I was trying to get from my sister's apartment in SoHo to my parents' apartment just south of Morningside Park. I took the 6 train uptown to the Upper East Side leaving me with a few avenues and Central Park to cross to get home. I wasn't mad. After all, it was a gorgeous day in New York City.
As I was walking through the park with my headphones blasting in my ear, I noticed I was practically alone. I took out my ear buds and all I heard were a few squawking birds. Nothing else.
I am here in Manhattan on the last day of my winter vacation from school, so I've gotten used to the constant sound of honking horns and explosive subwoofers in cars. But the park suppressed those distractions today, as if I were alone in my dorm.
Up by 102nd Street, I walked past a few baseball/softball fields that easily could have hosted a pickup game on this sunny January day. My history playing the game went through my mind in a flash and all I could think about was standing on one of the mounds and snapping off a sharp hook.
Instead, I looked to the bleachers, remembering the book I just started (a rarity for me) was in my coat pocket. In no rush whatsoever, I took an unfamiliar seat and started reading. My book-loving dad probably doesn't believe me at this point.
After turning a few pages I pulled out my phone, only to discover its battery was too low to take a picture and capture this beautiful setting. I settled to store the image away in my mind where I hopefully will remember it for years to come.
Soon, I gave in to my hunger, put in my bookmark (a baseball card) and left the tranquil scene.
When I first realized I had taken the wrong subway after walking up the subway station's stairs, I had planned on making an important phone call knowing I had enough time in my long walk ahead. Obviously, that call wasn't made.
When I came home and plugged in my phone, I saw I had a voice message. It was from the person I was going to call and he had resolved my problem.
Just another off-season day for a Yankees blogger in New York, I guess.
