Headed to The City

It's funny -- growing up on LI, we never said "Manhattan," but rather "The City."  Even folks in the 4 outer boroughs called Manhattan that.  Later,  I learned that Philly folks called it that, too -- referring to their own town, they used directional words, like "Center City," or "The Northeast," or "South Philly." The last is the Italian part of the City of Brotherly Shove, and a place I had one of the most memorable lunches, bought by a local mob boss, of my life...but that's another tale.

D2 turns 25 tomorrow, and we're planning a big birthday weekend.  She actually took a day off from work, something the reluctant workaholic has never done in her tenure in retail, and we're going to play tourist -- maybe seeing the new World Trade site, with its observation deck and "Oculus" train station -- maybe the Whitney -- maybe NYC Botanic Garden.  But we're doing it without my baby mama -- Wifey.

Poor Wifey.  She's had two very difficult periods during our marriage -- I call them the intifadehs, after the tough times Israelis have versus the Palestinians.  Hopefully a Third intifadeh is not beginning -- but she hurt her hip -- maybe gardening -- and has some pain in it.  Our very careful doctor told her she wouldn't recommend non essential travel -- better to rest the hip and leg -- and so last night Wifey called AA and learned she can get back $400 of the $600 First Class ticket I bought for her -- and maybe with a doctor's note they'll refund the entire amount.  Now she had a project to do.

But on the bright side, her BFF Edna was running a bit late in visiting her parents in the nursing home, and now will come today to spend the weekend with her sister of another mister -- so Wifey, while missing The City festivities, will manage just fine.

So I plan to meet D1 at MIA in a few hours, and jet up to LaGuardia, and check into our go-to hotel near D2's Murray Hill (or Kip's Bay, depending on who you ask) apartment.  Tonight we're headed to Pietro's for dinner.  I read about them in the Times -- the last remaining 44th Street, Mad Men era steakhouse that remains, if you don't count The Palm, which has become a chain.

The big event is Saturday night, at Sammy's Romanian.  A bit of Stoli in ice blocks and chopped liver prepared tableside may just be consumed...

The good news for this newly minted weekend single Dad is that my brother Paul will be in the City -- he's there for his grandson's birthday, and is staying, with his lovely fiancee, for the Saturday night party.  I think it may be possible to pry him away for a few hours of maybe listening to Blues music, which we both love...

But D2 is the Reason for This Season, and I can't wait to see her.  D1 already found her gift -- some kind of designer purse, whose name I can never recall.  D2 fetched it a few weeks past and loves it.

And so we mark the time.  It's funny -- for many years, I used to think that celebrating birthdays, other than a child's, or maybe a Bar and Bat Mitzvah, was a tad narcissistic, and silly.  But then my Rabbi friend Yossi set me straight.

He pointed out that I am NOT an ungrateful man -- in fact, he said, I show more gratitude for each day than just about anyone he knows.  I credit this to my Dad's short life -- a lesson I learned as I was just a young man.  Anyway, Yossi said, each year is a gift from the Big Man, and when we fail to mark it, and celebrate it, we're showing ingratitude to the Big Man, or, if you don't believe in Him, ingratitude to whomever or whatever  you believe gave you life.

His lesson resonated with me, and now I DO celebrate.  And since the Ds' lives are even more precious to me than my own -- well, failing to properly celebrate THEIR birthdays is even a worse act of ingratitude.

So off to The City we go today --loud sirens, smells, and all.  There's no place on earth I'd rather travel to , and for no better reason.