My niece and nephew, Sally and Jack, came from their small New England town in Medfield Massachusetts to visit us in NYC. It was 2004 and Sally was 12, Jack was 7. We did a lot of touristy things, including going to the Wax Museum in Times Square. I remember leaving the museum and walking onto busy 42nd Street. Jack looked up at the neon signs, the people frenetically hurrying in every direction, the sidewalk vendors, the assortment of races and ages, and the yellow cabs whizzing by and said, “When I think of New York, this is what I think of.”
It was an astute comment from a seven-year old.
Today I get up and it’s a perfect fall day. I throw on some clothes and walk three blocks to the small Farmer’s Market in the middle of the Upper Eastside. There I buy a big box of mini- vine tomatoes, a handful of sweet peppers, homemade bread, and recently picked Romaine lettuce. With difficulty, I resist the freshly-made muffins.
This is what I think of when I think of New York. Little secret gems waiting to be discovered, hidden all over this great city.
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