Big Apple bullets

Saturday

• We hit the road at 8:30am in the direction of the Garden State. JG is determined not to stop on the way, so I refrain from drinking anything to accompany my yogurt breakfast. The rain and the traffic are both light, but constant.
• Three hours later, we arrive at JG’s parents’ house and say our hellos to them, JG’s brother and sister, a friend who’s living at the house temporarily, her boyfriend, friends from Williamsburg, and their parents. We’ve all made hours-long trips to invade New Jersey so that we can make a quick trip into New York the next day to see JG’s childhood friend play at a piano recital at Carnegie Hall. It is a rare treat, a huge privilege, and a fun excuse to catch up with friends.
• After I make my way through the receiving line, I head straight for the Brita pitcher because, man, I am parched.
• My mother-in-law leads the singing of “Happy Birthday” for me before I blow out candles stuck into lemon bars. She gives me a first edition of a Madeleine L’Engle book I don’t have yet, and the illustrations are really lovely.
• At dinner that night, I inadvertently order the most enormous martini I’ve ever had. The glass is almost too large for me to hold with one hand, and I come close to spilling it more times that I’d like to admit. Thank goodness for correspondingly giant plates of rigatoni.
• I fall asleep while JG and his brother talk smack during the UNC/Duke basketball game. At the end of it, I am too bleary to rub Duke’s loss in my brother-in-law’s face. A shame, really.

Sunday

• Six adults pile into a Highlander to drive into Manhattan, and I scream silently as two buses almost mow us down.
• After a brief wait outside, we shuffle into the Carnegie Deli for lunch. The walls are lined with framed photos of celebrities emblazoned with Sharpie autographs, and oversized baked goods beckon from the case. The scent of slow-cooked meat hangs in the air, and shouts from the kitchen ring out. All I need for a complete deli experience is — yes! — the plate of appetizer pickles! I nosh at a half-sour and nod absent-mindedly at JG’s suggestion to split a roast beef sandwich.
• We plow through our stacks of meat with plenty of grainy mustard and then head back out into the chilly air. There’s time to kill, so we stroll around the block, past Central Park and 5th Avenue. I wonder fleetingly if we’ll run into Laurel, even though I doubt she’d be in this touristy part of town on a Sunday. I realize that, with my sunglasses on, my only recognizable feature is my green bag. I wave off the possibility, trying not to think about having to explain the concept of a “blog friend” to my in-laws and their friends.
• We wait outside Carnegie Hall for the doors to open, and I thrill softly to have a ticket with that venue on it. I realize that we’re going to the recital hall and not the main performance space, but it’s still Carnegie Hall. I spy our friend’s name on a sign out front, and try to get a good shot of the outside since photography is forbidden once we enter those hallowed halls.
• The recital is a real treat. Our friend gets so much applause that she returns to the stage for a second bow. One of the performers plays a piece that echoed through my house as a child; memories of my dad’s playing comes sharply to mind.
• Our train back to New Jersey is delayed not once, but twice. JG and I don’t leave his parents’ house until after 9pm, which is definitely not the plan. We prop our eyelids open with toothpicks to get through the ride home. I am incredibly grateful that JG could take the next day off from work, leaving me to sleep in just slightly and skiv off the morning Ted walk.
• We collapse into bed just after midnight, and I realize that in 40 hours, we have gone to and from New Jersey with a side trip to New York City. Definitely worth it. Definitely exhausted.