We flew from Orlando to Newark, NJ, then took a hotel shuttle to Manhattan via the Lincoln Tunnel. The 3-day musical theatre workshop (acting, singing, dancing) was staged by Broadway Artist Alliance, housed in the heart of the Theatre District. The hotel was conveniently a block away.
E's workshop started each morning at 9:30. M&E sleep until the last minute (trusting the world again). I wake up at the crack of dawn. I did NOT want to be around when they woke up late and crashed around the hotel room. I slipped out and went down to the lobby to drink lots of coffee and read an actual newspaper. Oh yeah, there were BAGELS. The real deal. I was in heaven.
The workshop didn't end until 7:00 p.m., leaving M and me free to roam, shop, eat, and talk each day. I loved spending time alone with her. It was also a long school holiday weekend, so crowds on the street were fierce. I walked fast, weaving and bobbing like a prizefighter. Or maybe more like a drunken sailor on leave, desperate to keep up?
Space is a prime commodity on an island. Stores in the City are narrow and multi-floored with people everywhere, even grocery and drug stores. It seemed odd to take an elevator to get to the sinus meds in Walgreens. Buildings are unique and details a joy, especially on the oldest, funkiest buildings. I had a good time just looking at things.
We went to a NY style pizzeria and devoured a fabulously greasy pepperoni and black olive pizza! The crust was perfect. I'm happy to report Florida pizza will never satisfy my granddaughter again.
Homeless people begging on the streets are heartbreaking. I imagine native New Yorkers become desensitized, but it hurt my heart. One young man was lying next to a building covered with a dirty blanket. He was clearly sick or high, his eyes glazed. He never looked up, even when I put money in his cardboard box and he muttered a weak "Thank you." He is someone's child. I wanted to hold him in my arms and call him honey. I wanted to tell him everything will be okay, even though I know it won't. I wonder if his parents know where he is? I hope not.
|Me, capturing something "important" while M screamed at me to get out of the street|