A New York state of mind

Rockefeller Center on a perfect day in May.

An isle of joy

 Lower Manhattan from the Staten Island Ferry, Friday, May 13, 2011. Clickable!

We'll have Manhattan,
The Bronx and Staten
Island too.
It's lovely going through
The zoo.
It's very fancy
On old Delancey
Street, you know.
The subway charms us so
When balmy breezes blow
To and fro.
And tell me what street
Compares with Mott Street
In July?
Sweet pushcarts gently gliding by.
The great big city's a wondrous toy
Just made for a girl and boy --
We'll turn Manhattan
Into an isle of joy.

~From Manhattan by Richard Rodgers & Lorenz Hart~

Brooklyn beckons

First of all I just sort of like the word: Brooklyn.

It's tough but pretty.

One of my favorite books as a kid was A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith, in which little Francie Nolan vows to read every volume in the public library. Alphabetically by title.

The movie made from the book was good if not great. Peggy Ann Garner made a perfectly precious Francie and Dorothy McGuire was well cast as her longsuffering mother.

Then I became a Neil Diamond enthusiast and learned he was from Brooklyn. He even wrote a song entitled Brooklyn Roads. I could sing some of it for you.

And who could forget the scene from Sophie's Choice (book and movie) where the three main characters shout triumphantly from the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge, before everything goes tragically wrong?

Not me.

We stayed at the Marriott Brooklyn Bridge while in New York. A beautiful place where everyone is exceedingly friendly. I highly recommend it.

If you go out of the front doors and turn right and start walking, within twenty minutes you're on the Brooklyn Bridge with its incomparable views of Manhattan and Brooklyn.

Although I walked approximately four thousand six hundred ninety-two miles while I was in New York, I was determined on my last night there to stand beneath the gothic arches of the magnificent bridge, Roebling's masterpiece built by hand.

And aim my camera and press the button and wish fervently for a good picture because I'm beyond ignorant when it comes to night photography.

So that's what I did.

God bless Nikon, God bless the Brooklyn Bridge, and God bless America.

p.s. If you haven't already, you should see the Ken Burns PBS documentary about the building of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Apples to ...

Shhhhhh ...

I'm in the Apple store on Fifth Avenue NYC ... the BIG apple y'all ...

Shaken (a little) and even slightly stirred, your intrepid agent has made all planned contacts so far.

However ...

I am being followed. Avoidance maneuvers may soon be necessary.

BUT I had my picture made with Captain Jack Sparrow.

There were smooching noises.

I may very well be one baby step away from entering the witness witless protection program.

We shall see.

Tonight's rendezvous?

Why, Yankee Stadium, of course.

Henry, Oats, potatoes, and the orb lady

Yesterday my mission took me to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania: Amish Country.

As the day unfolded I did something I'd never done before: ate a handful of potato chips that only seven minutes before had been whole potatoes.

Wafer-thin tantalizingly-crispy still-warm curvy discs fresh from the hot fat, kissed tenderly with a dusting of dendritic salt, still tasting of all the goodness the earth has to offer ... oh my soul y'all.

Why anyone would ever eat a cold potato chip from a bag is beyond me.

And yet I'm sure I will again.

Not long after that stellar experience I was walking in the cool quiet of an old cemetery next to an historic brick church while little Amish children played a game of ball in the next field.

As the shutter of my faithful Nikon clicked away, capturing what it could of the glut of calm beauty, the bells of the tiny schoolhouse rang.

Yelling with pure joy, the kids ran inside, a little laughing herd of sober navy blue, flying apron tails, tiny snow-white caps, and jaunty straw toppers.

I met a lady who was there to tend the grave of her beloved husband. She was elderly, very kind, and eager to point out to me the nearby graves of many of her kinfolk and much-missed friends.

Her voice and her eyes were full of both the acceptance and the ache of unavoidable, inevitable loss.

Please do not construe my next revelation as being intended to make fun of this lady. I think the word "surreal" may be used too much and often improperly, but I must apply it here.

I had offered to take the lady's photograph beside her husband's grave, which she let me do. I wrote down her email address and promised to send the picture to her. She looked pleased at the prospect.

We chatted a few more moments and were preparing to say our goodbyes when she said it.

Pictures taken of her in recent years reveal an "orb" in her midsection.

On the picture.

I stared. Not often I'm speechless -- as you know -- but for a few beats I actually was.

(For the record I do believe she meant "aura" but she distinctly said "orb.")

At any rate I had to check to make sure I hadn't been drafted by David Lynch for a revival of Twin Peaks, flyover-country edition.

Finally, "Oh," was all I could manage.

She wondered aloud whether said orb/aura would show up on my picture of her.

We agreed we'd have to wait and see.

My next foray into the paranormal combined seamlessly with the bucolic and the espionagic involved riding directly behind two horses -- names of Henry and Oats -- in a carriage right out in the road, past farm after farm worked and tended by English and Amish alike.

Oats didn't like passing too near fences or signs on his right, giving me pause more than once when trucks were approaching ten feet to our left and he began his snazzy little avoidance maneuvers.

Then he started biting Henry as they trotted and let me tell you, Henry gave as good as he got.

On my way now to meet my contact at Independence Hall, exactly forty-four paces southwest of the Liberty Bell.

I hope they remember to bring reinforcements in the form of extra pirate eyeliner and a fresh decoder ring.

Keep good thoughts until our next update.

Which, if all goes as planned, will be from the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge.

God bless America.