Eighteen years I lived in New York City and what manner of Big Apple souvenir did I ever own? A few cool old books about the city maybe. A framed needlepoint tapestry of the skyline. Umm... not much else. I had a lot of Texas stuff, mostly things my mother would find and give to Lindsay for Christmas because he was a Texan living in New York City and surely a few Texas tchotchkes would mitigate the homesickness he must be feeling?
Fast-forward to now, seven years into our Texas residency and we've shed the majority of our Lone Star knickknacks—and I'm finding myself buying collector plates celebrating the Empire State Building. Oy. I'm trying to restrain myself. A few vintage postcards here, a framed photo of the WTC in all its nighttime glory there... Actually, I can't look at that WTC picture, currently residing in the garage until Lindsay takes it to his office. It bums me out for all the obvious reasons; I remember proclaiming, not long after 9/11, that I would never leave NYC because then the terrorists would have won. So much for that. But I also can't look at this picture without thinking of the two pairs of old-school Spot-bilt sneaker-skates that were at the same yard sale for like five bucks and we didn't buy them! Who cares that they didn't fit? They were so cool! New in box!
Anyway, one shouldn't look at the WTC and think of sneaker-skates. Lindsay has got to take that thing to his office.
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