A Bite of the Apple

There's something about a visit to my beloved Manhattan that sends an adrenalin burst through my body. Tingling my energies. Touching my soul.

It has always been that way. Annual childhood trips to The City from my home in the rolling bluegrass of Kentucky dazzled my imagination. A magical kingdom between two rivers. My Oz.

The pink walls and tables amid tea carts bearing fanciful desserts at Rumplemeyer's across from the park.

Twinkly lights, multi-hued balloon swirls, eggs b chased by Shirley Temples in martini glasses at Tavern on the Green.

The fabulous B's of shopping wonderland: Best and Co., Bendel's, Bergdorf Goodman, Bonwit's!

Skaters wrapped in bright woolen scarves figure-eights over the white ice at Wollman rink, the painted ponies on the carousel, Alice perched high on toadstools watching boats gliding across the man-made pond. Ah ... my Alice statue. Then. Now. Forever my go-to place for solace and the sweet peace of time.

Sophisticated ladies in pencil slim black dresses with fox collars and mink stoles casually draped over their delicate shoulders. Pearls. Dreamlike.

Over the years. My residence for a decade. The venerable Lotos Club my haunt. My home away from home. Impromptu, spontaneous visits planned in the morning for an eight o'clock curtain of a new show. An alto sax mournfully crooning in a blue smoke filled bar underground. My heart races as I cross whichever bridge leading me to this magical island that forever channels my soul. My alternate self. My real self. Where I'd be in a New York moment if only ...

But hey, I am here. My Charlie at work in a glass and steel midtown tower. We'll meet for a regional Cuban supper at Victor's Cafe, mojitos flowing. What could be better?

To the pulsating energy coursing through my Maine-weary veins! Cheers!