got to sit down. On the minus side, nearly all four of us fell asleep.
When we left, we still had a bit of time. Somehow. We raced to the dinosaurs, which turned out to be at the main entrance, then raced through the history of the first nations and stopped in the ocean hall with its giant whale hanging from the roof.
Sadly, The-Oldest failed at his one job. Keep an eye on Joe.
I went down the steps to take a cool picture and when I turned around, the family was gone. I had thought I’d lose them in Times Square or in the crush of crowds leaving Broadway plays, but no, I lost them while shooting a whale.
Luckily, I found them on the upper balcony – though they seemed completely unconcerned that I had disappeared. I think they thought that without me, they could finally get out of the museum.
Dinosaurs in NY
However, that wasn’t the case. They were all just tired and wanted the day to end. In fact, they all asked, why didn’t we come here earlier? Why hadn’t we allotted more time? Why did no one tell them how much there was to see?
Sigh.
We saw what we had time to see.
But if you ever get to New York City and want to see this museum, book at least half a day. More if you want to read all the freaking plaques.
We went home and prepared for our next adventure. The Book of Mormon on Broadway.
About A Stepdad 