Paul and I drove from Columbus to Brooklyn in record time last Sunday: 9 hours flat. The secret? One bathroom break and no stops for food. Our families had loaded us up with so many snacks that we ate on the road.
We've actually only made the drive from Ohio to New York four times now, that I can remember-- the day we actually moved here and the following three Christmases. Unfortunately, Pennsylvania hasn't gotten any shorter.
Luckily, I only had to make the trip one way this year. Paul had extra vacation days and drove to Ohio almost a week before I met him there. I flew to Columbus on Christmas Eve -- a vast improvement over last year's Greyhound bus trip.
When I fly from New York, I always pray that I'm on the side that gets the amazing Manhattan views. This year, I got my Christmas wish. The views are fantastic at any time, but even more so at night. And unlike my first few flights to and from the city airports, now I actually know what I'm looking at.
Traffic backed up in New Jersey off the George Washington Bridge. The Empire State Building decked out in red and green lights. A glimpse of the neon lights in Times Square. The Verrazano-Narrows Bridge in my own neighborhood, several miles south.
It doesn't get old. At least, not yet.
As the plane was taxiing toward the runway, it occurred to me that this was the first time I'd spent any part of Christmas in New York, even if it was only the eve. I was eager to see Paul and the rest of my family that night, but the remembrance pulled me up short. Santa must think I'm OK, because for that moment at least, I felt pretty lucky.