1.25 Day Trois: Building new memories and blisters upon old neighborhoods

Our morning began in darkness. No, literally! Dad woke me up at 6 o’clock and dragged me to the metro stop. I decided I would indulge his early morning walk over the Brooklyn Bridge, but only with a Starbucks in hand.

My metro skills came back to me right away, but obviously not the correct name. Dad kept reminding me that people call it the “subway” not “le metro”. Is it just me or does it sound better en francais?


When we emerged from the giant hole in the ground, the yellow men on the sidewalks guided us to the beginning of the bridge. I was shocked at all of the attractive people running and riding bicycles. It was the last place I would have guessed. Too bad there were all so fast.

Walking under the supporting cables, dad told me a little about the man who was responsible for this masterpiece. He was the only man who could see the construction of the bridge in his mind, and no one believed it could be possible. He started his project and ironically he ended up sick in the hospital, directing the construction from his sick bed. Fortunately there was lots of traffic so I only had to listen to bits and pieces of Dad’s history lesson.

I was prepared for a full morning walk but was surprised when it only took us about 29 minutes to walk all the way across. I thought that the linking bridge between the best place on earth and the former home of the Dodgers would have been longer, but my feet welcomed the short distance.

Finding breakfast in Manhattan proved much more difficult than storming the bridge. We settled on Starbucks after inspecting at least three unacceptable eating sites. The baristas definitely had a New York attitude, good thing I knew how to order.

We got back to the hotel around the time everyone else was waking up. Our Brooklyn invasion felt even better when we realized the doorman was showing up for work when we were ready for a nap.

The next chapter in our day emerged as BA (Before Aura). Dad led the tour to Herald’s Square, the home of Macy’s. I got a kick out of the wood escalators.

“How old is this place?” I couldn’t hear his answer.

As we dove deeper into the garment district, I had to remind Dad that he wasn’t walking Kyoko but instead it was his daughter. I did appreciate his steering me away from the metro grates though, saving my heels.

While I dodged garment racks, I quickly regretted my decision not to buy that perfect silver purse I spotted in Vegas.

“Aura, you’re going to find plenty of knock-offs in New York. Better and cheaper bags are all over the city. Just wait, you’ll see!” Obviously Mom was thinking of the BA New York.

There are two things Dad repeated, “Can you indulge me a little more?” and “Can we make it?” referring to the blinking pedestrian lights.

In no time I retraced my parents’ steps to their well discussed New York apartment. Even though I didn’t take the back entrance through the Hispanic bar or have Kyoko at my side, all of the stories I’ve heard came to life. I didn’t realize it was so close to Times Square, man how freakin’ cool! It was like I was back in 1981.

We took a break from the cold inside Manganaro’s. Even though they didn’t have their famous cheesecake, they did have excellent lasagna. I was finally cured from my nightmare of being forced fed carbs.

We didn’t dine alone. Ordering our lunch I could only laugh when Dad pointed out Ian Buchanan’s signed autograph. Of course that led to more Kyoko and Jimmy Dean stories. I smiled and laughed, even though I have heard all of them more than 10 times.

When I told my friend Julie my plans for going to Times Square, she told me that she would only go there if her arm had been bitten off...and that would be because the last doctor was there. I guess all New Yorkers feel this way but I enjoyed the tourist trap and the blinking lights.

It was time to head back to the hotel and Dad slowly rejoined me to present day. I made him indulge in some of my shopping needs. Why is it that the best stores grow like weeds in New York but are no where to be found on the West coast?

I think Vegas spoiled my shopping mojo because the only thing I bought was a black pashmina that replaced my Parisian scarf.

After heavy duty shopping I felt a need for a cosmo. I guess New York has a sense of humor because instead I encountered a different kind of cosmo…a West Highland Terrier…unexpectedly named Cosmo. Haha!

Speaking of dogs, and trust me, that’s all I heard about today…man my dogs were barking. Man I’m glad I’m getting those idiomatic expressions down!