The Wonders of Jet Propulsion, or from New York to Rome, Georgia

Today I emptied the trash cans around the house, gathered up the recycling, and got it all ready to go out for tomorrow’s trash pickup. Yesterday, I went up an elevator to the top of the Rock, Rockefeller building, that is, and saw the view of New York at night. All those lights after a day paying our respects at Ground Zero, after seeing Trinity Church across from Ground Zero (where George Washington worshipped and where you can see an ax dent in a pew from an injured fireman who was laid down there in that makeshift ER), after seeing Wall Street’s no-longer-apt bronze bull, after seeing St. Patrick’s Cathedral’s vaulted arches and glorious stained-glass windows, after seeing Greenwich Village and meeting an octogenarian who’s lived there since she was 16, after “shopping” in Tiffany’s and after after seeing a Broadway musical, after seeing Radio City Music Hall, after seeing Chinatown and shopping there (but NOT going into a back room, though invited), after seeing a stunning Glenn Close coming out of Armani’s with her two sisters and bodyguard, after eating glorious pasta in Little Italy, after wandering beautifully through the Met with my daughter and gazing on Monet and on all those impressionists and wondering at the armor in the armor room and loving as ever the Rodin sculptures, and after so many extraordinary experiences, tonight I took out the trash in Rome, Georgia.