I like going to church. But my church is all the way downtown at Union Square. To get there requires transferring on the subway. And you know how I feel about that–transfers are to be avoided along with overcrowded subway cars and the 4,5,6. Like most things in New York, though, sometimes you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do. So, many Sunday mornings, I try to get up and hoof it downtown to lovely Grace Church. Sometimes, sometimes, I can’t help feeling that subway (and New York) conspires against me.

This Sunday morning, for example, I got up made, myself presentable, and walked out of my building ready to face the C Train and all of its clanky, dirty, reliable angst. The sun was shining. There was a crisp chill in the air. The sky was that deep blue that only happens in the Fall. “Oh what a beautiful morning…” I hummed. And then I got underground and noticed a sign that said NO DOWNTOWN C TRAINS AT THIS STATION THIS WEEKEND.

My brain did that clicking thing where you can actually feel it computing a response. There were no downtown trains between 125 and 59th all weekend. Seriously. I wasn’t going to go home (I’d gotten dressed AND put makeup on) and I wasn’t going to take a cab all the way downtown. So, I climbed back up the steps of the subway station and raced all the way from Central Park West to Broadway and took the 1 to 14th. Then I raced from 7th Avenue to Broadway (again) and made it to church as the bells were ringing.