The Beekman

The other day, on my way to an appointment, I found myself walking right by the UN. If I had had more time, I would have gone to see the Beekman, the hotel we often stayed in with you and mom when we were kids.

You loved it because it was all suites - so you and mom got the bedroom, if Marc was with us he got a cot, and Amy and I had to share the sofa bed.

When it was just you and mom, you usually went to the Helmsley Palace (now the NY Palace) where I've stayed for work, which is just a lovely place.

We didn't travel too much as a family, but we did spend quite a few long weekends in the city over the holidays.

When we were very little, we spent a few days doing touristy things in the city with the Mendelsohns. We went to the top of the Empire State building. We walked up 5th Ave, and went into the Trump building that had the waterfall in the lobby (or down 1 floor?). Wow! we thought. A waterfall. In. A. Building. That was crazy and I remember how giddy it made me feel.

We visited the Museum of Natural History, and I refused to walk under the giant whale, because I thought it was going to fall on me. I remember going all the way around the perimeter of that giant room with Mom.

And we went out to dinner at Windows on the World, and there was a band, and we actually danced on a Saturday night on Manhattan, you and me, all dressed up, with the city lights spread out before us, and it really felt like we were on top of the world, not just looking at it.

Years later, you let me plan our itineraries when we went into the city - what shows to see, what galleries to stop into, and so on. You got me a membership to the Met, and we also used to see special exhibits at Moma, too, like the Matisse retrospective that was to this day one of the loveliest things I've ever experienced.

I've written on this blog before about how you helped shape my love of music, but I think I was wrong to limit that to music. You helped me feel like it's my place to see beautiful paintings, sculpture, to enjoy a beautiful building or scene. Mom too - of course, nobody has a sense of beauty like she does - but you were a part of that.

It's been a little while since I've written on here last, Dad, but you've been on my mind more than ever. Sometimes I think the less I write the more I think about you. I have a lot more to say, don't you worry.

Love you.
M