Yesterday I received one of the most dreaded things known to city dwellers (or at least those of us in Washington Heights): a package notice from the U.S. Post Office. It's difficult to imagine a package that's worth entering the post office in our neighborhood, given that you can expect to wait for hours and hours, and even that's no guarantee that they'll be able to find your item once you get to the front.
Still, it was a beautiful morning and I tried not to be churlish about the package -- it was a gift! -- as I walked up Saint Nicholas toward the post office. On the way, I passed the English Elm, which is the oldest living thing in the neighborhood. (Clearly this tree has more patience than I do.)
I arrived at McKenna Square Park, which has (I feel fairly confident in saying) the most bizarre and ungainly entrance of any park in the world.
There's no element of the design -- the columns, the glass brick, the wire-mesh pediment -- that doesn't make you (or at least, me) scratch my head and ask: LOLWHUT?
The other end of the park -- incredibly enough -- is perhaps even more uninviting.
'Does anyone want to go on a stroll with me through the rusted metal arches and then enjoy the Big Mac gazebo?'
I next went into the post office, where I waited in line for just a few hours. When I reached the front, the woman behind the counter screamed at me: 'What does the package look like?' I confessed that I hadn't seen it and thought that I was going to be kicked out, but she grudgingly took the form (and my driver's license) and dug through some random piles and eventually found it. 'It looks like a book,' she said, and I nodded. 'It's better than food,' she added, and I agreed -- I didn't want to argue with her -- although I wouldn't have minded a box of chocolates.
My mission accomplished, I left the park, but not before noting the back of the entrance, which was apparently not a consideration when designing the front. (I should note that I'm a fan of glass brick!)
On my way home, I visited the intersection of Saint Nicholas and Amsterdam Avenue, which used to have a R__ A___ (pharmacy) but is now an empty lot. Supposedly the store had to move because it was collapsing into the subway station at 163rd Street. Someone (who now works for a city council member) once told me that they were going to turn this into a park, but then someone else with the parks department assured me -- as if this were the most ridiculous suggestion he had ever heard -- that this was not the case. (I hope that they don't hire the designer of the McKenna Square if they do decide to turn it into a park.) Like most things in Washington Heights, I suspect that the fate of this land is to lie in ruins for a century or two before someone decides to build a condominium (which will be stalled after funding runs out).
Across the street, where the R___ A___ had relocated, I admired the 'cinder-block' aesthetic of the windows, which ensures the most dreary, jail-like experience possible in the event you actually have to go in, which fortunately I did not.
Back at the house, the may apples were sprouting, which made me remember that spring was in the air.
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