Musical, Magical, Manhattan

Luckily I'd re-checked the forecast when I was packing on Thursday night. Snow! On Saturday! (Not Tuesday, per earlier forecasts.)

I broke out the insulated winter boots for slushy sidewalks and my ski jacket to stay warm and shed the flakes.

Big, wet snowflakes drifted down from the sky and melted on my tongue. The first snowfall of the season was just enough to make the city pretty, and not enough to wreak havoc or summon the plows.

To make the most of my short trip, I headed for a quick morning visit to the American Museum of Natural History—via the subway.

I'd read about the deteriorating state of the subway system, but from afar I didn't follow the details.

What a mess. I walked over to 34th to catch the D train, only to discover it's skipping that station (repairs). I re-routed, and found some holiday cheer in a car where a three-piece ensemble (accordion, guitar, and bass) played and sang Feliz Navidad. They appreciated the applause (and donations).

I focused my abbreviated visit on something new: geology. It's sobering to cast your eyes on a sample of a rock that includes zircon crystals dated to be the oldest material on earth (over 4.276 billion years old).

I studied a cross-section of folded rock from the Sequoia National Forest (Kings Canyon), and a slice from the familiar San Andreas Fault.

A spectacular 12-foot geode was popular.

I hustled back to the subway to head downtown for my matinee. Having just missed one train, I listened to ambiguous announcements about a stalled train near Columbus Circle. The next train arrived, and was held in place by a red light.

Time for a taxi. Chivalry is officially dead: standing there in the snowstorm, a “gentleman” positioned himself upstream to intercept the cab that should have been mine.

I made it to the theatre in time. (Just.) Another bittersweet musical, Dear Evan Hansen. The staging included panels onto which images and words streamed; social media plays a big role. It can be hard to laugh when you know the story must spiral out of control, that it can't end well. Ben Platt (Evan) was brilliant.

So much to see and do ... I was already regretting how short this trip would be.

For the evening, I necessarily had Plans A and B—both at Lincoln Center. Plan B would be to see NYC Ballet's Nutcracker. Plan A relied on someone freeing up a ticket to a sold-out performance of the NY Philharmonic, the last in a short concert series commemorating their 175th anniversary.

The box office window for “this performance” was shuttered. I figured I'd plead ignorance at the “future sales” window, but there was no need. “What's your price range?” he asked. The weather had scared people away, and I wound up with a lovely aisle seat in the orchestra section!

For the occasion, they were repeating the same works performed at their very first concert. Which made this performance of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony one that assuredly I will never forget: the first one I've seen live.

I opted for a subway ride back downtown. No cycling for me ...

New York, New York

I miss NYC at Christmastime. I miss NYC at other times, too. But especially at Christmastime.

When I was a child, it was a regular treat to make a trip to the city, admire the wondrous tree and the skaters at Rockefeller Center, the elaborate animated window displays, and all the colorful decorations.

It's a longer trip now, but I'm a grown-up. I bought a plane ticket.

I made a list, and checked it twice. My flight landed early enough to take in a Friday night Broadway show.

My first choice was The Band's Visit, a stage adaptation of an Israeli film (though I didn't know that when I chose it). It was well-reviewed and perhaps not likely to play elsewhere. Plus, it presented an opportunity to see Tony Shalhoub (live!) in one of the leading roles.

I scored a ticket, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and headed for the box office of the next show on my list—securing a ticket for tomorrow's matinee.

Theatres sometimes (always?) hold back a few good seats “just in case” they need to accommodate someone special, or to recover from some mishap—a patron unhappy with his or her seat, a botched ticket. At some point, they might decide to release the hold. I believe this is how I ended up with a Broadway producer (Pamela Cooper) on my right, and a guy affiliated with the show on my left, jotting down notes that he would later take backstage.

Pamela (and the random theatre-goer to her right, who positively gushed about Pamela's Come From Away) convinced me that I should add that one to my list. It should have won the Tony for Best Musical, of that they were sure. The 9/11 theme had given me pause. (It will tour, if I don't make it back to Broadway soon enough.)

Pamela had brought Ben Vereen (seated elsewhere) to the show. From the deep recesses of my memory, I recalled the day my mom took me to my first Broadway show (Pippin). Starring ... Ben Vereen.

Tonight's musical comedy was bittersweet, and evidently starting a theme for the works I'd chosen: ordinary people, leading ordinarily complicated lives, learning about themselves and each other as they make their way in our complicated world.

After the show, I found my way to Rockefeller Center, merging into the Friday-night crowd taking selfies with the famous tree

 and the angels

and the elaborate light show on the front of Saks Fifth Avenue).

I love NYC at Christmastime!

Sunday Morning, New York

After a proper Sunday breakfast [it's New York!], there was one more visit on this trip's agenda. A place I hadn't visited since December, 2001.

Names are stamped into the borders around the waterfalls that pour into the open footprints of the twin towers, a ceaseless cascade of tears. Thousands of names. I needed no hint from the computerized directory. The North Tower. Flight 11. I found Paul's name.

I toured the museum, but it was too much. Fourteen years, it seems, is not long enough.

Fluctuat nec mergitur.

More New York Minutes

Most of the team headed back to the Bay Area (and to their families) on Saturday, but I opted for more, more, more.

In years gone by, I spent so many Saturdays in the city. Equipped with a list of the plays I hadn't yet seen, I'd head straight for a box office (almost always scoring a ticket for my first choice). Then I'd bide my time at a museum, taking in some exhibit I hadn't yet seen. The possibilities are endless, but this visit was limited.

I was heading for the play I'd chosen, when ... I passed the marquee for a different play I'd considered. [It was a sign.] I circled back and bought the ticket. Bob Saget did a convincing turn as Pastor Greg, but Alex Mandell's performance was phenomenal. Phenomenal.

A typical crowd was circling counter-clockwise on the ice rink at Rockefeller Center. In the midst of the chaos, a slender guy skated to the music in his ears, twirling and jumping and gliding effortlessly through the Brownian motion of hockey skaters, stiff parents, and fallen kids.

‘Tis (almost) the season, and after such a dark-but-comic afternoon, I'd reserved a fine Saturday night seat for a sentimental family favorite, the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular. How many of these have I seen? Always with Mom. Always ... There were new tricks—a 3-D video journey from the North Pole, fireworks, streamers shot into the audience, and ... giant, drone-powered snow bubbles that rose from below the stage to float high above the audience (and, return). The Rockettes, kicking high and toppling as toy soldiers. The Living Nativity, complete with camels, sheep, and a donkey.

Mom would have loved it.

Some New York Minutes

New York. It's been a while.

This trip started in an unfamiliar neighborhood (the flower district), where our team huddled for a few days within walking distance of the office. But, hey, it's Manhattan. Isn't everything within walking distance?

Of course, there are the Citi Bikes. And “protected” bike lanes. People do it, I saw them. [Definitely not this person.] I may be comfortable biking in traffic, but Manhattan traffic is a level above. I did, however, patronize a local bike shop. [I 🚲 NY.]

Each morning we'd pass towering tropical plants, imprisoned on the sidewalk with heavy chains, marked for clearance before they become victims of the first frost. Temperatures were moderate during our visit, but their prospects for the coming week looked bleak. At night, the storefronts along our block looked vacant. Each morning, the street was packed with trucks and the shops with fresh blooms.

Arriving late on our first night, we stumbled (hungry) into a classic neighborhood bar minutes before the kitchen would close (at 1 a.m.). They happily served us. [It's New York.] It was bustling with regulars when we returned (earlier) the next night.

We dropped down to Little Italy for a team dinner, four courses—family style. Thick slabs of mozzarella served with sliced tomatoes and fresh basil. A heaping platter of hot antipasti. Pasta—gnocchi, rigatoni, and more. Chicken, shrimp, and veal pounded paper-thin. And dessert (of course). Our team includes a guy with an unfathomable metabolism; even his ability to consume was stretched to the limit that night. Our waiter was seriously impressed. [We cleaned the plates. All of them. And that's an uncommon feat.] Everyone was grateful to walk all the way back to the hotel.

We passed the Flatiron Building, where an image of the Eiffel Tower was projected in blue, white, and red on one side. Intermittently the words “She is tossed by the waves but does not sink” were superimposed. [The motto of Paris, I would later learn.] Latin: Fluctuat nec mergitur.

The Meatpacking District was another neighborhood new to me. The famed Chelsea Hotel was bigger than I'd imagined, and considerably less seedy. The place of so many legends. We took an afternoon stroll along The High Line, and in one of those true New York moments, so did Angela Lansbury. It's likely that few people recognized her that day; and those of us who did, let her stroll with her companion in peaceful anonymity. [It's New York.]

We marched uptown, straight through Herald Square and Times Square, to see an irreverent Broadway musical at the Eugene O'Neill Theatre—a first for some in our group. At intermission, the look on their faces? Priceless.

I miss New York. It's been too long.