For the past few days I have had the chance to spend time with my oldest kid. She has been generous enough to take her old mother to New York City. We have stayed at the Park Lane Hotel, which is literally across the street from Central Park. We are on the 44th floor and look out over the park. Pretty ugly.
We have gone on a carriage ride though part of the park; visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art (to which I am in love and want to go back and spend about three days there); attended a taping of the Jimmy Fallon show; went to the top of Rockefeller Center; met my first cousin (on Mom’s side) John, and his wife, Margaret, face to face for the first time, and had lunch with them in a historic tavern; and not merely rode the Staten Island Ferry, but drove it.
We saw the Statue of Liberty, Wall Street, New York Stock Exchange building; Alexander Hamilton’s grave, World Trade Center Memorial pools, The Wall Street Bull, complete with the new statue of the little girl challenging the Bull. Tonight we went to see Wicked, at the Gershwin Theatre on Broadway.
Tomorrow we go back to our real worlds. I have never been to NYC before and have been enchanted by streets bordered with man-made mountains know as skyscrapers. The wind whistles though “canyons” made by buildings so tall, I walk down the street and can’t help by look up constantly—amazed at what mankind has created here. I realized today that this place is about as far removed and different from my little Elk Ridge as you can get.
I am grateful to Megan—and Jim, who actually arranged this trip before he died. Unfortunately, he did not get to enjoy it. But he has blessed my life through it, even in death.
And to Megan, who has been a trooper, even though she misses Jim, and has had to put up with her mother’s snoring…