My fruit stand

{back in better days, when parkas weren't necessary for survival}

 

When I lived in New York as a bright-eyed undergrad I wrote a piece for posterity about how this city had lovingly accepted me as one of its own. I felt at home here, and sobbed when I left for fear that I would never see this great city again (ha!). It's fun to read my old journals and remember all the things about New York that won my heart over some ten years ago.

When we first moved here, I would walk down the street always wondering whether the people I passed thought I was a tourist or a local (not that they cared or even noticed, but still). Actually, I walked down the street knowing darn-straight that I wasn't fooling a soul--I was a California girl that had somehow wound up living in New York, again. The city wasn't knew to me, I felt comfortable in our surroundings and we were having a great time, but it just didn't feel like home.

And then yesterday happened. I dropped Talmage off at soccer practice and took a sicky Everett Knight to pick up some vegetables I needed so that I could make dinner for the missionaries. If I'm doing a major shopping trip I'll head to a grocery store, but if I'm just looking for produce then I usually buy from a fruit stand on the street. And so it was yesterday, I went to the stand exactly halfway between my house and the temple and started throwing onions and apples in bags as Everett excitedly pointed to his favorite finds, hoping those would end up in my sack as well.

I went to the back of the stand, hoping to buy a Fuji for my friend, when I was met by one of the vendors who said, "Good afternoon, you're looking just as beautiful as always!" We talked for a few seconds about the holidays and his stand and I flash-backed to my 19-year-old self being handed a bag of cherries by my favorite fruit-man downtown with a simple, "Your smile is payment enough for me!" Both times I was touched, not by the compliment but because those friends recognized me as a "regular" to their fruit stand. As crazy as it may be, I am a local--and they knew it.  

As I slipped back to the front of the stand I saw the other vendor, cooing and talking to my Everett, that little boy whose smile mirrored the big banana that was now in his hand. "How did you get that?" I asked him, pretty sure I already knew the answer. "He gave it to me!" he said, giggling with excitement. And the vendor was giggling too, clearly tickled that Everett was enjoying the gift.

I paid for the bagged fruit and as I walked away I felt the same emotions I felt 10 years ago when my love for this place was something of the movies. This city is remarkable and it's stealing my heart once more. Yesterday wasn't the first time I realized that we were home, but it was definitely a good reminder.

And then there is Talmage, who danced all the way home from soccer singing, "Look at me, I'm the king of New York!" Yeah, I think we're doing ok.