To you, tonight, from Harlem...

Dear Friends,

It's not yet been a week since we took that sleepy red-eye flight from SLC to JFK; but I remember last Sunday like it was months ago. We certainly have packed a months worth of living into these seven days. We've traipsed all over the island of Manhattan - from fourteenth street to 181st - usually at least once per day! And surprisingly (especially to me), my favorite part so far is riding the subways.

Oh, the subways!

Getting anywhere - ANYWHERE! - on the island with the swipe of a paper card. Blissful air conditioned train cars that rock and screech and suddenly halt, and the kind of people watching that keeps a person filled with wonderment. Stairs and gates and the exhilaration of getting on and off New-York-Fast without tripping over the gap, running over someone's shoes with the stroller wheel, or being left without a seat or a bar to hang on to when the train suddenly lurches forward.

Nothing says GREEN like falling over on the subway.

On the subway, people have glared and snorted at me, disgusted by the size of my (three children) load. People have given up their seat so that my children could sit down at a window so they could watch the tunnels pass through their windows and squeal with the speed and the newness. We've put quarters in the hats of young subway hip hop and hat-trick performers. We've struck up conversations with French men in track jackets, English men with German Greyhounds, and a small black boy named Kamal who was happy to share Wyatt's trove of Trader Joes stickers on a long and late ride back to 157th street.

I've seen Russian supermodels with impossibly long legs speaking to their equally beautiful Russian men about the dance performance they just saw (best guess based on their gesturing and the limited vocabulary I understood. Pretty much just "da". For all I know, they were talking about a crappy bar they just left, but they can't help but be impressively graceful when they describe stuff). I've seen naked homeless men, asleep and drooling. I saw a gay love-triangle blooming, which was a bit perplexing 'cause the one the two others were fawning over was the least fabulous by far. Unless you count his platform boots - which I thought just looked painful.

I've kind of taken to looking at people's shoes on the subway. Because - seriously, people walk everywhere. And sometimes, looking at the shoes of New York City, I just have to wonder how?

Bill unpacked his computer, today (Thanks, Dad, for shipping it!). I'll unpack mine, tomorrow, and then I'll be able to post pictures. Prove we're really here, so Aunt Christie can stop accusing us of tricking everyone.

Ironically, the apples here are smaller.

And - most shocking of all - nobody has heard of Johnny's Seasoning. Quick! Someone send reinforcements!

Until next time, I remain faithfully yours,



The Aprecios said...

Stop it! You're making me miss the city SO MUCH!

FYI One of my favorite things to do with the kids in NY was to go to Stew Leonards. Not sure if its there anymore, but its the coolest grocery store EVER.

Let me know if you find it. I think it's in either the Bronx in Westchester.

The Aprecios said...

Looked it up. It's in Yonkers, not to far from Harlem if you have a car....

Jeff and Ari said...

I have been waiting for what seems like an eternity to hear more about your adventure!! More please!!

Danyelle said...

WHAT!?! No Johnny's Seasoning? The nerve of some states...You should just come back to Utah. But go see a few more musicals so I can live through you first. ;)

Charms said...

Send me your address and Johnny will be yours.

Or should I just write;

"To Stepper; Red-Headed, Freckled Girl in Harlem"

Pretty sure it will find you.

Lizzie said...

No fear I will be there live and in person to bring some seasonings from the west!

Nae said...

I've wanted to hear some of your new adventures! Notgonnalie, you've made me jealous. Jealous of subways and jealous of street performers, and jealous of your bravery. I only hope I can be an explorer like you when we move somewhere for grad school. Stepper, you. are. my. hero.