We stepped out onto the streets of New York. Ever since I was a child New York City has been the image of joy and celebration. I get up on Long Island from the time I was 4-8. My Dad flew airplanes out of Laguardia Airport and we often took him to the city because we just had 1 car for the 5 of us, a VW Beatle. Driving to the city was like visiting OZ. I loved the lights and the bustle. I especially liked the library where I got my first library card and participated in a reading program. Christmas held the promise of bigger lights and greater celebration.
I’ve always wanted to go back. This year I had one Sunday of vacation left so we we made the choice to go for the weekend. Our flight was delayed 2 hours and it had taken a day of travel so my plans were already off the rails, but when I stepped onto the street I was 5 again. The air was crisp and clean. The streets were not busy. I jumped and skipped and danced through the street, at least on the inside.
Then it happened. The lights dimmed and flickered. Alarms began to ring. The there was light. The sky erupted in blue. All of the buildings took on a turquoise hue. People in the streets stopped and stared. One lady had her phone out and kept repeating the name of Jesus. This was not ordinary, it was a happening. People walked faster. We scurried underground to the subway.
We texted our son pictures from the sky and Twitter, which was all twitter about it. Later that night we learned it was an electrical transformer explosion in Queens.
We went downtown looked at lights and ended up at the skating rink in Central Park. It really was a magical night.
It was fun being 5 again. It’s already been a great rest getting ready to be fully present in 2019 and if he does return in the clouds then be ready doing his work.