It (Was) Christmastime in the City

You know it's been a great holiday season when January hits you like a a ton of bricks. Hello, January 7 (you're not confused, I wrote this yesterday) - you're the masonry I was expecting.


2009 was the year of epic moves amongst the Furniss kids. Every kid in a new state in the last calendar year. So when my parents thought it might be just the two of them and Megan in Utah or the two of them in Megan in New York for Christmas, we were giddy when the latter worked out. (And then we found out Koryn and her clan would be Utahns again before the holiday season, but too late - I called dibs.)


The trio rolled into town early Wednesday morning and we hit the town. But the town was bitter cold, so we checked Dad's first indoor to-do off the list with an early lunch at a gen-you-ine NYC deli. (Where the Honeybee was delish; too bad the boys didn't dare order such a girly sounding sandwich. Mom, Megan and I were pleased.)


From there, Mom and Dad treated us to a matinee of West Side Story. It was a great performance - one of my favorites thus far. Though I fear there may have been a few holes in the plot for Dad and Megs. We opted for the matinee thinking the red eye flyers wouldn't last through an evening show - but when I glanced down the aisle just before intermission, I saw a few drooping lids. Who falls asleep during a rumble? Thanks for the tickets, Dad - and sorry you fell asleep.Christmas Eve was Ellis Island, Lady Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge (that's a good family who will take a jumping picture on the Brooklyn Bridge with you),

and what will make me look like the ultimate hostess, I'm sure...

Christmas Eve dinner in Chinatown. (You know I can't help it... "Fa Ra Ra Ra Ra, Ra Ra Ra Ra.")

We attempted to make it to Christmas Eve services at Trinity Church that evening, but as we called the elevator all we heard were alarms and ringing. The faint scent of smoke further alerted us to a possible problem and by the time firemen pass us in the stairwell, we had a hunch someone on the 20th floor was not having a great Christmas Eve. Fortunately, nobody was hurt and the fire was actually out before the fire department arrived, but we were able to put to rest my Dad's suspicion that we are not actually 25 floors above ground. And it's true, folks, it's true. The numbers in the stairwell jumped from 19 to 13, so apparently there are no floors 14-18. Who knew? Dad knew. He's a numbers guy.

That little anecdote has us way off track. Didn't make it to the church on time. Did get these photos.
Meg's a little too cool for school in this picture. Or too cool for church, rather.

Christmas morning was... lazy. Which means it was lovely. But somewhat reminiscent of childhood years when I was the one pestering the 'rents to wake up and open presents. I was worried if they didn't know what their gift was before 9:45am we wouldn't make it in time...

to the traditional* Christmas Day Knicks game at Madison Square Garden. And glad our pal Ibrahim could join!

We dashed from the Garden to the only quiet place we could lay claim on in midtown. The hallway of our offices. Yep - hallway. We did remember the key to the building. We did not remember the keys to the actual office. So we enjoyed our first official missionary call with Elder Furniss from the hallway of the 10th floor in a building on the Avenue of the Americas. It was quite a scene, bro. Sorry I didn't think to snap a picture. But you won't read this blog for two more years anyway, and by then it may have lost its appeal.

Christmas night was dinner in Little Italy, a little scarf and hat perusing in Chinatown and a rainstorm that proved Allison has a tough time remembering the reason for the season when her head is wet. What can I say? Wind and rain make me irritable. No Seattle in our future...

Saturday poured. And because Mom, Dad and Megs witnessed the evening before how onery rain can make me, they wisely made haste to the Met and spent the day absorbing all the loveliness that entails.

A beautiful Sunday afternoon in Central Park, a butternut squash lasagna that would make you renounce your love to the marinara and ricotta stuff and run away with a butternut squash and nutmeg, and not wanting to fall asleep on Sunday night because I knew Monday meant a teary goodbye.

It's nice to love being with your family. And it's really nice of them to come 2,000 miles to eat General Tso's Chicken with you on Christmas Eve. Thanks for visiting. Hope the chicken was worth it.

*not an actual Furniss family tradition.