Autumn in New York by Carrie Lynn King

This was my first time flying, after. But Southwest generally goes between smaller airports, so I would be arriving in Islip, almost halfway out Long Island, and taking the Long Island RailRoad in to Penn Station, avoiding New York metro area airports both ways. I was proud of myself for cramming a week's worth of Stuff - including a wool sweater! - into a rolling carry-on and a large shoulder bag (aka "purse or briefcase" for my second of two allowed carry-on items). No long check-in counter line for me, nosireebob. This left me about an hour and a half to get into my in-flight reading: a two-book fantasy story by Stephen R. Donaldson called "The Mirror of Her Dreams" and "A Man Rides Through," respectively.

Ensconced in my window seat, I watched as we soared over the Palos Verdes hills a little before dawn. Somewhere along the bottom of those hills, sheltered from the cold sea breezes, was my home. My parents' house, that is. I notice that my use of the word "home" is still fluid between there and my own apartment. As we sped away eastwards, I dove into the book and only resurfaced briefly for the plane change in Nashville.

As I looked out each plane's window to the Tennessee hills, a colorful patchwork of fall colors emerging out of the green forests, I pondered my own ancestry from that area. Which way should I look to see Cookeville? Freewill Ridge? Cub Hollow? Probably they weren't in sight from right above Nashville. But I felt a bit as if I were time travelling.

It was late afternoon when we landed at Islip's MacArthur Airport, a local airport of 29 or 30 gates. No checked bags to wait for; I rolled on out to the front, past the lobby's sailboat display, to look for a cab. Hm. This is kind of a small airport; I wonder if any cabs bother to wait here. I asked a nice lady where one might catch a taxi. She wasn't sure, but right then I spotted one dropping someone off. Thanking her, I dashed over and the fellow agreed to take me over to the Ronkonkoma LIRR station. From him I learned that the correct pronunciation is 'ron-CONE-ko-ma'.

LIRR station fairly empty - ticket machine refuses credit & atm cards, so use cash. 5:42 train sitting on platform - two guys in colored victorian suits like My Cousin Vinny - sat near middle of their car. Oh yeah, it's the Saturday before Halloween. Read my way to the city - see Manhattan night skyline from Brooklyn before we dive underground

Penn Station - 25 cent phone call to apartment - P answers. S only left Boston at 4, not arrived yet. P suggests 3 express, or was that in his earlier email? I find the 3 platform and watch three 1 trains head uptown before my 3 comes. By 96th St we've only caught two of them. oh well.

Thanks to previous map-studying and P's directions, find building no problem. both front doors were propped open and no doorman in sight; easy in a relief but also curious. Surmise that #46 must be on the 4th floor. Old-timey elevator, how endearing. wandered down hall to proper door. Vague sound of music from within. Knock. No answer. Bell and door-"clank". Pause. Ear to door, note lights on inside also. Try all the door-noises again. Still nothing. As I am beginning to consider finding a phone to make sure I'm at the right place, S and P arrive up the stairs hauling stuff from S 's car. whew.

moving finishes. S lets me have the bed in his room; i get permission (from P's call to D) to sleep in D's bed - he's in Chicago - but S ends up there instead because I feel most comfortable invading S's space rather than anyone else's.

ordered in chinese food dinner. J shows up and we try to make plans. Saturday night = main Halloween parties. But S and I both tired from travelling. we end up staying in and playing backgammon (S and I) and chess (P and J) and drinking a lot (P and J). after S's computer/DVD player fails to communicate successfully with the TV setup. J sleeps on mattress in dining room.