Turning the corner at 51st and Madison, she reminded me I had been gone too long.  With her boughs and her bells, with her lights and her garland, she pursed with the quiet patience of the confidently loving.  She knew I’d be back eventually after the excuses became less convenient and the longing became unbearable.  When I walked into the glowing embrace of Rockefeller Center, she mouthed a silent “Hello.”

Her name was New York.  And I fell for her again for the first time.

Her Sunday best in December remains the effortless better of any city in the world.  Slender and elegant, ornate but not ostentatious, New York at Christmastime has a command that would charm the bastard son of the Grinch and Ebenezer Scrooge.  Every corner shimmers like an evening gown and every surface sparkles like a bottomless hazel gaze.  From the legendary holiday displays at Macy’s to the big, slightly dim electric bows wrapping the storefronts a few blocks uptown, hers is a mirth with a trumpet mute; the mezzo-soprano that never has to belt to be heard.  Even a wart like the Trump Tower looks like a beauty mark this time of year; a slight imperfection that only makes her more stunning.

Everywhere you go in New York it is Christmas.  From struggling Brooklyn cafes to bustling Fifth Avenue shops, from the shoe shine stand by Ground Zero to the projects north of 150th in Harlem, a Christmas unique from within and without Christendom is being celebrated.  A Christmas in the sort of way that appeals to the good nature of even those who don’t hold much faith in the reason for this particular season.  A Christmas that celebrates the city’s unique fraternity.  That sense that these New Yorkers have made it through yet another year together and that such is cause for a moment’s reflection.  That sense that if these people could pull through another year in this town, they could do it again next year.

Photo: Rob Spectre

The heart of that Christmas so distinctly New York sits in front of 30 Rockefeller, a tall and elegant Manhattan gal seasonably fitted and sparkling in any light.  In that storied plaza carrying on the tradition of decades, she is a Christmas tree that dwarfs all others, not in size but in character.  You will find trees taller and wider and more expensively ornamented elsewhere, but that tree in that city square is the physical manifestation of New York’s authenticity.  Huddled around by couples and families, lovers and old friends, it serves as the backdrop of countless Christmas cards and the site of a marriage proposal every hour.

And when the visitor walks through this tradition -  regardless of his religion or custom and irrespective of how naughty or nice – one can’t help but hum the tune of a carol and pine for the taste of an apple cider. When one stands in front of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, it matters less who you are than that you got there.

You can meet me there this year.   I’ll be merry as an elf.

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