I had walked by it hundreds of times before, having no interest to stop in. But I decided to venture in during the summer when I was hit with quite a heavy load of curve balls I wasn't use to and I needed to unload the iron anchor in my head. So one day I walked in and sat in the church where F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald were married on a cold morning in 1920, the vast open space and stained glass windows offering a quietness I had been searching for. I ventured back a week later to observe a service that was not of my faith and although I was completely confused by the sit, stand, kneel and mumbling of verses as I flipped through a booklet that was of no help, the stone structure held a sway over me.
This time I went by accident, I was actually in route to pay a night visit to the library and happened to stop in. The pulpit ( I guess that's what it would be called, though it's larger than any I've ever seen) was shrouded in darkness, only the bright dim lights of prayer candles left by hundreds of souls praying for lost causes, good will or I imagine just guidance flickered on the sides. I walked through its vaulted doorway, down the street, headed up the steps of the library past Patience and Fortitude and was disappointed to see the doorway to the microfiche room closed...I had arrived too late. But I did enjoy the detour and got to break in my new walking sneakers. They need it with the untrodden paths I'm always on.
Deconstructing the High Line - Next Tuesday, October 24 at 6:30pm, the editors of the book Deconstructing the High Line: Postindustrial Urbanism and the Rise of the Elevated Park will ex...
18 hours ago