my manhattan: the one with my mother in it.

red and green

red brick

mother daughter


garden center



black and white cookie

hanging flowers

little cupcake bakeshop

little italy


the best thing about having my mother in town are those moments when sailing in a cab up the westside highway she points out the pier where she and my father had their first date. and then launches into the story about how they thought it'd be a small private party but it ended up being six thousand people (six thousand very lush people). or when walking down madison avenue she notices the william greenberg bakery and suddenly she's a kid in a candy shop (or quite literally, bake shop) remembering how when she first married she took a baking class where they worked through mr. greenberg's recipes and the cinnamon buns! she surely remembered the candy that is those cinnamon buns! 

there are other good things too. little things. shared subway rides. lovely meals. a respite on a park bench. 

the problem is....well, when she leaves...or after my father has visited, or when i've spent some time at home in texas, or in coming back from a visit with my brother in boston...

the subway rides feels longer. the bags that i tote around all day feel heavier. work is a bit less important. everything feels just ever so much harder.

but that doesn't mean i'd trade the visits and respites and vacations for anything in the world.