Tag: Manhattan

September 11

Woodwork technology on a Tuesday afternoon was always a favourite lesson of mine. The smell of the fresh sawdust, the mayhem of various machines whirring to life and the planning of projects was just a lot of fun. It didn’t feel like school. The radio was always on which made the lesson even better. I remember a news bulletin about a plane crash in America. In my mind’s eye I saw a two seater plane hitting a ramshackle old building with a corrugated iron roof and carried on with my day. I was 13 years old.

Over the next few days the world stood still while the news stations around the world pumped out image after dreadful image. The four planes were commercial aircrafts and had been hijacked. Three of the four planes hit their intended targets. The Pentagon in Virginia and the Twin Towers of the World Trade Centre in New York. 

184 people died in the Pentagon attack

40 people died when they regained control of the fourth plane and crash in a field in Pennsylvania

2753 people died in the attacks on New York

I cannot fathom what happened that day. I have watched documentary after documentary. Interviews. News reports. I’ve read countless pieces online and spoken to various friends and family over the years since. And yet it haunts me. Every year since for as long as I can remember I watch the footage of the names being read out in America. The names of the people the world lost. I cannot help but feel an overwhelming flood of grief enter my whole being. And yet I could simply turn away and avoid the heartache. 

But it isn’t that simple…

A short 4.5 years after the attacks, with my new found freedom of turning 18, my friend and I head to New York. It was a week after my birthday and I was not wasting any time. New York had long been on my mind of somewhere I longed to be. I wanted to see Central Park, the Statue of Liberty and Times Square. I wanted to buy a hot dog at one of the carts and casually wander the streets. It all seemed so familiar. The movies I had clung to used this city as its backdrops. The tv shows I loved referenced it so very often. It felt like visiting an old friend. 

In April 2004, we were unleashed on the city and we embarked on our first solo adventure. The days were crisp with their early spring blue skies and we were granted sunny days with one peculiar spell of snow. We took boat rides along the Hudson River, we took cabs down 5th Avenue and our feet took us the rest of the way. 

On our way to a discount department store one day, we found ourselves on Church Street. On one side were tall buildings with glittering panes of glass. On the opposite side were tall chain link fences. It wasn’t until I looked past the fences that I realised where we were. The gigantic hole in the landscape was immeasurable. It was deep. It was grey. It was virtually empty. We had chanced upon Ground Zero. 

Walking aside the fences we saw various drawings on paper clipped to the wire mesh. They were colourful drawings done by young hands of families standing outside their homes. The odd dog and smoking chimney. The faces on the paper were smiling. Beyond these papers the spirits of the souls lost created a hush over the space. The feeling was palpable. The silence clung to us like dust. The hum of the city faded away and all I heard was the gentle sound of the wind manipulating the shape of the drawings. I noticed all too late that tears were streaming their way down my cheeks. They too were silent. 

As we came upon the escalators for the temporary PATH station there were walls created by even more drawings and pictures and they covered the harsh wires of the fencing from top to bottom. Even here, at the gateway to a transportation hub, the quietness was unmistakable. A few metres away a small boy wearing an exceptionally large FDNY uniform sat on the ground. I can still see his face. He had blonde hair and he looked lost. His face had no emotion but his eyes, tracking the movement of a large camera, looked sad and confused. An independent film crew were making a movie of some sort. I could not tell you how long we stood there. Seeing but never understanding the true horror of what that place had been witness to. 

In the years since, where more video clips have been shared the devastation of that day is re-lived. The crash of the planes. The screams of the people. The fall of the buildings. The dust clouds. The crying. The shock. The disbelief. 

It is hard to believe even now, 21 years later. 

One cannot comprehend the pain felt by the families who lost someone. Or what it was like to live through that day. 

I watch the coverage each year and witness each name being read out to show my respect. To put my life into perspective. To remind myself to hold my loved ones a little longer. To love more fiercely. To not waste any opportunity thrown my way. It is my reset day. The day I am reminded of how fragile life on this earth is. How in the blink of an eye life can be snatched away. It forces me to remember the evil in this world and how in the face of adversity New York sent its angels to rescue the fallen. Boats on the harbour took the stricken onboard and home to safety. The dust covered faces highlighted the absolute definition of equality. No race, colour or creed dictated who was first in line for help. Everyone was there for everyone. As it should be. 

That day represents so much more than devastation. It represents a city that pulled together. That love is so much stronger than hate. That love will always win. 

It teaches us every year to be the light in the dark. To be the best we will ever be. 

In December 2015, Mr W and I paid our respects in person. Cascades of water fell into the memorial pools that now sat in the footprints of the fallen towers. The hum of the city faded away once again. Tracing a name  on the bronze parapet with my finger, I looked out over the scene. The silence clung to the space as it had once done eleven years before. The tears tracked down my cheeks without my noticing and fell to the floor. The chain link fences had gone, the spirits that had been here were free to leave and yet on that cold grey day, with a fine rain falling, I felt them. They had stayed here. In their final resting place.

A sweat shop in New York

Dragging Mr W into another clothing store, I laughed at the groan escaping his mouth. ‘Come on, I love this store.’ Bargain hunting in Soho, Manhattan was the game of the day. Strolling around was just as fun in the Winter sunshine. How could it not be? We were in my favourite place in the entire world, and Mr W had proposed just days earlier.

Bemused at his groans, I knew the next store would make him happy. I had no idea exactly how much. Walking into the store it became very clear it was closing down. I was a lover of the store myself and I was gobsmacked. Big banners were strewn around the place with big letters spelling ‘CLOSING DOWN SALE’. ‘EVERYTHING MUST GO’.

No. No. No!

And then Mr W’s face lit up.

The sale was incredible. T-shirts that normally cost $30+ were now $5. Hooded jumpers were $10 down from $50+. Hats, shoes. Bargains. Bargains. Bargains! Mr W was in his element. We left with two huge paper shopping bags full of goodies. I remember standing out on the sidewalk watching him glow in the aftermath of the shopping frenzy. It’s an image that lives happily in my memory.

He never spends money on himself. In fact, he’d rather stitch up a battered pair of jeans than buy himself new ones. He has boxers that are older than our relationship and even now, nearly 7 years later, he still has the clothes he bought that day in Soho. The funny thing is he will always try and get the best deals for himself and stretch the lifetime of a pair of socks and yet walking past a shoe store he’ll ask if I fancy a pair. It’s insane.

Back to New York. After his shopping spree, we both jumped in a cab with his purchases and headed back to our hotel. Later on that afternoon, we walked to W43rd and 12th Avenue and took a trip on one of the Circle Line boats around the island of Manhattan. As the light faded in the early evening, we saw the city lights come to life. I braved the decreasing temperatures and stood on the outside deck to get some photos. The Freedom tower/One World Trade Center glittering in the night sky. It was phenomenally beautiful. I kept turning to usher Mr W outside, but even with his arctic winter coat on, he stayed put.

I have viewed the island of Manhattan from the water half a dozen times and it never ceases to amaze me how happy one place can make me. After touring the island and passing under the Brooklyn Bridge, our boat turned, repeated its path and sailed north up the Hudson river. We glimpsed the Empire state building, lit up for the night, and docked, cold and excited for the evening ahead.

Due to December’s early sunsets, the boat had sailed at 4 o’clock which meant we were back on 12th Avenue by 6:30pm. More time left for us in the evening and therefore more opportunities to see places. We took a slow stroll to Times Square. It is about a 20 minute walk through midtown-west and reasonably quiet until you are right in the thick of it. Night was truly setting in and the chills that came with it were very real.

We meandered through the crowds until we came to the Swatch shop. Lighting up the sidewalk on Times Square amongst all the LED billboards is an incredible feat and this store had managed it. In stark contrast to the bright reds, blues, yellows and greens around it, this store was starkly bright white. The walls were made up of lightboxes. Overhead were exceptionally strong lamps. The floor was white and therefore exceptionally reflective. It shone like a beacon. I wouldn’t be surprised if all the moths of America called it their church.

Not a huge fan of browsing I spent some time checking out various watches before I saw Mr W pause at one particular stand. In his nonchalant way he said, ‘That’s nice’, and went to walk away. I pulled him back and said that I still hadn’t got him a Christmas present, what If I bought it? He said no, but our pausing at the stand had set off an alarm in a sales woman’s mind, and she rushed to our side. I told her I was interested in the watch and she went to get one for us to look at. When she returned she offered to fasten it to his wrist. He kept shaking his head until eventually I persuaded him to slip it on. I remember thinking, why does he always do this? It’s a gift, it’s something he likes, surely it can’t be a bad thing? Did he realise how hot this small, lightbox was? Let’s buy the watch and get out into the fresh, cool night.

Hallelujah, our purchase in its fancy box and bag, we stepped into the cacophony of sounds, lights and smells. The nighttime was upon us and it was time to head back to the hotel. In true fashion, we found it hard to get a cab and so walked the 6 blocks back slowly.

When we reached our room, I remember seeing Mr W removing his coat with his back turned to me. He was muttering about how hot he had been. Since the boat, his coat had been zipped up halfway against the Winter weather and he could finally remove it. The scene plays out in my mind frequently. He unzipped the coat and slipped it off his shoulders, over his arms, wrists and hands and slung it on the bed. I remember seeing his new mid-grey t-shirt from his happy shopping spree covering his broad shoulders. As he turned, his eyes connected with mine, before I burst out laughing. On his chest, starting at the collar, two dividing lines of colour were drawn down his body at an angle creating a large V. The inside of the V was a very light grey colour. Below and surrounding this was the mid-grey colour I had seen on his back. The poor bugger had melted inside his arctic coat. The sweat had changed every inch of the light grey shirt that was not exposed to air into the deeper grey.

After I stopped laughing, he started to say that he had felt hot walking around in his coat, and when we went into the Swatch shop it had only ramped up the heat inside his coat. The coat had elasticated cuffs and therefore when the sales woman had offered to help him put the watch on all he could do was point blank refuse. He said something like ‘I had a river of sweat on my wrist, no way could she touch me.’ I fell about laughing.

That night he had to dry the shirt on the radiator ready to pack for our flight home the next day. Even now, when he wears it or I wash it, I smile. It is a memory of when he was extremely warm and courteous that keeps me warm and smiley.

Limits

It is day 876,352 of having Covid. 

Really, in actual fact, it is day 5 of testing positive. My life hasn’t changed apart from missing one day of work and allowing myself to watch as much tv as possible until my body needs sleep. Today has been a busy day considering that on Saturday I slept for over 20 hours. I woke up and no longer felt the fatigue in my bones. So I grabbed the laptop and started ploughing through the to-do list for our next big trip. 

To be fair it is a small list at this point, but two hours in and one of the days on the trip had transformed completely. Out of the 14 mornings while we are away, most of them start before 7:30am. In fact, most start at 6am. Paint me shocked. Tell the girl from 10 years ago who’s days usually started at lunchtime. Mr W has definitely had an impact. 

The plans I looked at today were busy enough to have us doing three big hikes starting at 6am. There’s maybe one day when we need to start at 5am to drive for two hours to witness the sunrise and I don’t mind it as a one off, but there are certain limitations when it comes to the body. Hell, in January, after a fortnight of deep research and planning for this trip, my limit light was blinking and my brain shut down! So, doing an endless fortnight of 14 hour days of photography, walking, driving and battling all the elements is going to be exhausting. So, when I found myself cutting parts out of the day in question, I was pleasantly surprised at how calm I was. When it comes to travelling I rarely know my limits. I will be up and ready for a long day and I will never go back to a hotel without completing an itinerary. It’s how I’m built. 

Or at least how I thought I was built. Today’s cut, pastes and deletes were owed to something new I found to do near Ben Nevis, a place which opens a lot later than the rest of Scotland. This caused a shift in the day’s plans and meant taking two things off the agenda. It made me choose between events rather than force myself to do everything. In light of these changes, I realised that we would be too late to another event and with a quick ‘delete’ and an ‘Oh well’ I made the necessary adjustments. This is not me!

Also, I know how frustrating it might be for me to sound so vague, but I really want my first experience of telling you about our trip to Scotland to sound fresh, so keeping details back as much as possible is really important. Stay tuned!

It’s not that I haven’t had limits before, I have, I’ve dragged my arse across Australia feeling tired up to my eyeballs. I’ve forced my feet up and down the avenues of New York because the itinerary calls for it. My limits are screaming at me like warning bells and I hear them, I just pretend I don’t.

It’s only since travelling in this country and the changes that lockdown brought about that the voice inside my head with all warnings about limits has started to make sense. In our personal lives we’ve even started to block out weekends so we can be at home, together, with nothing else to do. Inevitably, when I get a message asking if I’m free on those blocked out days, I will feel awful about saying we aren’t available because I’m a 1000% committed people pleaser. Being a people pleaser has ultimately stopped me looking after myself in situations and in turn neglecting Mr W. His limits are often dictated by my own. And that is not fair. Saying no to people is a crushing feeling. Especially as I never have. There’s a mass of guilt that swarms over me everytime I do. And that in particular is something I have to work on.

It just so happens that the weekend just past was blocked out. We needed to do this so we could spend some much needed time in the house we pay a mortgage for because June saw us come and go like passengers at a railway station. And then we got covid and were home anyway. Maybe fete stepped in and missed the memo.

During lockdown we found it hard at first to sit still, but as the weeks dragged on we found comfort in these walls. And as the world began to open up, we found ourselves dreading going backwards into the fray of events. It’s a complicated feeling. It isn’t the events that are the problem. It’s the sheer number of them. It’s knowing your limits. There came a time where we’d be seeing people for brunch on a Saturday morning, after a heavy night out the Friday, running a quick errand before seeing family on the Saturday afternoon and then heading out that night. Repeating ourselves on Sunday. Time flew and it felt difficult to enjoy it. How could we be in the moment, when we were thinking of where we had to race off to next?

When lockdown ended in July 2020, I particularly found it difficult to return to normal. To hug again, close the window and enter the crowds. An afternoon with friends was beautiful and yet saw me sleeping after the exposure to filled hours. Since we’ve put a curb on our weekends, we feel lighter and have to remind ourselves that doing things on other weekends shouldn’t be classed as ‘busy’ but ‘enjoyable’ instead. Yes, we still get rather busy, but it isn’t work, it is socialising. It’s freedom. It’s life. 

For the first time in my life, I’m appreciating the limits before they appear. I realise now that the fear of limiting your life, your time, yourself is very real. Push just a bit harder. Strive for more. You can do it. However there is a very large part of life that calls for boundaries and the ability to say no. It is self preservation. It is knowing that no matter how hard you try, keeping the pace is not always possible. Saying no every once in a while has to be a good thing. Choosing to stop instead of being forced to stop is always going to be win-win. Lockdown taught us that. And for that I am grateful.  

Photo by Dave Watson

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com

Engaging moments

A squirrel runs along the back of the bench we are sitting on. It is 10:30am, or thereabouts, on a Sunday morning, and we find a rare occasion to sit down in this busy city. We’re in Manhattan, we flew in yesterday afternoon and have so far hit the ground running. The planning for this trip started in February 2015, it is now December. Mr W, my boyfriend at the time, had succumbed to my pleas and allowed me to show him around my second home. New York City. 

We land with only a few hours of daylight left, dump our bags at our hotel and head out into the city. The plan for tonight is a wander around midtown, ending up at Rockefeller centre to see the tree. The big one. La pièce de résistance. Christmas has landed. We stroll up past Bryant Park, lit up by its Festive huts selling their wares, past the Public Library with its wreath wearing stone lions and pause slightly to glance upon the luxurious Saks display and there it is. 30,000 lights and the famous star. And there are thousands of people surrounding it. With the months of preparation behind me, I’d forgotten one key piece of information, tonight was the first Saturday since the tree had been lit. As we get closer to the crowd, my fight or flight kicks in and I have to walk away. Crowds really bother me. The feeling of being shimmied about or being squashed is too much. Mr W understands and we leave with a plan to come back another time, we say a brief ‘Hello’ to Radio City Music Hall and hit Times Square. 

The next morning is the big one. We wake early as the sun rises into bright and clear skies. The Empire State building awaits! One of the most iconic places on planet earth. With its art deco features, history in the making legacy and most amazing views this will be my 5th visit. Mr W doesn’t like heights but the nerves are blown away by the fierce winds up on the 86th floor. With its iconic criss cross metal fencing and viewfinders, it is undoubtedly the most recognisable scene in the city. Coming early has been a good choice, the crowds are thin enough you don’t feel rushed and there’s a slight haze as the sun rises over the East River and shines over the island. It feels as if you are watching the city wake up, allowing a slight lay in on this Sunday morning, and head out into the new day. As we emerge from the gilded lobby we realise we are early for our brunch booking. We take the time to head to Madison Square Park. It is warm enough to walk and the sun feels good. This is one of my favourite past-times in this city. We find a bench and watch the sunlight play with the dappled shade as the city’s residents run, stroll and walk their dogs by. I’m always caught by envy at this moment. Watching the world go by. Of how lucky they are to live here. I know this will be one of the few times we’ll sit still on our 5 day visit. As if they are aware of that fact, grey squirrels approach us, they climb up Mr W’s legs, awaiting a handful of food. One makes it onto the back of the bench. Mr W smiles as he sees me in my element, wild animals so close and friendly in my favourite place. I glance over at him as he looks around and nods ever so slightly. In a single move, he sweeps off of the seat and kneels in front of me. The moment transforms, the city fades, and if he asks me to marry him, I do not hear it. The blood pounds in my ears, the traffic falls silent, there is only us. I start crying as he smiles from his grounded position. There is much laughter and crying and disbelief as I finally remember to answer his question. My trembling hand accepts the beautiful diamond ring while my voice remains caught in my throat. And just like that, the day comes back into focus. The squirrels have abandoned us. People walk by. The taxi’s rumble by. 

I start my engaged life by calling out to two people passing by. My voice is not playing ball and I sound like a strangled banshee. They ask me to repeat myself. “We’ve just got engaged, will you take our picture?” Forever captured, is me shaking, blotchy faced on that bench. Amazing. 

Peeling ourselves from the bench, we head to brunch, steak and eggs for him, bellini for me. The shaking has not subsided and, besides telling the taxi driver, the world does not know what has happened. It carries on despite my world having changed forever.

Before leaving for our trip, several of my colleagues all but bet money on the engagement happening in New York. With exclamations of “Of course he will, it’s your favourite place in the entire world.” And despite my and his insistence that it wouldn’t be happening, they would not stop. It would seem I’d be returning to prove them right. After reflecting on that, we spoke about how he proposed. All was not as it seems, I had inadvertently ruined his initial proposal plans. It was to be under the Christmas tree the night before. But he is laughing. He says it does not matter, that the opportunity in the park was perfect for us. Both laughing, relaxing and drinking it all in. 

I often think of this moment in time. So much of our now married life is planned. Weekends. Social events. Holidays. Schedules are the order of every day. What our engagement reminds me to do is sit, stop and listen every now and again. It’s in those moments we find ourselves again. It is those times that everything around becomes white noise and we find our way back to everything truly important in our lives. 

New, naked and without your glitter

Did you ever sit at the window as a kid and watch the rain? Maybe you still do. 

It’s often thought to be quite morbid if you enjoy the rain; it’s cold, uncomfortable on your clothed skin and creates a dreary sky. This said, I couldn’t be happier than sitting in my small garden nook, with the shelter of the overhanging roof above me (just because I love the sight and smell does not mean I’m inviting the common cold to attack my body, I’m an adult don’t cha know!) The noise, the smell, the freshness of the rain is all too enticing. The smell of rain is a real thing, one I am happy to point out to anyone that laughs when I announce ‘I love a proper smelly rain’. It is called ‘Petrichor’ and it is the earthy scent when rain hits dry ground.

Just what is its draw? As like anything else that surrounds us, it’s old news; the sun shines, the wind howls, the rain comes and goes. But watching the rain has always felt very soothing to me. Changing the sight, smell and colour of the scenes we see everyday. 

One of the most precious memories of my first trip abroad, that being my first abroad without my parents, was splashing in the gigantic puddles around Rockefeller centre in Manhattan with my oldest school friend. I’ve visited this memory in a previous blog.

There have been other times since then, when I’ve found myself in the rain, walking, laughing, standing still with arms raised to the sky. Australia’s humid banana plantations. The Dominican Republic’s jungle paths. A small island in the Maldives caught in the tail of a passing typhoon (a wonderful honeymoon for sure!) And each time it’s been like the water has washed away this idea of glamour that a passport gives you, the sheath of perfection you wrapped the holiday up in, all of it washed away into puddles and becoming diluted until it fades away.

Travelling isn’t something to be glamorised into a big glittery, sequinned mess, it’s something stripped back and raw. New York isn’t meant to be pretty, it’s a working city, it is built on over 400 years of commerce and trade, the first settlers in the early 1600’s didn’t plan to create tourism, they saw money in the beaver skin trade and the potential of the harbour. They saw life, growth and the chance to survive. Buildings grew on the island, as the trees once did, not for the purpose to look down on the city but to house its commerce. The glitter arrived much much later. 

What we experience when the rain falls, is the glitter washing away. The money in your pocket becomes soggy, the expensive clothes on your back no longer protect and the make up runs off the tip of your nose. You are without money, without protection and without your mask. You are as vulnerable as the day you enter this world. You are new. Naked. Without your glitter. For a moment you are aware you are alive, you are awake to the sights around you and a whole wide World is Born.

Travelling to me is much like the rain, no pretence is needed among the people, landscapes and avenues you don’t know. You are new, naked and without your glitter.

Small but mighty

There is a man somewhere in the world today who once stopped by a window to look at my face. In my mouth was an orange segment. It had come with a dessert and as I had always done, I placed the segment between my teeth to get all the juicy flesh out. Whilst doing so I had glanced out of the window and two or three business men had walked past. They kept on their way until I realised they had reversed their path to check what they had seen. That snapshot moment made them laugh and me too. I was in New York for the first time celebrating my 18th birthday and  was having a luxury meal with a friend and some family. On an 18 year olds budget this meant it was more than a hot dog and can of cola. Luxury!

Later that night, we walked to Rockefeller centre to watch the ice skaters. I took the segment with me. Not long after arriving other tourists asked me to take a photo of them. Armed with my orange I readied the shot and said cheese. As they smiled, I smiled fully revealing the bright orange hidden mouthful. From memory I know that they displayed shock and laughter on their faces as I clicked the cameras button. I’d like to think I took another picture, a more normal one, so they ended up with the shot they asked for. And just like that, I gave them back the camera and they disappeared into the crowd. I spent the rest of the night watching the skaters.

Not too long after on the same trip the heavens opened and there was a huge downpour in the city. We were stuck in our hotel. At 18 years old, my friend and I felt an injustice at being kept from the city we had dreamed of visiting. So with little to no sense we jumped into a yellow taxi outside our hotel and went back to Rockefeller centre. The roads were slick with water and Rockefeller centre itself was flooded. The puddles were inches deep and we had on relatively thin clothing with no umbrellas. We spent the best part of 30 minutes jumping in puddles. The puddles aren’t any different in New York to London but it was freeing just to be doing something. There was a doorman outside one of the buildings, sheltered from the rain, watching us. I remember his black hat and formal clothing . The rain picked up and we squeezed into the doorway with him. His face told us we were crazy and I remember exactly how he looked at us.

Those three moments, however small and however fast they sped by, jump into my memories now and again. However insignificant they may seem, they remind me how those people affected my day and perhaps how in turn I affected theirs.

Occasionally, more often than I care to admit, I wonder what effect I have on this earth. Whether my life is passing by without anything I do making a difference. I wonder at the age of 33 whether I’ll ever do anything important.

Memories like those hold me together and remind me that if they are important to me maybe they are important to others. Are there three men out there that remember the girl with the orange smile? Is there a family that look through their holiday snaps and remember why the first photo at the Ice rink was not posed? Is there a doorman, now retired, that every time it rains thinks of the two crazy Essex girls with no coats, no umbrellas, running around in puddles?

We don’t know the impact we have on other people but we know how the small memories impact us, which may mean other people feel the same as well. It is all these memories that make up the bigger picture. The stitches of one big beautiful canvas. The canvas of your own life with an interwoven pattern of people that you meet daily, once, twice or fleetingly around the world.

Not every stitch will be beautiful. Not every pattern will stand out. However at the end when everything comes together it will make up one beautiful life. All those moments will have made something spectacular.

Memories 101

When lightning strikes, its effects are said to be almost invisible, a spider webbing of a injury, no real discernible outward scars. It’s said to burn your insides.

Memories hit like lightning. Coming for you whether you try to avoid it or you welcome it’s blast. Heating your heart and soul with its warmth. It happens so sudden that your emotions are released in their truest and most honest form.

I’m laid here, late, in bed. And BOOM, memory floods into me of a moment over 12 years ago. Sitting with a friend outside Central Park, New York, plastic container in hand and a fork in the other, eyes looking greedily at the cheesecake before me. I literally feel my mouth watering at the yester-year mind-image of that snack. In a quick second I went from moving my hand with fork towards the NY goodness to flattening my hand against the plastic of the lid and slamming the container closed as a huge engulfing sneeze shot its way out of my body. It was over in a literal very fluid second. And I quickly recovered to begin my delicious treat… all the while my friend looked on bemused. Something along the lines of me wanting to protect the food from whatever my body was going to divulge from nose, throat, lungs had produced a swiftly executed, almost choreographed, move that ensured complete safety of the Precious. She laughed. I laughed. And we carried on.

I’ll never forget that very small moment, between my friend and I, between the cheesecake and my nose and between me and NYC.

Lightning.

And, oh, that cheesecake, what dreams should be made of!