Sabbatikos

For as long as I can remember Thanksgiving mornings have begun with the Macy’s Parade. It was an unspoken ritual in my childhood home and became an intentional one when I married Tawny who passionately carried the same tradition. When our daughter arrived nearly twenty five years ago the parade became the gravitational center of the day. Come Thanksgiving I’d command the kitchen, the turkey and trimmings while they sank into the couch in pajamas, mimosas in hand, determined not to miss a single performance, float, or balloon.

For years we talked about seeing the parade in person, a quiet item on our shared bucket list. Earlier this year we contemplated the idea of a short fall trip to New York and Clara, with impeccable timing, suggested the obvious improvement. “Why not go for the Thanksgiving Parade….and take me?” Well played daughter. Well played.

We checked airfare and it was reasonable. We found a hotel perched directly on the parade route before prices climbed into holiday absurdity. We pulled up a list of the best places for Thanksgiving dinner on Eater NY and called Isabelle’s Osteria. They told us they didn’t yet know their holiday menu but offered us a reservation anyway, confused by our call several months in advance.

Just like that everything came together. Flights, hotel, dinner, and the promise of a long imagined family experience. Our Thanksgiving in New York City was set.

Fast forward a few months and we landed in Newark in the early afternoon and caught a cab into the city. We checked into our room and discovered we had a view of both the Empire State Building and Sixth Avenue, the path of the parade itself, albeit from the 23rd floor which meant we couldnt’ really (nor did we ever intend to) watch from our room. The front desk staff, seasoned veterans of many Thanksgiving mornings, shared a few helpful tips about when to stake out our spot on the avenue. Armed with that advice and confident in our plan, Tawny searched for dinner and found Chi Restaurant Bar a few long blocks away, our first destination on the eve of the parade.

The restaurant had a modern upscale feel and was busy with what appeared to be actual New Yorkers rather than tourists. We ordered xiaolongbao to compare with Din Tai Fung and, as we fumbled our chopsticks around each delicate dumpling, we had to admit they were better. The rest of the meal was nearly as good, with the dandan noodles disappearing so quickly I never managed to get a photo.

We considered walking to Times Square after dinner because that is what you do when you are only a few blocks away and your daughter says, “Let’s go see the lights,” which I am fairly certain was code for needing new Instagram content. But the moment we stepped outside the sky opened in biblical fashion. We were drenched before reaching the corner and ended up sprinting through torrents and puddles back to the hotel. Inside we cranked up the heat and draped our soaked clothes over every surface we could find. Then, in anxiousness of Macy’s Day Parade-eve, we went to bed early knowing that 6am would arrive quickly.

The alarm jolted me awake at five in the morning. We knew our assignment: be outside staking our spot by 6 am. I peeked out the window and saw figures already gathering along Sixth Avenue. “Up, people! Up! Let’s go!”

We bundled ourselves in every layer we had, pour our mimosas into inconspicuous travel mugs, and headed down to the street. Even at 5:40 am we were too late for claiming the rail and had to settle for second row, which felt both mildly disappointing and oddly triumphant. The cold cut straight through us, 39° degrees with a windchill that pushed it closer to 30°.

We made fast friends with the people around us (they had clandestine mimosas as well!) and settled in for the long wait. It would be four and a half hours before the first float reached our corner of the parade route between 40th and 39th avenues.

What can I say. The parade and the entire morning were pure magic. The sun rose over the avenue, the skies opened into a clear blue, and although the air stayed cold it climbed into the reasonable forties, just like home. Everyone around us seemed genuinely happy and cheered for every performer who passed. The floats rolled by and the balloons drifted along low flight paths because of the wind, while Clara quietly hoped for a minor balloon mishap to add drama to the day. The marching bands thundered past and, punctuating it all, were the B list celebrities adorning many of the floats, including Ciara, Busta Rhymes, Lil Jon, Teyana Taylor, Foreigner, Lainey Wilson, Meg Donnelly, Voices from the KPop Demon Hunters, Debbie Gibson, Shaggy, and Kool and the Gang among others.

I took far too many pictures. Please forgive and indulge me in the abundance of images that follow…

After Santa passed by we made a beeline for the hotel, along with every other guest who had braved the morning cold. The line for the elevator stretched out the lobby and down the sidewalk, a sign that we were not getting to our room anytime soon unless we took matters into our own hands…or feet.

We chose the stairs. It is only twenty-three flights, we told ourselves. How hard could it be? Within minutes it became clear that dozens of hotel guests had made the same foolish decision. The stairwell filled with the sound of collective wheezing and admissions that this had been a terrible idea.

Clara and I lost track of Tawny somewhere around the twelfth floor when she wisely surrendered and waited for an elevator. She reached the room well before we did and greeted us later with the satisfaction of someone who had hitched a ride. We arrived sweaty, winded, and entirely defeated but still energized from our bucket list day!

We all took a nap.

By late afternoon we shook ourselves awake, dressed for dinner, and walked to Times Square to capture the photos the previous night’s downpour denied us.

With a little time to spare before our reservation at Isabelle’s Osteria we rode up to The View, the bar atop the Marriott Marquis. The moment we stepped inside we understood the name. Floor to ceiling windows revealed New York City glowing in the light of a Thanksgiving Day sunset and the slow, steady rotation of the bar (a surprise to us!) offered a full panorama of the skyline (as did the coasters!) . We ordered bespoke cocktails, sipped them slowly, and watched the city turn beneath.

Into a taxi we hopped to the Flatiron and had a lovely Thanksgiving dinner at a very crowded Isabella’s. It was dark, so the pictures are too.

Content from our meal, our marvelous day, and the lingering warmth of our cocktails and dessert, we made our way back to the hotel and fell into bed with the satisfied exhaustion that only a check off the bucket list and a Thanksgiving in New York can produce.