"Front." The phrase rings out from behind the reception desk. It's a phrase I've heard only in the movies, within a script of a play, or from a book. I am standing at the desk, checking in at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, renown worldwide as classic residence for many, many people both great and humble.
I was born and raised in NY, Long Island specifically. Manhattan was my playground as boy, a place I worked, and a place I escaped nearly 20 years ago, for the wide open spaces of Colorado. This weekend, thanks to my employer, was a mix of nostalgia, happiness and sadness. I worked a scant three blocks from this place in the heart of Madison Avenue. Herewith are some thoughts and images from a weekend in New York:
Aroma of chestnuts from the pushcart vendors, contrasted with new high-end food truck gourmet options. Steam rising from the streets. My old place of employment, the Swedish Church my first ex and I visited, Rock Center, the tree, and a light show on the facade of Saks. A cop at every intersection. How many cameras tracked my movements?
Windblown walk down 5th from the Jewish Museum on 92nd. Hanukkah menorahs on display by Daniel Liebskind, who's recent Denver triumph is the Art Museum. White bakery boxes with red twine. Walking down Madison in the 70's, realizing there are no restaurants or cafes among the boutiques.
Cole Porter's piano sits in the Terrace Bar above the Park Avenue entrance. Water stains from his highball glasses can be seen. Standing in line at the Shubert Theatre, realizing the last time I saw a show here was "A Chorus Line," probably in the late 70's. The excitement of seeing a Musical. Memphis made me misty. Peacock Alley for supper and a nitecap.
Sharing time with my sister, whom I invited as my guest. Offering her my F-class seat for the flight out. Having her meet my colleagues, seeing them through her eyes, and seeing myself through her eyes. Seeing my first grand nephew all of 6 months old, my 91yo dad, my NY sister and nephew and niece.
Flying high over Chicago on the way home, reflecting on a wonderful weekend.
I was born and raised in NY, Long Island specifically. Manhattan was my playground as boy, a place I worked, and a place I escaped nearly 20 years ago, for the wide open spaces of Colorado. This weekend, thanks to my employer, was a mix of nostalgia, happiness and sadness. I worked a scant three blocks from this place in the heart of Madison Avenue. Herewith are some thoughts and images from a weekend in New York:
Aroma of chestnuts from the pushcart vendors, contrasted with new high-end food truck gourmet options. Steam rising from the streets. My old place of employment, the Swedish Church my first ex and I visited, Rock Center, the tree, and a light show on the facade of Saks. A cop at every intersection. How many cameras tracked my movements?
Windblown walk down 5th from the Jewish Museum on 92nd. Hanukkah menorahs on display by Daniel Liebskind, who's recent Denver triumph is the Art Museum. White bakery boxes with red twine. Walking down Madison in the 70's, realizing there are no restaurants or cafes among the boutiques.
Cole Porter's piano sits in the Terrace Bar above the Park Avenue entrance. Water stains from his highball glasses can be seen. Standing in line at the Shubert Theatre, realizing the last time I saw a show here was "A Chorus Line," probably in the late 70's. The excitement of seeing a Musical. Memphis made me misty. Peacock Alley for supper and a nitecap.
Sharing time with my sister, whom I invited as my guest. Offering her my F-class seat for the flight out. Having her meet my colleagues, seeing them through her eyes, and seeing myself through her eyes. Seeing my first grand nephew all of 6 months old, my 91yo dad, my NY sister and nephew and niece.
Flying high over Chicago on the way home, reflecting on a wonderful weekend.
