I'll take Manhattan

One of the coolest experiences is to be glammed up, shooting from the Upper East Side to Midtown, ensconced in a taxi, passing all the big deal designer stores, the upscale hotels, the pedestrians, the absolute glitz of it all. It makes me feel as if I have arrived, esp. if the destination is a swank literary event like the Edgars Banquet.
Because this is so far from the little towns that I came from in Northeast Colorado, where the sugar beets and soy beans grow. You've no idea how far. We were so out of it and so poor we didn't even ski. We drove up and down Main Street in our parents cars, drank root beer at the A & W, went to the 4th of July Rodeo and the street dance in the next town. Hid in the trunk and sneaked into the drive in. Got drunk on beer we bought illegally at a package store on the outskirts of town. Went to Elitches Gardens in Denver and screamed when we rode on the roller coaster. New York City might have been the moon. I don't think I knew anyone who had even been there. St. Louis was the decadent East where they did a dance called the "dirty bop."
The thrill of a lifetime was to take a family summer vacation to the West Coast.

When I was thirteen, I travelled to the Sand Hills of Nebraska with my friend to stay with her cousins. The nearest town was Arthur, miles and miles away. We went to the rodeo, which opened each night with riders on horseback carrying American flags galloping around the stadium in a circle to the tune of the Washington Post March. I still see those riders when I hear that music. A few years ago, the New York Times travel section had an article on the Sand Hills. At the end of the article, they had to admit that there was really nowhere to stay. I thought that was instructive. Even in Gerlach, Nevada, you can stay at Bruno's Motel and Casino.

Yesterday, I roamed over Kendall Square and the MIT Campus researching scenes for my book. Everything has changed so much since I worked in the area. The old firehouse is now a boutique hotel and there is a plaque to the F & T diner which stood on the site for over 70 years. I remember when the steelworkers who built the Marriott had a shot and a beer there on Friday noon when the workweek was (almost) over. You can't go home again, even if you haven't been gone for long, but somehow a cab ride into the heart of Manhattan remains the same. But then, that's not home.