NYC and specially Times Square is replete with memories for me. There is something electric about the crowds complete with quirks that distinguish locals from wide-eyed visitors like myself. As I maneuver J on her stroller through the rising tide of morning commuters, I feel energized. Our first stop is at a coffee shop. J is scared of the big Labrador that a customer has tethered to the railing outside. Once inside, J asks for coffee and I tell her as always that she is too young for it. A banana nut muffin offered as compromise is grudgingly accepted.
J sits by the window absorbing the rapidly shifting scenery of the busy intersection. She has never been in the middle of a city quite as big in her life. We head out again and have no specific goal for the day. I want to walk, enjoy the sunshine and absorb NYC like it were a magic potion capable of seeping through sub-consciousness hoping J would be able to do the same - if she did not fall asleep.
In the next few hours we went past the ubiquitous Duane Reades, convenience stores, cell phone charger shops, e-bay shippers, florists, delis, novelty underwear stores and a bunch of guys shouting at each other in gangsta. I felt glad J is too young to understand the many colorful turns of phrase. As we had our sandwiches for lunch, I asked J if she enjoyed our walk. She nodded with utmost seriousness. I am so happy that she shares my fascination with NYC already.
I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha...
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