Well, almost exactly five years and four months to the day from when it opened (yes, I am a little embarrassed about this), my husband and I finally decided to take a stroll on the High Line. It was a perfect early fall morning in NYC: wind blowing, sun shining, thickets of tourists wandering about, and the din of jackhammers and excavation trucks filling the air. The High Line is truly a marvel of architecture, vision and extraordinary landscaping. And yet, I am left feeling that it is a part of a city to which I no longer belong. I know there are a lot of voices on this matter of change, and loss of what was, and I don’t wish to delve into that conversation right now. However, let it be said that, while I don’t necessarily begrudge New York for what she has become, I don’t recognize her any more. In all of the ruminations, I did manage to catch this little snippet of ivy…undulating in the storm.

What do Rudy Giuliani, Christopher Plummer, Robert M. Gates, Frank Gehry, Ruth Ginsburg, Hal Holbrook, Angela Lansbury, Paul Volcker, Alex Katz, James Watson, Maya Lin, Peter O’Toole, John Mcenroe, Ellsworth Kelly, Henry Miller and Yo Yo Ma have in common? I know the answer, but I can’t tell. You’ll have to guess. I’ll give you a hint though: membership. Even if you don’t know, the names are impressive and the typographic variation is a joy to behold.

Um, no thanks.
Grand Street, in Chinatown.
I love NYC.

A Friday night departure from NYC necessitates looking at the traffic maps if one doesn’t want to get stuck in a major snarl. There are times, though, when looking at the map means nothing in terms of finding a way out. So, this past weekend, there we sat, somewhere in those dark red lines. I entertained myself by zooming in on the various traffic circles and arteries leading in and out of Manhattan.

One photo of a locksmith’s sign in Chinatown and another of piles of oranges at the Jean Talon Market in Montreal. Both are harbingers of good lock. Or is it luck? Anyway, Happy New Year!!