On the second day of a New York Christmas, I shivered on a cold winter's with the Engineer, as we sipped on hot apple cider at the Columbus Circle Christmas market
On the third day of a New York Christmas, I walked past the window's at Macy's. Full of colour and imagination, for a moment I felt like the child I used to be, staring in wonderment at all the toys in the Eaton's window on a snowy Winnipeg street.
On the fourth day of a New York Christmas, I waited in line with the Engineer to get some ice time. Skating below the famous glittering Rockefeller tree on a mild evening and having a 'once in a lifetime experience' was worth the $56 admission price. Thanks Engineer.
On the fifth day of a New York Christmas, I walked the dogs on a busy Brooklyn street. Passing under the white lights of a tree stand, smelling of fir and pine; of Christmas. It felt like an escape into a teeny tiny forest in the middle of a city.
On the sixth day of a New York Christmas, I watched the snowflakes on Saks dance and sing 'The Carol of the Bells'.
On the seventh day of a New York Christmas, I dragged the Engineer to Central Park for a Victorian Candlelight Christmas at Belvedere Castle. It may have been a bit silly, but worth watching the orange full moon rise over the Upper East Side from the top turret - finding some peace in a overly busy city.
On the eighth day of a New York Christmas, we walked through the Brownstones in Brooklyn to take in all the lights, glitter and kitschy (or tacky) nativity scenes that light up the neighborhood.
On the ninth day of a New York Christmas, we fought the bustling crowds at Macy's in search of a silk scarf for the Engineer's mom. Even though I may have had a stress-related asthma attack, I still delighted in the wooden escalator.
On the tenth day of a New York Christmas, I meet an old friend at Bryant Park for a hot chocolate with homemade vanilla marshmallows and look up to see the Empire State Building lit up in red and green.
On the eleventh day of a New York Christmas, I take myself to Rolf's for a hot mulled wine amongst the glittering lights of a thousand Christmas decorations.
On the twelfth day of a New York Christmas, I get on a plane to go home to my family.
Leaving behind the busy, bustling, sometimes (most of the time) smelly but more often enchanting, city sidewalks to the quiet of the Canadian prairie. This apple has definitely taken a bite out of me (in a good way).