Or for European tourists, whatever.
Today while my mother-in-law watched Brady I went to the Apple store in Midtown to get the husband’s iPod fixed. I had already been down there once to do it, but on that trip they informed me that I would need to make an appointment ahead of time online. How I was supposed to know this, I do not know. My plea that I had gotten a sitter just to come down there fell on deaf ears.
So this time, armed with an official appointment, I fought my way through the tourists, past the secret service-looking security people, down the spiral stairs, and into the heart of Apple heaven. Everywhere tourists were gleefully playing video games on iMacs, listening to their favorite tunes on iPods, and trying out the oh-so-awesome iPhone G3. I tried one since I was early, I could not for the life of me type on that touch keypad. But the people I know who have one love it.
My genius at the Genius Bar was extremely helpful and upon hearing the problem promptly gave me a refurb Nano for my husband. In the throng of people on the way out, I tripped up the spiral stairs and skinned the top of my foot.
Not knowing what to do with my baby-less afternoon, I struggled down 5th Avenue, gawked at the giant diamonds in the Tiffany window, and the Cartier window, and the DeBeers window, and the H. Stern window and found myself at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. My husband always says that going in there is like meditation for him. I find it a bit odd because to me, it’s a church, it’s a holy place with so much meaning – but I know that to a lot of the people there it’s just an attraction, some beautiful architecture, some history. But there is something very calming about it. I lit two candles and kneeled to pray and found a kind of clarity I had been looking for. Suddenly I knew what I wanted to pray for, and that seemed perfect.
That’s the wonderful thing about living in a huge, crowded city, you can always find pockets of calm within the storm.