Needless to say we were excited and enthusiastic about our weekend ahead, full of fun, laughs, sightseeing, and...of course...eating.
On the first night there we all went to see a show called "Love, Loss, and What I Wore". It was a unique portrayal of a woman's life narrated by 5 actresses seated in chairs at the front of the stage. Very simple, yet very effective. The storyline revolved around the protagonist's life trials and tribulations of being a woman. Each story was associated with some article of clothing she had owned, and the memories and feelings that surfaced when she thought about such clothes.
As I was sitting there hearing these narratives, I thought about how I would write my own story if I was up there at center stage. Hmm...uhh... My mind strained to crank through my memory files. Being one of the more lackluster 'fashionistas' I know, I could only recall a handful of memories that were sparked by references to clothes. My ballet costume when I hit my head on the bar during the recital? The green corduroys that split right down the seam between the butt pockets during a classroom play in kindergarten? (I was dressed as a bottle of ginger ale). Although classics, clothes memories like these were few and far between.
Then I thought of the pages in my journal. If someone were to ever come upon it wanting to uncover juicy details about my life, relationships, deep dark secrets...theyd be in no such luck. All of the juiciness they would really get would be about moist roasted pork. The relationships would be about attachment with vats of peach jam, and the deep dark secrets would reveal ingredients and methods of recipes I would only share with a piece of paper.
The same theory could be applied to my camera. You can scroll through a series of photos of a trip to Italy expecting to see monuments and art pieces from thousands of years ago, only to be presented with photos of carts of fruits and vegetables and plates of antipasti. That's when I realized, sitting there in my chair in the audience of a broadway theater, that my life story wouldnt be told through what hung in my closet, but what was served on my plate.
So here are a few of the many photos taken during our three wonderful days in NYC. Perfect weather, great walks, and delicious bites. ( And no valium necessary :c) )
Honey roasted peanuts and fresh pretzels in Central Park. Important fuel for power walking.
A second trip to Billy's was a must.
Overwhelmed by smells and choices.