My first “bite” of the Big Apple was pretty sour. One Sunday in the late fall, Uncle Dean, Mom, and all four of her brood tackled the main tourist sites of Manhattan. Only problem was that it was rainy, foggy, and bone-chillingly cold. Everywhere we went was a disappointment. We couldn’t make out the skyline when we looked out from the top of the Empire State Building. Despite the choppy waters on the Circle Line ferry, and the long climb up the spiral stairs to the crown of the Statue of Liberty, we couldn’t see anything but mist and fog. We stood outside the HMS Queen Mary steamship, but couldn’t tour it. Finally we gave up and took a cab back to the Battery where we parked. Unfortunately Uncle Dean couldn’t recall where he parked the car. By that time it was dark and every business was closed, so he put us on the sidewalk under an awning and ran around for a half-hour until he found the car. Lisa was about four years-old. I’ll never forget her wet, little shivering red cheeks. Later on, New York City became the place where Mom arranged to have all of her growing brood together every year. She picks the summer, when it’s warm and almost always sunny.