Manhattan Christmastime Magic

In the mid-80s, I was getting my Bachelors from Parsons. New York City was dangerous and dirty. The subways were keeping spray paint manufacturers in business, you were well-advised not to look at or chat with strangers, and Bryant Park was an overgrown field of drug dealers and knife-wielding thieves.

I mention this only because I went to Bryant Park’s Holiday shops tonight to finish my Christmas shopping. I live just a few blocks from the park, so I had seen the tents and ice skating rink from afar. But unless you’ve been in the park with all the shops, the skating rink, the restaurants, well, you have no idea! Manhattan is an ever-growing miracle.

There were hundreds of people throughout the park, eating, skating, shopping. One young man was quietly sitting at a table, outside of course, reading a book. Christmas Eve eve, December 23rd, 58 degrees, Bryant Park, 7:00 PM, lit like a night game at Yankee Stadium. The transformation is no less amazing than that of Scrooge himself.

Then, shopping not done yet, I made my way over to Domus. It’s a charming shop - mostly home furnishings - on 44th street, between 9th and 10th avenues. Now, 44th street to me has always been more of a stay-away street. I don’t know why, maybe because to me it was just the extra block I had to drive on my way home from work to make the urban u-turn. But tonight, with so many of its trees enveloped in white Christmas lights, and hints of Christmas trees easily peeking through living room windows, 44th street was almost magical.

The folks at Domus were wonderful. I finished my shopping, and, breaking my rule (again,) bought a little glass paperweight globe that could have sold for $20, but was only $10. And they wrapped the bowl I bought my mother. And they agreed to let me believe it was thrown and fired, not in Ohio, as I suppose technically it is, but in some far-off exotic land. A lie my mother would probably prefer anyway.

The miracle that is Manhattan happens whenever I allow myself to get lost in the day. Any time I want, the city continues to pitch serendipity my way. And that’s why Manhattan is my home.

Merry Christmas.