I never thought I'd be a fan of New York, not really being a city-girl type, but the grand old girl was a lot different, and better, than I remembered her from a visit as a kid. Cleaner, greener, functional, almost even friendly. Or maybe it was just my mood--winning the grand prize for fiction in the Next Generation Indie Book Awards probably puts a little rosy sheen on your lens. But there's a wonderful feel to the town that's beyond a celebratory glow, a strength that has matured, from youthful pride to something more like tenacious wisdom.

Central Park was lovely, the Broadway show we saw was not only a fabulous, exciting production, but a meaningful story. The food was fun, the subways efficient. No one seemed angry, the vibe was casual and sane.

I remember there was controversy over what would be an appropriate memorial at the site of the World Trade Towers, but I was far removed from it, and I don't know how it finally sorted. The new towers are still under construction, so there is a lot of activity around the reflection pools that now stand as a tribute to those who lost their lives on 9-11. The many trees that have been planted (only one tree survived the disaster) are still immature. But the memorial is very powerful. Rippling walls of water flow into the pools and then down again into a deeper well in the center. The names of the people lost that day are engraved on the outer face of the pools--you can touch them and trace the letters with your fingers. The design of the walls also invites you to touch the water by reaching into the opening beneath the upper interface. I found it soothing and very moving to actually touch the water falling down the memorial walls. And I came away with an odd sense of peace and pride that human beings continue to create beauty in the face of devastation.

So, dear old dame, count me among your devotees, a full-hearted convert. Prosper and be at peace. I hope to see you again someday.