For the first year since he was five, the Boy opted out of riding the train to the North Pole with Santa, Mrs. Claus, the sleepy elves and Elizabeth. So no cookies, hot cocoa or spiked eggnog for us! Sad as we were at the passing of this annual tradition, we decided it was time to make a new tradition.
Living in New York for seven years while pursuing an acting career, there are things of the season in the city that one can almost take for granted. But then you move away and they become part of your personal mythology, but are no longer part of your annual holiday season.
Well, fuck that! This year we reclaimed the season. In spite of the unseasonably warm temperature, and the omnipresent rain and fog (even Rudolph would have had a tough time in the fog that blanketed the city this morning), we set forth to view a large tree, window displays, ginormous candy canes, and an over-large snowflake perched precariously over the avenue.
The only snow you’ll see for Christmas this year is hanging over Fifth Avenue.
Then, because we really can’t stand crowds, we headed south to Katz’s to get the only good bowl of matzoh ball soup left in Manhattan now that Cafe Edison has closed. Actors, musicians, stage hands, and all of the other theatre folk in New York, are mourning the loss of the best place to eat lunch in mid-town.
Curse the greedy bastards who would not renew the Café Edison’s lease.
Bastard is too nice a word for them. But it’s Christmas so for now, I’ll fuggedabout them.
I thoroughly enjoyed my soup. Afterward, I thoroughly enjoyed coffee and dessert at Ferrara in what’s left of Little Italy.
My feet, however, were done. There was a long (looooong) train ride home, and here I am, my feet happily recovering from all of the walking.
Now it’s just a matter of counting down. Christmas is nearly upon and will be gone before my feet truly stop aching.
May the joys of the holiday (and soft comfy slippers) be yours.