Midtown lullaby

I skipped out of work at lunchtime to walk to Bryant Park and bask in the sun.  As I strolled down the sidewalk, I heard gorgeous notes floating through the air.  They were coming out a building I had never noticed, on the opposite side of the street.

I stopped by on my way back from lunch, and was ushered into the Taipei Economic and Cultural Office for New York.  A large airy hall greeted those just walking in, and I sat down to enjoy the rest of the trombone concert.

I know-- I've never been to a trombone concert, either.

It was a memorial concert for Tien-Ron Yu, "Pioneer of the Trombonist".  His student, Jack Tzu Yang Chou, was the young man who carried the show.  In the program, he wrote:

"This concert is dedicated to my 1st Trombone teacher Mr. Yu (former Bass Trombone in Taipei Sympony).  He passed away on Feb 19, 2010, age of 56. He had dedicated his life on teaching. Mr Yu not only taught me trombone, but also taught all his students to be a great musician and great person. Because of him, I love playing trombone and love playing music. Without him, I won't be here today. I miss him very much. May Prof. Yu rest in peace."

Professor Yu would have been proud.  It was a beautiful concert, and the first time I had really considered the trombone as a solo instrument.  It was also a simple and lovely moment-- so unexpected and peaceful.  The Taipei center advertised its free Wednesday mid-day concerts, and I will definitely return.

Artist Found

The wonder that is Google has solved my little mystery: who is the person behind the Become Your Dream sketches that make me smile every time I see them pop up on the street?

I had suspected the artist is male.  I was right.  His name is James De La Vega.  A few glimpses into his world:

Sidewalk encouragement

Be Mindful

Museum

Sunday Show & Tell

I had an unplanned afternoon at work today-- required due to a Friday 'fire' that consumed most of my morning to resolve and thus totally blew up my carefully planned schedule.  As one would guess, I was not exactly a happy camper.  My grumpiness was somewhat eased by the walk there-- it was a beautiful day, and I walked the 30+ blocks to midtown.  I also walked back in the dusky light.  About 3 miles round trip.

I wandered up Park Avenue for most of the return home.  I've not spent much time on Park, and it feels different than the other parts of the city that I've explored.  The upper East 40s are a soulless grouping of businesses (JP Morgan, KPMG, BMS and Colgate-Palmolive all have offices there) and so it was a perverse delight to stumble across Hello Kitty in one of the courtyards (above).

The gray offices slowly gave way to stately condominiums.  I walked passed a parade of well-dressed older women with seriously stiff hair pulled back to reveal expensive earrings.  There were few restaurants or shops on the street, thus making the avenue rather dry, and lacking life.  There were pockets of beauty, though:

 

I have difficulty imagining having enough money to live in a home like the one above.  Right in the middle of Manhattan.  It was three stories. 

Other details also delighted:

Once I got closer to home, in the east 60s, I found my guerilla artist (Road Less Traveled )once again:

How can you stay grumpy after walking in the warm evening and being reminded by little fish and a snake to become your dream?  Pretty hard to do.  I am at peace again, and have left the work behind.

Subterranean Adventure

R. understands my penchant for adventure and for exploring the underappreciated and little-known parts of New York.  I know a place, he said.  It's subterranean.

I was a little hesitant at first.  The word subterranean conjures up dark and creepy images, akin to the world written about by Jennifer Toth (see my post Dark World). 

We hopped on an A train at the Port Authority station, and traveled to Washington Heights, the farthest north I've been in Manhattan.  We stepped off at 181st street station, and walked through a diverse neighborhood to find our destination: a subway entrance for the 1 train that is not on normal subway maps.  The entrance one would normally look for is on 191st street for the 191st stop.  This one is on Broadway, three city blocks away, via tunnel-- the longest tunnel in the transit system, and, if one online account is to be believed, it is actually considered a city street, though clearly not a normal one.

The Interborough Rapid Transit (I.R.T.) was the first subway line, privately owned until they and two other lines became property of the City in 1940.  I'd never even seen references to IRT until last night.

This tunnel used to be scary-- tons of crime, avoided by most commuters, a haven for drug dealers and home to large rats and mounds of garbage.  It was renovated in 2008- the station itself was renovated in 2004-2005-  and art won. 

The rollercoaster reference is appropriate-- this station is the deepest in the city, at 55m underground.

I really love this next one-- so true, the song that I hear every day:

The entrance to the tunnel is the most colorful part.  It gets grittier as one continues, though it never devolves into anything scary.

And then.  And then, and then, and then.  As we exited from the far end of the tunnel and entered into the main part of the 191st station, I gasped and got the by-now familiar thrill that comes when finding something completely unexpected. 

Oh, I so love these two people, blissfully and effortlessly floating through the sky.

Note the butterfly wings,

and the wings here as well:

Praise to the artist, Raúl Colón.  The piece is called Primavera. 

Shhhhhhhhhhhh

The New York Public Library system is a beautiful thing to behold in the city.  The main branch, with Bryant Park in its backyard and two lions guarding its front, is breathtaking and feels more like a museum than a library.  The 'front porch':

The front door:

The Rose Reading Room:

One can no longer check things out at this location, but there are lending libraries throughout the city.  Two of them are within a mile of me, both built with Carnegie funds:

The Webster branch is among the oldest in the city.  Its website reports: ...the Webster Branch has a history that can be traced back to 1893, before its incorporation into The New York Public Library Branch system. Founded as the Webster Free Library, it was named after Charles B. Webster, who donated the building on East 76th Street where the library was originally located. The current site on 78th Street and York Avenue was designed by architects Babb, Cook & Willard and was constructed from funds donated to New York by Andrew Carnegie. The branch opened to the public on October 24, 1906. The three story facility houses an adult, young adult, and children's collection. While the branch originally served a predominantly Czech immigrant population in the early part of the century, it now serves a diverse community of New Yorkers on the Upper East Side.

Seeing the Carnegie name brought me back to my childhood.  My hometown library was also a Carnegie Library.  The grand building was perched on one of the highest hills in town, and had magnificent views of the small city and the river valley below.  I spent many happy hours there, and often read all the books I checked out within a day of returning home with them.  Yep, book nerd.

Curious about the Carnegie connection, I found the following on Wiki:

A Carnegie library is a library built with money donated by Scottish-American businessman and philanthropist Andrew Carnegie. More than 2,500 Carnegie libraries were built, including some belonging to public and university library systems.

Of the 2,509 such libraries funded between 1883 and 1929, 1,689 were built in the United States, 660 in Britain and Ireland, 125 in Canada, and others in Australia, New Zealand, Serbia, the Caribbean, and Fiji.[citation needed] Very few towns that requested a grant and agreed to his terms were refused. When the last grant was made in 1919, there were 3,500 libraries in the United States, nearly half of them built with construction grants paid by Carnegie.

The article goes on to say that of all of the original buildings, about half are still functioning libraries close to 100 years later.   Such an amazing legacy to the U.S. citizenry and others around the world.  I, for one, am grateful.

Spring!

This past weekend was the most beautiful weather I can ever remember for the Easter holiday.  Absolutely perfect temperatures... a perfect warm coolness, or a cool warmness.

The tree-lined streets on the Upper East Side were decked out in poofy white clouds, otherwise known as Callery Pear trees.  I've been longing for days like this, during the darkest and coldest days of winter.  I am a little stunned that my wishes have come true, finally.



When I returned home from my sister's place on Sunday, I had a Very Long List of Things I Must Absolutely Do.  I had every intention of Doing them.  But the sun had different ideas, and within minutes of my return home its tendrils gently loosened my fingers from my pen and turned off my computer and paused my iTunes.  I floated out of the apartment and down the stairs on the sun rays, and eventually found myself on the street, walking in the direction of the park, immersed in the beauty of the season.

Carl Schulz Park is not nearly as grand as its neighbor to the west.  It has its own special merits, though, and is worthy of the neighborhood.  A special treat is the view of the East River:

The playground was full of little ones, and had wonderful chalk drawings of every type:

I took a nap in the grass for an hour or so, read a bit, and wrote in my journal. I felt at peace.  I needed this time more than I had realized.

Walking home, I passed a charming cafe:

It lived up to its name, with a very welcoming place for dogs as part of its outdoor seating:

Annie Dillard wrote that "how we spend our days is of course how we spend our lives." 

And also: "Spend the afternoon. You can't take it with you."

A fine afternoon, indeed.

Peaceful weekend

NY friends warned me that at some point I would feel the pressing need to get out of the city.  I haven't felt that yet, but think a bit of preventative maintenance is not a bad idea.

I traveled to the suburbs to spend Easter with my sister and her family, including my very dear niece Baby Bird.  The break from work and the commotion was restorative, and it's hard to not feel at peace when taking a walk with a young girl. 

Baby Bird was in constant motion, alternating between carrying her doll and collecting sticks and inspecting insects that scurried across her path.  I love this little person with everything I have in me.  Her curiosity, quick mind, and joy in discovering the world is a beautiful thing to witness.