New York exemplifies the ultimate destination for city traveling, yet for me a tinge of apprehension comes with the excitement of exploration. In my lifetime, I’ve had four purposeful visits to the Big Apple. Each taught me something about myself and what a location requires. Growing up most of leaving home trips were by car to relatives. College age I managed one summer job in Santa Fe, a real adventure, and then camp out field trips with students requiring the appearance of oozing with fun. When I was 35, David had a meeting in New York. Three days away for me. Two memories. Early in the morning, he told me where to meet him at 12:30 and left. I entered the elevator with two men. As the door closed, one of them said, “Do you want a floor.” I answered, “First please. I’m visiting and have three small children and I never get to push the button.” I figured out how the subway worked and took myself to what was important to me, the Public Library. Somehow, I needed to see the lions and wander through what rows of books I could fit in. Not much else in time allotted, yet a thirst for more lingered. I could make survival happen.
Trip two was nineteen years later before school started again after Christmas. I had a friend whose husband was assigned to a lab in the area. We made a train trip to the city and came and went from cavernous Penn Station. Then one day we drove to Long Island, slipped through a barrier, and walked in solitude on a deserted beach between the Atlantic Ocean and elegant sprawling mansions. This was an absorbing atmospheric moment. Trip three came about because all spring WSJ had articles on a Homer Winslow exhibit at the MFA. To see The Gulf Stream in all its glory with the shark circling the boat was all the excuse needed. Throw in supper with friends from a time my son taught in Japan and a dream became reality. Our hotel looked out on the rectangle of Central Park, giving the geographical lobes of my brain a permanent solidity of space.
At age 88, will trip four be a swan song? Don’t bet against me. Some in our church choir were going to be part of presenting a new piece in Carnegie Hall. Their going was my underlying draw. Same son as an earlier time joined in to be travel arranger, planner of days, and wheelchair pusher as necessary. We walked the High Line identifying plants by an App on my phone, had a reunion supper with previously mentioned friends, nodded sagely if not completely understanding the modern art of MOMA, and were impressed and blessed by the music These Ancient Words. Over a period of 53 years, I learned I would be cared for even in riding an elevator, that nature provides solace even in the midst of tall buildings, that creativity appear and endures even as time passes, and that the resounding last ancient word is what age and travel may provide: WISDOM.
Is not wisdom found among the aged? Does not long life bring understanding?
Job 12:12
Let Me Tell Ya 