Close Call at LGA

Don Henley sang about how, in a NY minute, everything can change, and Wifey and I got to live through that last Friday.  We started the day off early and annoyed, thanks to some last minute toilet issues, but my minimal proficiency with a snake I had bought years before allowed us to leave the house for dog and house sitter Chris in habitable condition.  We had our breakfast like Centurions at MIA and were on our way to see D2 and Jonathan, on a bright and beautiful day -- warm in Miami, and cold in NYC.

Wifey slept much of the flight, and we glided in on final approach.  I took out my phone to text the Ds we had landed -- a family tradition we all share to let us know we had made it, and the 727 touched the runway, and then ROARED BACK UP.  I had twice been on aborted landings -- years ago in SF due to "conflicting runway traffic" and more recently at GNV as the American Eagle jet got close, and then saw a Cessna on that runway, but this time was different -- actual touchdown, and then a violent takeoff.

Wifey asked, on a several second delay as usual, if something had happened, and I cheerily answered, oh, no big deal, but I was worried.  The plane shook as it started a fly around Manhattan, at a lower altitude than I had ever been, and of course my thoughts turned to 9/11 -- had OUR deranged Islamic terrorist captain waited until landing to then take off again to go after the new Freedom Tower, with his co pilot dead in the seat next to him???

Thankfully no -- the pilot announced a few minutes later that ATC had us too far down the runway, and so they decided to try again.  I explained to Wifey that LGA runways end in the water, so we indeed DID narrowly miss a major problem.  Well, we had made it.

We cabbed to MidTown, which took over an hour and a half, as St. Paddy's Day parade traffic had its effect, but eventually checked in to our hotel on 30th, and headed west and north towards the festivities.  Young people in green and leprechaun hats were laughing and stumbling over the still snow covered sidewalks, and we found a new steak place on 40th named Benjamins and sat at the bar.  I had my celebratory martini, and a grilled chicken sandwich, and Wifey had a salad, and we were happy to be there.

We went back to the hotel, and awaited word from D2 -- she was home from work, and Jonathan was there, too.  We caught up and then ubered to an Asian place called Bond Street, located, on, of all streets, Bond Street, and the heavily accented Russian uber driver showed Jonathan -- his name, at least his uber name, was James Bond.  Synchronicity had found us.

We met Jonathan's sister in law Melanie, a lovely young lady living with Dan, Jonathan's brother, in Marina Del Rey, and in town for a wedding.  The waitress explained the food like a good science teacher, and it was in fact delicious.  We ubered back to our hotel, and chatted a bit more, and then the three young folks were off to meet Jonathan's sister Eva and her man Yoni, for some more socializing.

Saturday dawned rainy, and gray, and cold.  My friend Rita called -- we had planned to meet her and Mark, but Rita explained in her classic NY accent that Mark and she were both getting over bad colds, and decided a trip to "the City" wasn't in the cards -- we planned to meet in warmer times.

We had lunch at the Second Avenue Deli, a place I go to with some masochistic glee -- the prices are comically and obscenely high.  But Jonathan loves the place and I suggested it -- even though a last minute work call from India kept him in the apartment.  We had out $30 sandwiches and brought one home to him, and then began a marathon of couch potato-ing -- watching March Madness, all of us reluctant to venture out into the cold and rainy day.

At 7 we ubered south again, this time to a steak place I had found -- Greenwich Steak, in the West Village.  Apparently a refugee from Smith and Wollensky had opened it, and it was also terrific -- we even got Wifey to have a craft cocktail, and she got a bit tipsy.  Jonathan and I shared a large hangar steak, which was awesome, and we went home happy and very well fed.

Sunday we all slept in, and then met at Ruby's, a new place opened by friendly Australians right across from D2 and Jonathan, on Third Avenue.  We had a great breakfast, and then back to the apartment to watch a little more basketball.  Uber was surging, so we cabbed it to LGA, and the driver was about 10 and just in from Bangladesh, and he was terrible -- jerking back and forth, and leaving Wifey queasy.  And then -- he had no idea where to drop us -- after fumbling, we simply got out at the wrong American terminal, and then took a shuttle to the correct one.

The flight home was, thankfully, uneventful.  This time we landed, and stayed on the ground.  Our young associate Vince was on our flight -- he's a LA fellow whose family is rooted in NY, and he was in the city for St. Paddy's Day.  We dropped him off in South Miami, and returned to happy and healthy dogs.

And, our sitter Chris announced over FaceBook (tm) that he was going to be a third generation Miami Canes lawyer -- so I look forward to congratulating him in person.

So it was a fine weekend, as usual, with the helpful reminder of how thin is the thread we all hang on -- called life.  As long as we're here -- I plan to keep on savoring and savoring...