It had been a long bitterly cold winter in NY, but the first week of March arrived bringing bright sunshine and warm air. It had been too long since I walked freely, without rushing in and out of stores just to keep warm, so today seemed like a good day to take one. The springlike air seemed to wake me up the moment I stepped outside, and I set off with a little bounce in my step. I had no destination in mind as I started to walk until my phone rang. My daughter called to see if I was free to meet her for lunch. She was working at an urgent care in Jackson Heights, close to where I live and easy to get to, so I immediately said yes.
I took a long walk to the E train in Kew Gardens to go to Jackson Heights. I grew up in Jackson Heights, and while I visited my mom before she passed, I hadn't been back in ten years. As I exited the train station on 74th St. and Roosevelt Ave., I felt myself stepping into my past. As a teenager and in my early twenties I used this subway station almost every day for school or work. As with all NYC boroughs there have been many changes over the years. The mom - and - pop stores have been replaced with coffee shops, fast - food restaurants and outlet stores. As I walked down Roosevelt Ave, I tried to recall the stores that had once stood there. The urgent care where my daughter now works had once been a Woolworth's where I had my first job. As I walked along 82nd St., I noticed the store that had taken the place of the one my mom had worked in for so many years. When my daughter met me for her lunch break, we went to Jahn's, a family restaurant and ice cream parlor that has been serving the community since 1897. It was also one of mom's favorite spots. She loved a grilled Swiss cheese sandwich with tomato and a small vanilla sundae for dessert, so we ordered her lunch in her memory. Once we finished eating, my daughter went back to work, after saying our goodbyes, I continued to stroll through the neighborhood, lost in memories of my youth. As I walked to the block I once called home, I saw how much had changed. Office buildings had replaced movie theatres, supermarket chains were now smaller organic markets, and the diners I remembered had been replaced with ethnic restaurants. As I walked down my old block, memories of who lived where came back to me, and I wondered what had become of them. Although the houses were still standing, the facades had changed. The windows were modern, gates had been added to the driveways, gardens were covered with cement and the trees that once lined the block were gone. When I reached my house I stood in front of it, trying to catch a glimpse of the life that had once existed there. Although there was still a garden it looked very different. But as I looked more closely, I could see little crocus stems pushing through the soil. It made me smile - I'm fairly certain those were the same my parents had planted over sixty years ago. I walked by my neighbor Mrs. Lupo's house. She was the den mother of the block, taking care of every child whose mother worked and wasn't home when we got back from school. Her house now completely unrecognizable, transformed by changes made over the years by new owners. I walked around for about an hour, trying to remember the friends and good times we had playing on the streets. I've lived in many places over the years, and although I've spent more time elsewhere, I'll always carry the fond memories - and the love - from my years in Jackson Heights.
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