In New York, we were either hoofing it, trying to catch a cab for 5 people (nigh impossible, although the boys kept hoping Cash Cab would stop for us), or taking a subway.  Each form was time consuming in its own way.

As expectations were pared to meet reality, our laundry list of things to do rapidly dwindled.

Besides the travel challenges, Chris and I needed to factor in another logistical fact of life:  we have three teenagers.  In a perfect adolescent world, they would all sleep until high noon.  Then they would all take 15 minute showers.   Then they have to get dressed.  Now that they care about what they wear, skirmishes inevitably break out over who is wearing the boxers that were chosen and packed by somebody else, who  used the brand-new toothbrush, and why had Hugh brought only flip-flops?  He ended up wearing a pair of Chris’s running shoes.  Finally, we were out the door, and off to a famous delicatessen for bagels.  The boys were horrified to learn that the tab for 5 bagels and drinks was $50, but on the upside, the lox and smoked trout was stellar.

In another example of table-turning, the boy actually want to go clothes shopping now.  They relish the thought of picking out garments and trying them on and showing their new plumage at school.  Now, I am the bored one, wondering when the heck they will be done, tapping my foot, checking my watch. 

So, reality does indeed bite.  Chris and I realized we needed to factor in half a day lost to sleep, an hour or two spent on transportation, and another hour to browsing in H&M.  That left a couple of hours to do other stuff. While Chris and Ian were at the Met looking at art, the other boys and I were at the NBA store and H&M.  Here is Shaquille’s shoe.  Too bad Hugh couldn’t borrow these.

 On our list of things to see was Dylan’s Candy Bar, but we didn’t make it there.  Instead, while waiting for our tour at the Tenement Museum (I highly recommend this), we went to Economy Candy, which was much more reality-based – I assume – than the candy shop art directed by Ralph Lauren’s daughter.

We stopped at a cafe on the lower East Side furnished entirely from thrift shops.  It was dingy and scruffy, with ravaged upholstery and stained beige pleather seats.  There was a time when I would have found this delightful and eccentric, but now, it just seemed squalid.  Plus, every hipster in the place was focused on his or her own bit of isolating technology.  Dystopia.

Arriving, exhausted, back at David’s apartment on Friday night, Malcolm went on Facebook and announced his coordinates.  One of his friends said “Hey, I’m in NYC too, let’s get together!”  So our two three-boys families actually pulled this off the next day for lunch, meeting in the Financial District and comparing notes on our spring breaks.  It was impressive that the youngest members of the families had made this mini flash mob happen.

Homeward bound, we made a pilgrimage to Staten Island to visit Mandolin Brothers, a legendary guitar shop.  That was cool.

But I especially loved the bakery across the street where they still tie up little white boxes with red–and-white string from big purple eggs suspended from the ceiling.  And the cannoli were  outstanding.

On Easter, we had a crowd of nine for lunch – 8 guys plus me, spanning three generations.  Chris’s brother Ken from Wilmington, DE was here (under the candles).  That’s David, the “city mouse” who swapped with us, at upper right.  We have pledged to do our house-swap more often.  He even did gardening for us while here.  Thank you, David!

Also up from Wilmington, our friend Eric “The Angry Swede” brought his father, Olof, who chatted with Ian about his recent trip to Sweden. 

Eric also brought a glorious torch of forsythia.

When everyone had headed home to points north and south, Ian, our baking wizard, made bagels, more time-consuming but less costly than buying them in New York.   We’re looking forward to going back, having agreed to make a new tradition of our country mouse-city mouse house swap.

Late last Wednesday night, my friend Lindsay emailed from her business trip in NYC asking if I could run up, go to dinner, and spend the night on Thursday.  I didn’t even see the message until Thursday morning.  As luck would have it, I had a hair appointment that morning, and nothing else scheduled.  On Friday, Chris and I had a meeting, but  it was easily shifted, and he encouraged me to go.

Everything went like clockwork.  I took the train from our local station to the city, walked a half block, bought a $20 round-trip ticket to New York (“you can use the return ticket any time in the next year!”), and immediately hopped aboard the Chinatown Bus.  I pondered the sign painted to the driver’s right:  We are Not Response for Belonging.   Profound, somehow.

 A stranger advised me to sit up front, which I did, and after worrying a bit about homicidal seatmates, I ended up having a row of two to myself.  This is a benefit of advancing age.  When I was in my teens and twenties and took a bus anywhere, a man ALWAYS took the seat next to me.  Usually from the genus Charlesicus Mansonus.   Although once there was a really cute Brazilian guy (“Zhosay”) who called me Zhennifair and wrote me letters at college long after our Kansas City to Colorado Springs journey had ended.

The bus arrived in NYC’s Chinatown in record time and my short cab ride to the Upper East Side cost more than the 90 mile bus trip, but I was still way ahead of the game, budget-wise.

Lindsay was wrapping up a business trip.  In the ultimate cliche, we took her boss’s toy poodle for a walk around the Upper East Side.   We remembered how, 14 years ago, we took a walk through this same neighborhood, window-shopping for French outfits for her first baby…all of which were highly impractical and vastly over-priced, but still charming.

An early dinner at a charming little bistro followed. 

Over pasta and cheese and wine, we talked and talked and talked.  Then we walked back to our crash pad, talked some more, walked the dog, got into PJs, and talked ourselves to sleep. 

It was reminiscent of our sophomore year in college, when we shared a double room in the depressing basement of a giant dorm, with a window that was half under-ground.  We called it the Ant Farm.  Despite being together at most meals and most hours of the day, we would talk into the wee hours of the morning, sharing our family histories, memories, aspirations, plans, and boyfriend matters.

In fact, the smartest thing I ever did, as a somewhat unmoored freshman at college, was to ask Lindsay if she would be my roommate sophomore year.  Since I popped the question as we were walking to a St. Valentines Day Massacre party dressed as gangsters, I had the advantage of surprise, and she said yes.  

Locking Lindsay in as my next-year roommate gave me great peace of mind.  Even if we ended up losing the dorm room lottery and got the crappiest room on campus, I had the best roommate.  And the best friend. 

Back in New York, early Friday morning we shared a cab down to Chinatown, where we ignored the Taxi TV at our knees and kept up our running dialogue on the Big Issues in our lives at the moment.  Lindsay’s advice was, as always, very sound.  It serves to anchor me.  She is my personal Ethicist.

I caught the bus back home, she caught a flight home to San Francisco, and all was right with the world.

I certainly hadn’t, until I found an old book at (yes, of course) a library sale – a book which mixes journalism and yellow journalism, reportage and ghoulishness.  Check out the amazing title page: 

“New York’s Awful Steamboat Horror:  Hundreds of Women and Children Drowned and Burned to Death.  With Graphic Descriptions of Flames Sweeping Many Souls to Eternity with Restless Fury;  Panic Stricken  Multitudes Jumping to Sure Death, Etc. Etc.  And Containing Thrilling Stories of This Most Overwhelming Catastrophe of Modern Times, to which is added Vivid Accounts of Heartrending Scenes Where Hundreds Were Burned and Drowned in Their Efforts to Escape.  By H.D. Northrop, the well-known author.” 

What began as a lovely East River pleasure boat excursion on June 15, 1904 (mystics will note that yesterday was January 15 – two months beginning with J, both accidents on the 15th) ended in horrific tragedy when a storeroom full of flamable material caught fire.  The captain made a series of wrong, even boneheaded, decisions, deciding to keep heading for a pier over a mile away instead of going into full evacuation mode.  

Nearly 1000 people died either from fire on board, or from drowning when they went overboard.  Some were saved in dramatic ways, as when nurses and convalescing patients from hospitals on Brother Island jumped to the rescue.  But this was back in a time when very few people knew how to swim, so the odds weren’t good, even if you escaped the burning wreckage. 

An inquest later revealed that shady city inspectors had given the boat passing grades for its life preservers, which in fact were cheap, “rotten” and, oh yeah, non-bouyant.  Records were even clumsily changed, using acid, to imply that quality life preservers had been ordered for the General Slocum. 

All the drama of the accident, the desperation of familes on shore, the city in mourning, the shortage of coffins, is detailed in this incredible book.  I’ve spared you the photos of the dead bodies. 

Thank God yesterday’s drama ended so astonishingly well.

I arrived in the Big Apple yesterday for a 24 hour whirlwind business trip. When all is said and done I will have spent 10 hours working, 6 hours sleeping, and 6 hours of downtime and 2 hours fighting U.N traffic.

Usually when I am in NY (and not getting all my hair cut off on a whim), I spend my downtime in my hotel room under the covers watching Seinfeld and Law and Order reruns. This is not recommended for anyone with a pulse. The following approach is much better:

Call a denizen. In my case, I called Leigh – one of those people who you meet professionally who turned out to be such a fun human being that you want to be friends for life. (Truth be told, I have also befriended Leigh because two short years ago she embarrassed me in front of Matt Lauer and I will continue to hang around with her until we come into contact with an equally famous person so I can return the favor. True story.)

Ask local dweller what to do. Leigh suggested meeting at the MoMA, where I have never been. Not only was this an incredible treat for me culturally but experiencing this with Leigh was particularly enjoyable. You see, both Leigh and I do not like to linger over art. We see it, we like it, we hate it, we move on. We power walked our way through the museum in an hour. Monet, Matisse, Pollock, Mondrian, Warhol. I was all like, I can’t believe this museum has so many originals! And I’m sure Leigh was all like, I can’t believe this Neanderthal keeps forgetting she’s in New York.

Be sure to do something that you can brag about to your spouse who is at home with the kids. The highlight was the Van Gogh exhibit which was in a quarantined area. As we enter the first exhibit space, there are several of VG’s original paintings on the wall. As I slow ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of one of these pieces, Leigh says, “Alrighty, c’mon, let’s just get to the good stuff.” Before I had a chance to gently suggest that..uh.. it’s Van Gogh and it’s pretty much all good stuff, we fell upon Starry, Starry Night. It truly took my breath away. It is so much more vibrant than in any of the reproductions. Wow. Cool.

Feel guilty that your kids are not with you. The next time the brothers come to NY, we are forgoing the Empire State Building, Toys R Us, and Mars 2112 to going straight to the MoMA. They’ll thank me for that someday.

Experience the local retail and entertainment options. The evening continued with spaghetti and meatballs, riding some sort of contraption at Hammacher Schlemmer, Dylan’s Candy, and a major chick flick.

Be sure to engender at least one inside joke per trip which you can use for life. After seeing “The Duchess”, Leigh promised to bow and call me “Your Grace” every time she sees me. But only because I asked her to.

Sometimes business travel is a total trip.