“Chapter One. He was as tough and romantic as the city he loved.” Woody Allen Manhattan
There is something magical about New York City. I find myself holding my breath each time I return to Manhattan from the airport. Driving along the highway and staring out the window to behold the first few skyscrapers until my field of vision is subsumed by the concrete and glass beasts. That moment that the energy floods my system. And while I am, hopefully, nothing like Woody Allen, I can echo those words. Tough and romantic. Before I ran to London, I would have called the City cold. Hectic. Rough. But now I think it is all those things and romantic just the same. I had lost the love for the City and it took me a number of years to regain the sparkle. Now, as I look out the window at the grey blanket over the city, I am reminded why I love it and also why I won’t live here. I am, though, smiling at thinking of my other home covered in grey and feel pretty comforted at the thought.
I can’t say that I have done very much since returning, besides going to NEW JERSEY! How fitting that on the day following my return to the US, I returned to my birthplace. Suburbia central! We call New Jersey the armpit of America and if you have ever driven through Northern Jersey you would understand the comparison. But my Sunday was a day of long lost family and cemeteries and taking in lots of American and Canadian accents. As any good Sunday should be.
