The elevated freight train tracks running above the western edge of Chelsea, a block from the Hudson, had been abandoned since 1980. Overgrown with weeds, the 30-block structure was a dilapidated eyesore. Until June, 2009 – when, after ten years of planning and development, the re-imagined route re-opened as The High Line: New York’s newest urban park. I visited this afternoon with my 
Mom. We climbed a few short flights of steps and strolled along the promenade, stopping to check out the art installations, wild gardens and city views. It was one of those crisp, brilliant New York afternoons when you feel you’re living in the best century ever.
Afterwards we walked to Herald Square, and – since Hanukkah comes early this year – Mom took me to Macy’s to buy me a sports jacket. Just saying “Herald Square” makes me feel like I’m living a couple of centuries ago. And saying “sports jacket” makes me wonder how those oddly cut, iconic garments got saddled with sports. Typically, I couldn’t decide between the Calvin Klein and the Ralph Lauren. Typically, my mother bought me both. Typically, I was wheedled into applying for a Macy’s credit card so that Mom would save 20% on the jackets. And then the long ride back to Hicksville on the LIRR, craving Chinese food.
“In the event of a large turnout,” the poster for tomorrow’s Snake Lake reading at the Plainview-Old Bethpage Library proclaims, “residents with photo IDs will be admitted first. Others as space permits.” The auditorium seats 200. Are there 200 people older than 75 in Plainview? I hope so. When my father passed away in 1984, about 3,000 people showed up at his memorial. It was if a ball player or a Mafia boss had died. My mother doesn’t have that many friends, but I think she’ll manage a respectable crowd. People love her. The High Line was her idea, as were the sports jackets. She is exquisitely reliable.