Every December, the block where I live, West 43rd Street in Manhattan, explodes into a holiday wonderland… (Er, maybe “explodes” isn’t the best word to use these days, considering the craziness going on in the world) –TRANSFORMS into a holiday wonderland!
Taking center stage–which is tough to do since the twin high-rises that flank the block are packed with actors–are the glorious Christmas trees for sale, filling the air with their intoxicating scent. The smell of doggy urine is a faint memory as I skip down the block (well, in my mind I’m skipping anyway) breathing in all that piney goodness. That is, of course, until you pass the Little Pie Company. Have mercy! Pies Baking. Mouth watering. Their sour cream apple walnut pie is unquestionably the best pie on earth. On Thanksgiving they have to set up barriers because the lines to pick up preordered pies are around the block. No kidding. And they always have the best windows. Simple. Artful. See what I mean?
Keep walking and you might pass a guy selling expensive olives in barrels. Yeah, you heard me right. On weekends in non-winter months, our block turns into a mini-farmers market with vendors from Upstate NY and New Jersey selling their fresh produce. This olive guy just won’t take “snow” for an answer.
A few more steps down the block and I run into Chris (in the black coat), my neighbor from across the hall. “Hi, Chris!” She sells her homemade jewelry on the weekends. She’s also starring in the latest Marie Callendar’s commercial–the one with the fruit pies. (That might be a running theme here, huh?)
A grand jete away from Chris is Patricia, another neighbor who lives on my floor selling Christmas cards that feature her original artwork. She’s an incredibly talented artist and I think she may have been Marc Chagall in a former life. (And apparently brainy, too. She wants to read the German version of my novel, Madhattan Mystery called Gefahr im Central Park to test her language skills.)
So, if this writer ever suffers a bout of writer’s block, a stroll along West 43rd Street in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen, NYC, can clear my head and stir up those creative juices. And if by the time I pass the Starbucks, two restaurants, newsstand, our package pickup depot, florist, Food Emporium, vitamin store, diving equipment shop, and health club I’m still not inspired, well, there’s always PIE. (See how I tied that together? Actually the mother in the novel I’m working on now is baking a slew of pies for the county fair so that may be why I have pie on the brain. Hmmm.) Okay, stick a fork in it. Glance up at impressive lobby tree on way to elevator… Time for a long winter’s nap?
Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. God bless us, everyone.