In college, I would scrimp and plan for weeks, creating elaborate cover stories to shield from family and friends that I was getting on a bus to go to pre-Disneyfication-of-Times-Square New York. All by myself.
I'd arrive in time to stand on the TCKTs line, eat a slice, see a show and sleep on the bus back to bucolic Olean.
It was the guiltiest of pleasures. A buzz just to walk past the buildings of the publishers and publications, to look up at the windows and imagine which one shielded the creation of the next issue of the New Yorker.
I nearly cancelled my college engagement to succumb to the charms of a Long Island boy who knew the city inside out. If he had actually lived in the city, it probably would have sealed the deal.
The first time I stayed at the Algonquin as an adult, I literally could not sleep. I was too close to living the dream to take a chance of actually dreaming.
Growing up in Buffalo, Manhattan was always the glorious, glamourous older sister.
I stayed at The Algonquin Wednesday night and walked in the slush and freezing rain to the Merchantile Library for a Mystery Writers of America panel discussion on E 47th and on to my favorite Chinese restaurant on W 49th. Everyone else had umbrellas and walked quickly, but I wanted to take in every sensation unshielded. It was a beautiful night in so many ways.
Thursday morning I went directly from the airport to my first meeting at work, my pumpkin and white mice parked in the garage beneath my office.
After work I drove out to the sticks to have dinner with my cousin Cheryl and teach her daughter, Rachel, to knit. Rachel, the next generation wordsmith, had written a poem for me. Her brother, Connor, shared a version of Jack and the Beanstalk he wrote for his class (you see it's coffee beans bought at the market and when Elizabeth climbs the stalk she asks the giant at the castle for a latte). It wasn't as exciting as the night before, but equally beautiful.
I love the City, her brash elegance and spectacular secrets. But driving back to the low scale skyline of downtown Buffalo, I was struck with a sense of home.
The government and economics of the area make it a fight to love Buffalo and live here. But she's worth it. She'll never be anything like the Mecca at the other end of the Thruway. Her elegance is of a by-gone day and there are no secrets in this town. But she is me.
And we've always got our big sister for balance.





Copyright 2005 Judi Griggs